It’s almost hard to believe just how close to the inhabited areas of Nairobi the National Park is located. It feels as if we haven’t been in our vehicles for more than about five minutes and we are already in the short queue to be admitted.

Peter and Ian clearly have the paperwork all organised to perfection, as in just a couple of minutes they are back with us and we are being waved through the gates and into the park.

Nairobi National Park is small, less than 120 square kilometres, but it has a huge range of animal species to see and allegedly as many as 500 bird species. While we waited, our driver has lifted the pop-top roof of our vehicle and Brian and myself have found a space to stand at the back where we are clear of the others. The opening isn’t particularly large and I quickly realize that sometimes it is better to sit back down and look out of the window, rather than standing all the time.

I’ve put my long telephoto zoom lens onto the camera and left the rest back at the hotel. Not knowing how close to the animals I might get is something that I need to find out by experience. It quickly becomes obvious that I might not need the long lens as much as I thought.

We’re only a few minutes into our slow progression when we come across our first group of herbivores. There are a mix of zebra, gazelles and impala grazing on the plains. Looking out towards the south, I can see many more groups of them.

As my first ever family of giraffes approach, I’m honestly struggling to keep quiet and concentrate on getting the pictures that I came for. I think Brian can sense my excitement, as he locks his left arm across the opening in the roof to steady us both while he takes snaps with his phone.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” he asks as we get a quiet moment and move further towards the south-east end of the park.

“I… Yes. And this is only our first day. I never really expected to get this close to them.”

“No, me neither. They all seem so disinterested in us.”

“I suppose it is just familiarity. They must see hundreds of vehicles every day.”

“Lions, left side,” Ian calls from the front passenger seat.

Now everyone is on their feet and looking out to the left. The skyline of Nairobi’s business district is clearly visible in the near distance, but our focus is on the group of three female lions moving slowly towards the road just in front of us. Our driver, Joshua, brings us to a stop right in their path, about 100m in front of them.

I keep snapping away at them as they approach, convinced in my own mind that they will turn to one side and walk away. They don’t. Instead, they continue their walk towards us as if we aren’t there. I’m rapidly getting to the point where my camera can’t zoom out any further, now unable to get a whole lion in the frame.

At the last possible moment the three lions split apart and walk around our car; one in front and the others behind. They must be no more than three metres from our bumpers, as I lose sight of the one that went around the front. I decide that I want a change of angle and drop down into a seat, pushing the camera out through an open window to get some fantastic shots down almost at eye-level.

“They’re bloody huge up close,” I whisper as they walk away across the grasslands. “I had no idea.”

“I always wanted to see a lion,” Nicki tells me from one row in front. She’s clearly very emotional, as her voice is almost breaking, even at a whisper and there’s a hint of a tear in her eye. “This one moment makes the trip worth every penny.

“I think I’m with you, Nicki,” Sue adds. “That’s almost priceless.”

“I should have brought my ex with me,” I tell them with a smile.

“Whatever would you want to do that for?” Sue asks incredulously. “I thought you said he’s a piece of shit.”

“Well, I was thinking that I could throw the bastard to them! Just as a snack, you understand?”

“Don’t you think that would be a bit cruel?” Brian asks me from above my head even though he hasn’t heard the story. “Not sure the lions deserve being treated so badly.”

“You lot are all bonkers,” Andrea mutters from her standing position at the front. “But I would have paid extra to ensure such a feeding time.”

“Ian,” I ask quietly. “Would we get a discount if we bring someone along for only a part of the trip?”

“Not if it gives me that much bloody paperwork!” He at least can also see the funny side of the conversation. “If anything weird happens on this trip, I’m talking to you lot first.”

“Don’t worry, Ian,” I tell him gently. “We’re all talk. We will be on our best behaviour at all times.”

“Unless you give us alcohol,” Mary, the last of our group adds from the front row. “Then all bets are off.”

“I give up,” Ian mutters. “Joshua, let’s get moving again. Time to see what’s happening down by the river.”

We drive slowly through the park for the next hour or more, generally heading in a south-easterly direction. The park is something of a curved wedge and we are moving towards the narrow end.

