Mahali Mzuri

Mr Smith and I look at each other – a look of excitement and sheer terror. Our guide has just spotted a pride of sleeping lions and is driving straight towards them. Have we just got into the car with a madman? He stops an arm’s width away as I begin to brace for attack. I slowly open my eyes – they haven’t moved an inch. 

There’s clearly nothing to worry about: our knowledgeable guide knows exactly what he’s doing and at this time of the day under the scorching Kenyan sun, these lions are only interested in napping. We’ve been here all of 30 minutes at this point, having landed at a nearby airstrip and been picked up in our own Toyota Land Cruiser. 

We drive on and, after a quick check with the binoculars, we’re told this is a safe place to get out for our champagne reception. As we sip the proffered bubbles we do our best to take in the slightly surreal situation we’ve found ourselves in. ‘Feel at home, away from home’ we’re told as we’re fitted with our ‘tracking devices’: a beaded Masai bracelet and without doubt the chicest all-inclusive band I’ve had the pleasure of wearing. 
 
To call Mahali Mzuri a camp is like calling St Paul’s a church. Sure, our room has canvas sides but that’s where the similarities end. We’d gladly trade our pad in East London for this ‘tent’. 

Polished wooden floors are laid with rugs, a brown leather sofa beckons with its plump patterned cushions and the bathroom stuns with its twin sinks, rainfall shower and roll-top bath. Our huge private deck comes complete with another sofa and sun loungers from which to sunbathe, stargaze or animal spot. We find waffle-robes, slippers, insect repellent and sunscreen in the wardrobe. Yet despite the luxury, Mahali Mzuri manages to be sympathetic to its surroundings, discreetly set on a ridge above a wide valley that creates a natural amphitheatre for game viewing. Mr Smith pours me a glass of wine from the fridge as I jump in the tub. I look up from the Masai rubber duck bobbing about (making a mental note to take him home) to clock Dumbo lazily making his way towards us. 

Before we know it, it’s afternoon drive-time. As we’re located in the Olare Motorogi Conservancy, there are no roads to stick to and the maximum number of vehicles allowed at any animal-spotting is five – although it’s often just us. Each vehicle holds a maximum of six passengers (although the most we ever share with is a honeymooning couple). Having already spotted nearly everything we wanted to see on the drive over (elephants, giraffes, hippos, ostrich, zebra, buffalo, warthogs and lions) we can’t imagine what will top it. Sure enough, we end up chasing a coalition of cheetahs who, in turn, are chasing a pack of gazelles. This time the gazelles get away but the thrill of the chase leaves us exhilarated. As if to make up for the lack of closure, the sky turns every shade of the rainbow as we speed back to camp for dinner. 
 
As someone who writes about food for a living, it’s rare, if ever that my next meal is far from my mind. Luckily I needn’t worry here as despite being in a truly remote location, the food does not stop. A brand new menu appears each lunch and dinner, providing ample choice – which is a blessing as there’s not another restaurant for as far as the eye can see.
 
Local rangers walk us back to base to ensure we’re not eaten by a lurking lion en route. We find the clothes we’d excitedly half unpacked have been buttoned and folded and put in place, hot water bottles hidden away under the covers. I do hope Mr Smith doesn’t expect this treatment to continue at home. In fact every time we return to our room the place has been spruced up, without us ever seeing the wondrous housekeeping team. 
 
We drift off to the sounds of the bush before a tentative knock at our door alerts us that it’s 5.45am. Pre-game pastries and hot drinks await us, as do hot water bottles and blankets in the truck. After another heart-warming drive (this time a leopard mama playing with her cub) we return to a continental breakfast with the addition of a full cooked breakfast (me) and pancakes (Mr Smith). 
 
Finding ourselves with a bit of downtime we venture down to the spa to get pummelled and pulled in all directions. I’m pretty sure I hear Mr Smith snoring but he soon wakes up for the champagne we’ve been left to enjoy on the private deck after our treatments. We while away the rest of the afternoon around the infinity pool where a fully stocked fridge keeps our thirst at bay and towels, sun cream and aloe vera are provided. 
 
We gather in the main tent for afternoon tea and compare sightings with our fellow campers before heading out once again. It appears those sleepy lions have woken up because we witness them devouring a poor zebra. Never did I think I’d see the intestines of a zebra, but each day comes with a new surprise at Mahali Mzuri. 

After witnessing such a gruesome feast we vow to eat the vegetarian option tonight. However that promise is quickly forgotten as we gather around the campfire and smell the aroma of tonight’s barbecue: a mixture of East African traditional dishes as well as steak, ribs, pork belly, prawn kebabs, breads and curries. We’re pulled to our feet for singing,  dancing and a rousing game of who can jump the highest (Mr Smith). We find ourselves still singing ‘Jambo, Jambo Bwana’ (Hello, Hello Sir), long after we’ve left camp. 
 
Before we know it our stay is over. I choke back tears as we leave; every single member of staff had come to wave us off. Indeed I only managed to cheer up as we got to the airstrip – the sight of a man on his motorcycle chasing off zebras from the runway in order to for our plane to land is enough to put a smile on anyone’s face.