A Privilege Like No Other

The wonder that is the Serengeti is something not easily described with words, or even through pictures. When I returned home and attempted to convey my experiences, the closest I came to explaining it was that it feels as if the beginning and the end of the world is there. Every colour, sound, and texture in existence seems to coalesce in that great expanse of land.

As is to be expected when venturing out in the Serengeti, there are many different groups on tours, all hoping to catch a glimpse of something special. My group was one of many – far too many to count – and we had spent the last two days with our trusted and skilled tour guide roaming through the savannah, witnessing one majestic scene after another.

Many of the drivers would communicate with one another via walkie-talkies, radioing in if they had spotted wildlife kilometres away and providing directions on how to find them.

One morning, our walkie-talkie was abuzz with excited chatter and suddenly the engine of our Jeep roared to life. I had learned a decent amount of Swahili prior to my trip – not nearly enough to get a full understanding of the conversation that had just transpired over the walkies, but enough to know where we were headed next. As I steadied myself with the bars of the Jeep, we rumbled through the savannah with only one word ringing through the air: simba; not just the name of a beloved Disney character, but Swahili for lion.

As we got nearer to the lion, we slowed down considerably, as did the other cars, so all that was left was the gentle hum of the engine and our whispered excitement.

Contrary as it may seem given the nearly 30,000 square kilometres that this incredibly vast national park spans, there is gridlock traffic in the Serengeti. As we approached the area where the lions were, we came to a stop behind a queue of four-wheel drives that extended at least 400 metres. A timely reminder that the agenda of the individual is of little importance here; in the Serengeti, life functions as a collective, connected in ways both obvious and subtle.

Over the next 40 minutes, our Jeep rolled closer and closer to the location until finally we were close enough to catch a glimpse of not one, but two stunning creatures resting on the side of the road, appearing to take advantage of the small slice of shade afforded to them by the angle of the grass and the gentle ditch of the worn, dusty road. Car after car drove past, while the lion and lioness remained in their position, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden flock of guests that had come to marvel at them.

When at long last we were directly in front of them, a flurry of competing priorities rushed to the fore. First and foremost is the desire to not behave in such a way that might cause even the slightest discomfort to the lions; voices are lowered, flash photography gets switched off, movements are slowed. There is an unspoken understanding that we are the guests, and that being able to witness this majestic moment is a privilege, not a right. Next is the question that every person wielding a camera asks themselves at one point or another: how much of this moment do I spend observing from a behind the lens in order to document it, and how much of it do I spend simply being in the moment and surrendering to the awe that surrounds me. I struggle with my memory quite a lot and tend to err on the side of caution when travelling, taking photos of things like my bedside table in a hotel room, or the front door of my favourite restaurant, and I’ve found these serve as terrific prompts years down the track when I would have otherwise had little recollection of a place or an event. For me, photos aren’t so much about capturing the best shot, but rather, capturing a moment in time and creating breadcrumbs that I can use to trigger my memory later on.

In that moment, being within metres of the lion, I chose to surrender. I took three photos, and put my camera away.

When it came to editing this image, I wanted to create something that commanded the attention of the viewer, in the same way that he did when I was in front of him. I’ve cropped the original image significantly, turned up the contrast, and adjusted the lighting.

Over the years I’ve found myself coming back to this image and reflecting not just on the beauty of this incredible creature, but on the remarkable honour of being able to spend just a few minutes completely enveloped in his presence. Somehow, in those near-black eyes, I can feel a life that is of the highest value; a treasured, irreplaceable part of our ecosystem; and a sentient being deserving of the greatest respect.