The Great Migration

It was the morning of October 9, the last day of our 10-day Tanzanian safari, and we were on our way to view the famed river crossing of the “Great Migration,” the largest mammal migration on earth. 

Every year, nearly two million wildebeest travel in an enormous loop from the grasslands of Tanzania’s Serengeti plain to Kenya and then back again. This odyssey in search of better grazing, 800 to 1,000 km long, is often termed one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World.

Yet, there was some uncertainty we would actually see it.

The wildebeest, often accompanied by zebras, leave Tanzania, typically in May and June, at the beginning of the dry season. They return in October/November, ahead of the rains. In both directions, they have to cross the crocodile-infested Mara River, where tourists gather with their cameras.

However, while we were still in the central Serengeti, our guide, Hassani, had been hearing negative reports from other drivers coming back from the Mara River in the north. Crossings, they said, were scarce. Bina and I had spoken to a young Dutch couple who waited a day and a half a day to see a crossing, with no result.  

The problem is that wildebeest, a species of antelope, do not follow a regular schedule when making these river crossings. They can mill around all day on the bank and do nothing. Or, as if flipping a switch, they suddenly storm across the river. 

There’s no way to predict or anticipate when this will happen; you simply have to sit there and wait. Today marked our one chance to see the crossing, since we would begin our return to Portugal the following day.  

Arising before dawn in our tent camp, we had a quick breakfast in the communal dining tent before climbing into the Toyota Land Cruiser. By 6:45 a.m., just after sunrise, we were on our way over the bumpy, rutted roads heading to the river. 

Hassani joked about how the wildebeest base their crossing decisions on the presence of “immigration officers,” by which he meant crocodiles. “If they go to the water and see an immigration officer, they turn back because they don’t have proper papers. If they find no immigration officer, they cross.”

Funny, but wildebeest actually operate on instinct and habit. Lacking natural leaders, or really any brains, they literally just go with the herd. One wildebeest heads toward the water, they all move toward the water; somebody reverses course, they all follow.  

We saw this process in action after we reached the river, shortly after 7 a.m. For nearly 20 minutes we watched several hundred wildebeest gathered on the opposite shore mill about in a seemingly random fashion, to the edge of the river and back again. We were resigning ourselves to a long wait when, without warning, a group leaped into the water.

Bina and I sprang up from our seats, cameras in hand, to position ourselves around the raised roof of the jeep. Since Hassani had parked on a steep riverbank, we had a good viewing point for the crossing below.

The spectacle in front of us was spellbinding: a massive horde of horned animals leaping into the swift current and frenziedly paddling across, shoving each other, stumbling over rocks, desperate to grain the other shore. The air thrummed with their low, bleating sound. Was this how wildebeest express terror?  

They had reason to fear. Within minutes, we spotted the narrow snout of a crocodile, paddling downstream, heading directly for them. 

The wildebeest cross en masse, which provides some protection, but they leave plenty of isolated targets on the fringes. The snout disappeared for second, then erupted in a splash of water in the midst of several of these outliers near the shore. One appeared to be flailing, more frenzied than the others.

Crocodiles don’t maneuver well in deep water, but are supremely deadly in the shallows, where they can use their tails, as well as teeth, to pull an animal under. Once he had a firm grip, this croc dragged his prey back into the current. A last agonized surge of horns and the wildebeest was gone, joining the estimated 6,000 who succumb to crocodile attacks every year in the Mara River. (Nearly 120,000 others die from lion attacks, injury or disease while making the land trek.) 

After this crossing had finished — some wildebeest remained on the other side, to try another day — we drove along the riverbank to follow the crocodile as he dragged his kill downstream, depositing it in the shallows to feast upon at leisure. 

In the course of this morning, we witnessed four separate crossings before embarking on our last excursion of the day, a trip to Kenya, the border being just a few kilometers north of the river. We drove across the river on a bridge, which struck us as ironic. Couldn’t at least some of the wildebeest save themselves all that crossing drama by strolling across here? 

Once over the bridge, we encountered open grasslands stretching to the horizon. The herds of wildebeest, zebras, gazelles and antelopes dotting the landscape reminded us the Great Migration wasn’t over yet — it would continue for the rest of the month.  

In 20 minutes, we reached the Kenya/Tanzania border, which is marked by stone markers. Here, we encountered a middle-aged English couple and their driver engaged in the same activity as us — viewing the Great Migration, except from the Kenyan side of the river. We snapped some photos to commemorate the occasion. 

It seemed a fitting way to end the day, and bring our African safari to a close.