I catch sight of the sign that tells me we are arriving at hippo pools just as we turn into a small parking space.

“There are a couple of footpaths on the banks of the river that we can take a look at and there are washrooms over there,” Ian tells us as Joshua turns the engine off. “We are a little early, but this is a pretty good place to stop for lunch. Stay in groups and don’t wander off to far.”

“What? We can get out?” I ask in wonder.

“Yes, but keep your wits about you. Don’t try and pet anything.”

“What, not even the monkeys?” Brian asks as he points to a group of vervet monkeys foraging on the ground between us and the washroom block.

“No, especially not the monkeys. They’re vicious little buggers. And, under no circumstances feed them. We’ll have a bloody stampede.”

“I’m going for a pee,” Brian tells me. “Wait for me and we’ll stick together?”

“Sure. I want to go down to see the hippos.” If this is what being on safari is like, then I’m really going to enjoy myself.

 

Ian gathers us into a single group for the short walk down to the river. There is a certain confidence gained from the perception of safety in numbers that I find comforting. I’ve obviously never done anything like this before. I was scared enough about the idea of being in a safari vehicle and close to wildlife. The thought of walking through the bush like this is a little daunting.

Clearly, however, we are all beginners here. I’m not the only one with a nervous expression and I’m sure this is obvious to Ian. “It’s okay, people. Just relax and enjoy the walk. If we meet anything – even a lion or a leopard – it will be more afraid of us as a group than we can ever be of it.”

“Was that meant to be reassuring?” Andrea asks him incredulously. “Leopard? Really?”

“Possibly. They are seen regularly down in the gorge a little to the west. If we get that lucky, it’ll be a bloody miracle with the amount of noise that we are making,” Ian explains.

The footpath is well-defined and reasonably maintained, very much like the roads have been within the park. The area looks like it should be popular, but we are the only group that I can see. The river is right below us, down a short but steep bank that I have to assume makes us safe from whatever is at or in the water.

After a walk of about 500m we come to a small footbridge across the now deepening gorge and the river below. From here we get a proper unobstructed view down into the water and a small group of hippos. They’re a bit of a disappointment if I’m being honest. All you really see are eyes, nostrils and a pair of twitching ears that appear and disappear again before the camera can focus on them.

I can’t say that I blame them for being in the water. The sun is now blazing down from almost directly overhead in a clear azure sky. On the southern bank there are even a couple of crocodiles sunning themselves on the small beach there. There are birds everywhere, a riot of shapes, sizes and colours that is almost overwhelming. I recognise a couple of the more obvious species, but I’m at a complete loss for many of the others. All I can do is try and grab a photo of each one and ask Geoff or Tim later.

Just a few hundred metres further upstream and the footpath comes to an end at an overlook of the river and the lower end of the gorge. There are no animals to see, but the landscape is spectacular and interesting; certainly worth the walk to see it.

I’m still a little unsure that we should be walking through the bush, even on a marked footpath and spend much of the walk back to the car park swinging my head back and forth, scanning for terrors in the undergrowth. It’s almost inevitable that, at some point during the walk, I’m going to trip myself up.

As I feel myself falling forward, my toe having hit an embedded stone in the path, my first instinct is to try and protect the camera that’s around my neck and being held loosely in my left hand. My thought is that, if I can spin myself around in the air, I won’t land on top of it.

I still land hard, despite the strong tug on the waistband of my shorts. Brian, walking next to me had tried his best to grab me as I went down, but hadn’t been able to do much more than take some of the sting out of it because I was trying to twist at the same time. Luckily, I land on my right side, the meat of my buttock and thigh taking the worst of the hit.

It's only when Brian takes my hand and helps me back onto my feet that I can see that I’ve also scraped my elbow and forearm enough to draw some blood. There’s a serious graze and a few spots of blood across my skin.

“I don’t want to cause any alarm,” Ian tells us as everyone gathers around me, “But we do really need to clean that up pretty quickly. There are genuinely things out here that will be able to smell even this tiny amount of blood. Good job we’re on the way back to the car.