The rains have done their work.
In mid January, Shaba is at its most splendid.
There is abundant vegetation, water all around,
and the savannah teems with hundreds of animals,
taking advantage of the bonanza.
The elephants have returned to the region and remain here longer.
Different, inter-related matriarchal groups
come together by the Ewaso Ngiro to enjoy the end of abstinence.
Elephants need between 80 and 160 litres of water a day,
and the adult males can drink twice this amount,
so they must always have water sources available.
The banks of the Ewaso Ngiro, whose waters are now high and stable,
every day attract large herds of pachyderms.
The adults can drink and bathe,
and the young can wallow in the mud, protected by a forest of colossal legs.
These clans spend the dry season communicating
with each other at great distances but physically separated
in order to more efficiently explore and utilise the land devastated by the drought.
But now, Shaba is witness to their reunion and can enjoy the spectacle,
once frequent in East Africa, of herds of over two hundred individuals.
Today the region that comprises the reserves of Shaba,
Samburu and Buffalo Springs is home to the largest herds of elephants in East Africa.
And again, there is a paradox: this miracle of abundance in the kingdom of drought.
The river bank is the meeting place for the majority of the species of Shaba.
In the course of the day, many of the animals of the savannah come here to drink.
And that is a risky moment, when they inevitably expose themselves to danger.
With the heat of the sun, the large Nile crocodiles have returned to the water.
On one of the banks, a group of Grevy’s zebras are slaking their thirst,
and the appearance of a young colt attracts the great saurians.
The crocodiles are silent in the current of the Ewaso,
and when they submerge they become invisible.
But the zebras are on permanent alert,
and the shallowness of the river is a factor in their favour.
A surprise attack is the crocodile’s only change of claiming
a victim from the land along the Ewaso Ngiro.
The baboons, too, who have remained in this region all year,
thrive in the shade of the forest along the river banks.
The dominant males never lower their guard.
The hunters also know that sooner or later their prey will come to drink,
and in the strip of forest there are frequent ambushes.
The risk is worth it.
Few carnivores would dare to challenge a family of baboons,
and the candelabra palms that grow along the banks of the Ewaso
are now heavy with fruit. So while the large males stand watch,
the young climb up into the treetops and throw down the ripe fruit to the rest of the group.
Another of the advantages of family life.
Among the shadows of this same forest,
just a short distance from the baboons,
two Kirk’s dik-diks nervously keep watch as they eat.
Standing two hands high,
and weighing around five kilos, they are the smallest antelopes in Shaba,
and even the large baboons could easily kill them,
so they nervously graze, never wandering far from the protective undergrowth.
The nervousness of the dik-diks is fully justified.
Because the forest in which they live is the habitat
of the most beautiful and elusive hunter in Shaba.
The leopards spend most of the day hiding in the boughs of the acacia,
where their mottled skin makes them invisible.
But when the sun goes down,
when the shadows creep over the savannah,
they come down from the branches to begin their hunting rounds.