Shompole Wilderness (through my eyes):
When I first arrive at Shompole, I’m enveloped by a quiet intimacy—this is not a grand park but a lived-in stretch of wild land where the Maasai and nature coexist. My tent perches by the Ewaso Ng’iro River; through the canvas walls I hear water whisper, insects hum, and at dusk the silhouettes of animals moving across the bank. Yet the highlight are the Shompole Hides—sunken, built from repurposed containers, and edged against a waterhole. I cross the river by boat, slip into the hide just before dusk, and become invisible. From ground level, glassless windows let me watch elephants, antelopes, and predators approach within metres, often under my lens’s gaze, lit by subtle backlighting and soft lamps. Overnight, I lie on a bunk listening to the night’s pulse—the splash of water, distant calls, furtive shadows—feeling closer to the wild than ever before.

Amboseli (through my eyes):
Driving into Amboseli, I’m instantly struck by the vast plains opening up below the looming silhouette of Mount Kilimanjaro, its snow-capped peak glowing softly in the morning light. The air is dry, the dust fine, and ahead of me stretch acacia-dotted landscapes where elephants move with majestic grace. Everywhere I look there is life, grazing zebras, giraffes lifting their necks to nibble leaves, and lions lounging in the distance. The wetlands and seasonal swamps in the heart of the park attract flocks of birds, creating a vivid contrast to the arid plains. As the sun rises higher, the shadows shift, and each turn on the track reveals yet another intimate moment with nature — a mother elephant guiding her calf, a solitary cheetah crossing the horizon. In that silence, I hear the rustle of grass, the chatter of birds, the distant trumpet of elephants and I feel very small, yet deeply connected to this wild, rugged beauty.