● the price of life in the Masai Mara ●

March April May less rain little rain no rain, less water little grass no food must move.
Impalas patiently prepared―whisks stunted tails, flashing white flanks, sniffing sneezing warnings must move. Zebras skittish―echos callings across from the ridges, young stallions bite necks, kicking fat thighs in the air, must move. Wildebeests congregate confused―growing restless, instincts urging intervention, must move soon. Parched river beds in southern Maswa cry out to the empty skies―“leave us alone wild beasts, nothing remains here for you, you must move”―ivory tusks dig in vain, rumbling tummies roar in frustration, matriarch starts north, must move now.

Singed Serengeti planes reverberate, thorn tree leaves tremble, ant hills demolished, it has begun―1,800 miles facing vulnerability. Continuously risking each enemy ceaselessly―exhaustion, starvation, predators in foreign territories, getting trampled, dehydration but worst of all ironies, drowning in the Mara while smelling salvation in the grass opposite the swelled torrent, must continue to move.

June July August more dust stuck in nostrils and choking throats, must move, rhythmic martyring of muscles and sinews, must move, deliriously conscious of salivating felines following a breath away, must move, adrenaline stifles fearful panic among the migrating masses moving on. Mirages mirror objects over deceiving distances, dried out dung marks the path, must continue to move. Weaker legs fall behind, their spines snapped in a single clawed swing. Carcasses dragged toward crying cubs, temporary relief for her lair, must move them with her, must feed, quench their thirst with blood, must survive.

Muddy Mara banks emit the smell of water, churned by hopeful hooves slipping against unclimbable gradients. Tired limbs sucked into the river’s clay edge. In their demise, bodies build buttresses for braver legs still moving. Danger lurks beneath the crowded flow, swimming into prehistoric jaws, momentarily distracting hungry hazards from the remaining herds. Splashing forward in hope when the murky bottom surfaces, skinning arriving knees. Ankles twisting on slippery rocks, fragile legs running for freedom, rest ahead, must move a little longer still.