Wild wild fest- A trip to Murchison Falls National Park

At Uganda’s Murchison Falls National Park, such sights are commonplace. Everywhere you turn, nature seems to have composed its own photograph. Uganda kobs with their perfectly striped horns fighting territorial battles, herds of wild African elephants trampling down trees, hippos waddling about on the banks of the river with their babies, scampering oribis and the ever-entertaining baboons.

The Murchison Falls National Park is spread over 5,000 square kilometres of conservation area partitioned by the Nile, which cuts across the belly of the park dividing it into the northern savannah and the southern rainforest. We enter the park through the southern side and were greeted by a group of baboons that ran in circles around our car. Once the baboons allow us to proceed, we get our car on the ferry to cross the Nile to reach our lodge. The lodge stands on the northern bank of the magnificent Nile, which shimmers against the sun. Once we settle in, we set off for our first game drive.

Our tourist ranger is a woman named Janet, who in the course of the next two days earns my deepest respect. Janet was one of the first women rangers in Uganda, who after spending eight years in the Queen Elizabeth National Park had now moved here. Rangers live lonely lives in the jungle in little matchbox quarters. They are cooped up in their quarters at night because wild animals are almost always on the prowl. It’s only a deep, unshakable bond with the jungle that keeps them going. Betraying no evidence of her hardship, Janet breezes into our four-wheel drive and says, “Good evening, I’m Janet. And we are going to see lions today.”

I laughed to myself. Overconfidence is never a good virtue on game drives, I think to myself. The jungle has a mind of its own. It surprises. It humbles. “Are you sure,” I ask Janet. “I know we will. I have a feeling about this,” she says. And off we go.

We were cruising along on the Albert track, the track that Janet has chosen in the hope of finding the elusive lions. I am, however, just happy to see the giraffes. I insist that we stop the car wherever I spot a giraffe (which is every few metres) and then gape at them wide-eyed. How can a creature be so elegant, so ugly, yet so indescribably beautiful.

Janet is at first amused with my giraffe obsession. But the feeling slowly deteriorates to absolute frustration because it is obviously coming in the way of our safari. “No more giraffes. There are thousands. Do you want to take home pictures of each one of them?” she bellowed. I sulk quietly, like a child who has just been grounded.

There is a lovely evening breeze. Even the hostile and territorial buffaloes seem to be cheerful. Suddenly, Janet points out to something at a distance. Even as we draw nearer, I can see nothing. “There’s nothing there, just some bushes,” I mumble. Janet nods. “She’s there, I have a feeling,” she says, again. She then instructs the driver to take the car off the track on to the grass.

We drive about half-a-kilometre on the grass, and then there she is sleeping like a baby with her head on a rock, a pregnant lioness. Janet had spotted her between the bushes from over a kilometre away! The lioness then wakes up, stretches, looks around as though acknowledging her fans. Then she turns over and goes back to sleep. We thank her for being so gracious and watch her pregnant belly heave sleepily, unperturbed by the audience.

We leave feeling satiated, like a beast after a fulfilling meal. We couldn’t have had a better game drive, we think. Just then Janet notices that all the animals are facing the Queen trail. “We must take a detour,” she says. We get off the Albert track and the driver follows Janet’s lead swiftly. No one is talking. The excitement is palpable. What could be better than a lion, I wonder.

We travel for nearly five kilometres and suddenly we find the greens in the savannah speckled with yellow. I take a quick, short breath. Rolling about in the grass against the setting orange sun are two majestic lionesses with three cubs. We turn off our engine and watch them, silently and respectfully. The lioness playfully nips her offspring as the cubs try to clamber on top of their mother. Another lioness watches bemused, as though this indulgence was beneath her dignity.

Suddenly it is dark; the sun disappears in the jungle sooner than you imagine casting a pall of exciting, yet eerie stillness. But you are acutely aware that nights are never still in the jungle. Predators skulk, trees huddle together and the air is filled with a cacophony of jungle calls. And you are suddenly gripped with the sinking feeling that the breezy savannah grassland you have known and seen all day was simply an illusion.

Keep in mind that if you need to cross the river, the ferry operates only between 7 am and 7 pm.