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At 6am we encountered a large herd of buffalo heading for the river. We waited on the road, which they would have to cross, but could not see them clearly in the thick bush. Clouds of red dust rising into the still morning air and the drumming of hooves gave their position away. The vanguard halted and began to mill about just short of the road. We spotted a lioness on the far side of the road, directly on the way the buffalo must go to reach the river. I saw two more, further up the slope on the river side of the vehicle, and then another, moving in a low crouch down the road towards us. The latter lioness lay down in a pool of shadow on the road cast by a large tree, and vanished! Simply by remaining still in deep shadow she was almost invisible.
Slowly, with seeming reluctance, a small group of six or seven buffalo advanced out of the main herd and crossed the road in front of us. We could see the lionesses keeping low, ears flat against their heads, their eyes locked onto the buffalo. Did the buffalo know they were there? Did they believe the way to the river was clear? Was this some sort of bovine Forlorn Hope, drawn as volunteers to test the strength of the enemy?
The small group of buffalo walked on towards the river. The first lioness, with no thought of waiting for her consorts, streaked from her hiding place as the buffalo scattered in panic. Unerringly she set her sights on the youngest, and dragged it bellowing to the ground, her jaws fastened on its throat. There she lay, while the buffalo in her grasp kicked and gasped, rolling its eyes in terror. And as we watched, no less then thirteen other lions emerged from the bush and trotted down to the kill. Nobody was hurrying – the lions looked well-fed, so this may have been an opportunistic rather than a necessary kill. They settled themselves, five mature females and nine half-grown youngsters, round the still-struggling buffalo, and started to feed.
We stayed with the lions for an hour or more, until one by one they left the diminished carcass to seek shade under the trees. A movement towards the river caught my eye. I turned and saw a troop of banded mongooses patrolling the river bank, stopping and starting and scurrying along with their bobbing, hunchbacked gait, sniffing and scrabbling with their front paws for food. I watched them through my binoculars, and then turned back towards the lions, only a couple of which remained at the carcass. The rest were lying on their backs in the shade with their feet in the air. Suddenly one got up. Head lowered, chin thrust forward, she fixed her gimlet gaze on something down at the river. She walked forward, and then broke into a purposeful trot, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on whatever had attracted her attention. She was running now, charging. She pounced in a cloud of dust, and rose with a squealing banded mongoose in her jaws. The unfortunate creature was mauled, batted about with her paws, and finally killed by being shaken as a terrier shakes a rat. Its killer dropped it, turned, and strolled back to collapse under her tree. Why would a lion interrupt its daily snooze and expend significant energy to kill a banded mongoose which it did not want? I have no idea.
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