We’ve been on the road a while now—twelve travelers, two jeeps, one epic route through Kenya’s wildest corners. The Maasai Mara kicked things off with drama and glory: golden savannahs, endless horizons, and predators everywhere. Lake Naivasha followed, calm and gentle like a long exhale—hippos bobbing in the water, fish eagles diving into the water, and boat rides that gave our cameras and hearts a little break.

And then we drive south. To Amboseli. To dust, elephants, and that ever-present giant in the distance: Mount Kilimanjaro.

The contrast hits us immediately. Mara was wild and raw—a canvas of chaos and beauty, where life and death played out in broad daylight. Amboseli feels quieter at first, more spacious. I call it the ‘happy home’ of the African elephant. But don’t be fooled—the drama here runs deep.

Our home for two nights is Little Amanya Lodge, a perfect blend of bush luxury and warm Kenyan hospitality. The tents are spacious, with crisp linens, (low-pressure) hot showers, and stunning views of the mighty Kilimanjaro.

That mountain—it’s in every photo, subtly photobombing us with quiet elegance. The nights are cool whilst the day turns a tad warmer. 

The food at Amanya is everything you want after a dusty day—hearty, and generously served. We share a drink under the stars, swap stories by the fire, and tuck into our beds lulled by the nighttime symphony of crickets, hyenas, and wind through the grass.

Then come the game drives.

Two full days in Amboseli National Park, and it feels like we’ve landed in elephant paradise. Mara had lions and leopards, but Amboseli is ruled by the elephants. 

Herds upon herds, with wise matriarchs leading tiny, tumbling calves through shimmering wetlands and across dry, cracked earth. It’s humbling. And Kilimanjaro? Always there. Sometimes clear, sometimes veiled, always grand.

We are split into two jeeps—six in each, bouncing over rough trails, peering through binoculars, yelling “stop!” at every sighting. The wildlife checklist grows fast: buffalo, elephants, lions, rhinos, a leopard napping in the crook of a tree. Big Five—complete.

Then comes the moment we’ve been waiting for. A cheetah, lean and poised, with three nearly grown cubs in the distance. She spots an impala. The air tightens. We know what’s about to happen.

But so do the other jeeps.

They swarm in, positioning for the perfect angle, jostling, revving, shouting instructions. The peace fractures. The cheetah hesitates. And just like that, the hunt slips away. She turns, retreating into the brush, leaving us all with a quiet ache. We are disappointed, to say the least but it’s a reminder – this is her story, not ours. 

Still, we feel lucky. The park gives us more—ostriches, jackals, a hyena with a mischievous face, an array of vibrant birds in picture perfect poses. Amboseli is vast and alive in its own slower, deeper rhythm.

And then—on the morning we leave—chaos.

It rains in the night. Not much—just enough to stir trouble. By morning, en route to our next destination, both our jeeps are stuck. Not just a little stuck. Deep stuck. The kind that demands digging, pushing, and the sacrifice of clean shoes and dry dignity. We laugh at first, but soon it’s the weary kind. Less safari-glam, more survival mode. For four relentless hours, our drivers-guides, Jonathan and Hillary, along with a few determined souls, battle the muck—pushing, towing, reversing, coaxing the earth to let us go. Local pride runs high, and advice from off-roading veteran Ajith goes unheard at first. But eventually, they give in, take his cue—and just like that, the jeeps are free. We roll forward at last, the jeeps and drivers caked in mud, we, soaked in relief, and wearing a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Kilimanjaro peeks through the clouds one final time, as if to say, you made it.

We arrive at the Namanga border well behind schedule—five hours late, to be exact. Our carefully laid plans begin to unravel. There’s no recovering the lost time, and our long-awaited game drive in Tarangire National Park is officially off the table.

Before crossing into Tanzania, we part ways with Hillary and Jonathan. After everything we’ve been through together, saying goodbye feels hard. On the other side of the building, our new crew from PaleTours—Obama, Simon, and Samuel—are waiting with warm smiles and easy energy. A special mention must go to the border officials as we clear customs and immigration.  Every interaction is met with kindness and grace—genuine welcomes, respectful exchanges, and a quiet efficiency that makes the process feel less like bureaucracy and more like hospitality.

With no time to linger, we press on—the long, nearly nine-hour road to Ngorongoro stretches ahead. By now, exhaustion has sunk its claws in deep. Tempers fray. The mood sours. Glamorous? Not exactly. But unforgettable? Absolutely.

But somewhere between the Mara’s wild chases, Naivasha’s soft skies, and Amboseli’s muddy grip, we’ve become a team. We’ve learned to ride the rhythm of the road, to find joy in the delays, and to let the wild be wild. And now, an unexpected tradition has emerged: the hunt for the perfect fridge magnets. For some, it’s become the ultimate trophy—small but fiercely pursued, a souvenir of stories we’ll be telling for years. 

But yes—I made it. Today I tick off  the 55th country on my travel list, a milestone etched in dust, adventure, and wild memories. Tomorrow, I descend into the iconic Ngorongoro Crater for the very first time. One of Earth’s great wonders awaits—and I’m ready to stand on its rim in absolute awe.

Have you ever had travel plans completely derailed like this? How did you handle it?

What is your favorite souvenir or collectible?

I’d love to hear from you—share your wildest safari or road trip moment in the comments below!

If this adventure sounds like your kind of chaos and magic—join me on my next safari! I’m planning another wild ride in 2026, and I’d love to have you along.
👉 Keep an eye out right here on Mihipedia for all the details—coming soon!