Life and death on the Serengeti

As we began our third and final safari, there were only a couple things I really wanted to see. We had seen the "big five" (lion, leopard, rhino, buffalo and elephant), found leopards and cheetahs and seen plenty of warthogs (my favorite).

Yet the one thing I really wanted to witness was the raw drama of a kill. We had seen plenty of lions, hyenas, vultures and storks feeding upon recent kills, but not the actual act.

It turns out, witnessing the female lions eating a zebra in Etosha foreshadowed our experience on the Serengeti (which comes from the Maasai word, siringet, meaning never-ending space).

After a somewhat uneventful morning game drive, we crossed paths with another safari vehicle and were informed of a lion in the grass up ahead, watching a herd of zebras.

We quickly found the female lion and recognized the classic stalking pose. If you've ever watched a house cat stalk something in the grass, you'd recognize it too; tail twitching, ears back, eyes intently watching the zebras.

From our location about 100m away, we watched through binoculars as the lion slowly crouched her way towards the zebra herd, which numbered approximately 50 animals.

A light drizzle began to fall - November is the start of the short rains - which fogged our binocular but didn't seem to deter the lion as she approached the herd from downwind.

While zebras are known for their keen eyesight and sense of smell, they didn't seem to be aware of the lion as she moved from 75m to 50m and on to 25m. All the while, she was slowly edging her way forward under the cover of grass only. (As an aside, during the 45 minutes we watched the lion advance, it became very clear why we don't go walking in the tall savannah grasses, even when they appear devoid of danger. If you click on the image above, you may be able to see the lion on the left and zebra herd on the right.)

The zebras were mostly grazing during this time, with a few standing guard looking in each direction. In fact, four were looking directly at the lion's location, failing to recognize her subtle movements in the grass. Eventually, she approached to within 5m of the herd, appearing almost underfoot of the closest zebra. Yet still she moved closer.

We were rapt in the truck, watching the drama unfold from under a raised roof in the rain.

All at once, the lion was up and running. The herd took flight, barking warnings that came too late for one. The lioness had her prey, leaping onto the back of one zebra, clawing it to the ground and grabbing hold of its neck in her jaws.

1000 episodes of "When animals attack" can't do justice to the emotions evoked as we watched the zebra fight for its life, to no avail.

Over a period of minutes that felt much longer, the zebra's kicks changed to twitches and the piercing screams changed to grunts, as the life drained out of the animal.

All the while, we watched through our binoculars. I felt both compelled to watch and somehow inappropriately voyeuristic, witnessing the last moments of life for the zebra.

During this time, a second lion joined in, somewhat prematurely going to work on the zebra's hind quarter while the animal was still kicking (Family aside: As I watched, I couldn't help but think of Aunt Bell, tearing into the Thanksgiving turkey leg).

Eventually, a third lion joined in and the battle was over. It was meal time and we watched as the lions rolled the zebra over for better access to the soft underbelly.

In all, we watched for over an hour before losing sight of the lions as they lay down to feast in the tall grass. Having seen and heard this part of life on the Serengeti, I felt glad to have had the experience. Yet at the same time, it is not one I need to repeat anytime soon, as the memory of the zebra's screams will remain with me for a long while.