There are safaris—and then there’s your first safari in Kenya, where the roads humble you, the monkeys outsmart you, and your digestive system files a formal complaint. Before I ever saw a lion or heard the thunder of elephants across the plains, I learned what true adventure smells like: a combination of red dust, diesel, and dung.

Here’s the full breakdown of what it’s like to go on a safari in Amboseli National Park—complete with majestic moments, misadventures, and a suspicious amount of Imodium.

The (Very Bumpy) Road to Safari Dreams

Our journey began in Nairobi, where the city’s hustle fades quickly as you head south toward Amboseli. If you think this drive is your opportunity to nap before the animal sightings begin—don’t. The roads will jolt your kidneys into high alert. Our safari truck was equally thrilling and spinally abusive, one of those rugged Toyota Land Cruisers with pop-up roofs and a suspension system from the Jurassic era.

There were stretches of paved road that tricked you into hope, followed by rutted, dusty trails that rattled every dental filling I had. But as Mount Kilimanjaro began to rise in the distance like a holy vision, I forgot the potholes and remembered why I came.

Welcome to Amboseli: Where Monkeys Rule and Worms Wander

We pulled into our lodge—a rustic-chic oasis surrounded by acacia trees and wildlife that doesn’t respect fences. The view of Kilimanjaro was surreal. There it was, snow-capped and silently towering over everything like it owned the place. (Because it does.)

But our welcome committee wasn’t the mountain. It was the monkeys.

These were not shy, cute Instagram monkeys. These were militant, banana-thieving anarchists. One monkey scaled the side of our safari truck, cracked open the window like he’d done it a hundred times before, and made off with a half-eaten banana and lip balm. He paused just long enough to shoot us a smug, over-the-shoulder glance—like a seasoned jewel thief making a clean getaway—then leaped into the trees, prize in hand.

That night, we also learned about worms. Not the metaphorical kind. Real, wiggly, thick-as-a-Snickers-bar worms that lurk in wet grass and appear when you least expect. One of our group members discovered this the hard way—by stepping on one in flip-flops and screaming loud enough to wake everyone and maybe a few zebras. As if that wasn’t enough, another unlucky soul found a frog camped out in their toilet bowl, blinking up at them like they were the intruder. At that point, we stopped asking for turn-down service and just accepted that the wildlife had moved in.

Our First Game Drive: Dust, Dung, and the Chase of a Lifetime

Safari days start early. And I mean early. We were up at 5:30 AM for coffee and rusks (a dry biscuit-like thing best described as “toast’s less charming cousin”) before piling back into the truck. Wrapped in scarves and optimism, we popped the roof and headed into the park.

Amboseli is elephant territory, and the elephants did not disappoint. Towering, silent, majestic, they lumbered through the savannah-like ancient spirits. Zebras darted, giraffes peered curiously from the trees, and wildebeests… well, they mostly ran like they forgot why.

But then it happened. A cheetah. Lean, muscular, and laser-focused—her body low to the ground, every step a whisper in the dust. We spotted her first, then noticed the two cubs nestled in the tall grass nearby, heads poking up like curious spectators. She wasn’t hunting for sport—she was hunting for survival, for her babies.

The air went still.

Birds—guinea fowl and starlings—screeched in warning, trying to alert the grazing gazelles. Their heads snapped up. Ears twitched. Tension rippled through the herd like a silent alarm.

Then—an explosion of motion.

The cheetah burst from the grass in a flash of muscle and desperation. The gazelles scattered, hooves pounding the earth, dust billowing in frantic clouds. She gave it everything—speed, power, precision—but the gazelle veered hard, cutting left just out of reach.

She missed.

We were torn—part of us quietly cheering for the gazelle, alive and free another day, and part of us aching for the mother cheetah, who now had to return to her cubs empty-pawed. It was heartbreaking and beautiful. It was a glimpse into the daily gamble of life on the savannah, where victory and survival rarely align.

One of us cried, and another whispered, “Circle of life,” like they were trying to make sense of something wild and ancient that couldn’t be fully understood—only witnessed.

Tribal Encounters (and Dung Shoes)

We were invited to observe some of their traditional customs and daily life during our visit to a Maasai village. The welcome was warm, and the experience was deeply humbling—but not without moments that tested my comfort zone. As we toured the compound, we were shown how the community uses cow dung mixed with mud to build their homes—thick-walled manyattas designed to insulate from heat and cold. The smell was… robust. I tried to keep a straight face but between the flies and the knowledge of what I was standing next to, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly channeling National Geographic-level composure.

What fascinated me most, though, were the traditional healing practices. One elder shared how they used roots, bark, and leaves as natural remedies for fever, digestive issues, and wound care. They crushed herbs into a fine powder to apply to insect bites and boiled tree bark for medicinal tea. They used aloe directly from the plant to soothe burns and skin irritations. It was a reminder of how resourceful and in tune they are with the land—practicing sustainability and wellness long before either became buzzwords.

I listened intently, grateful for the opportunity to learn—but I also kept a cautious eye on my surroundings, just in case anything else underfoot tried to surprise me.

Flies and False Security

Now, I’d been warned about flies in Africa. But there’s something uniquely humiliating about trying to look composed while fifteen flies simultaneously attack your face, ears, and emotional well-being. Our guide called them “ambitious flies.” I called them “satanic air gremlins.”

You haven’t lived until you’ve tried to swat flies off your sandwich while an elephant stares at you, unimpressed.

The Food Was Great… Until It Wasn’t

The lodge’s dinners were hearty and flavorful: spiced stews, grilled meats, and fresh mango slices. We all gushed about how lucky we were and how good the food was.

And then came the last night.

It hit our group like a coordinated ambush. At first, it was subtle—a stomach cramp here, a twinge there. But by morning, five out of eight of us were in gastrointestinal despair. The six-hour ride back to Nairobi became an exercise in prayer, fortitude, and questioning every life decision that led to that final plate of pasta.

The safari truck became a mobile emergency room with plastic bags, peppermint gum, and so much silence. Our guide kept a cooler head than our internal temperatures to his credit.

A Magical Send-Off: Kilimanjaro’s Parting Gift

Despite everything—our sick stomachs, our sunburns, our war with the flies—Kilimanjaro gave us a farewell to remember. On our final morning, the mountain emerged from the clouds just after sunrise, golden and glowing like a fantasy novel. Every camera went up. Every complaint dissolved.

This was the image I’d take home. Not the worms. Not the bathroom sprints. Not the monkey who tried to steal my granola bar. But this—a majestic mountain and a silent promise that nature always wins.

Final Stop: Craft Market

Back in Nairobi, rehydrated and moderately stable, we made a pit stop at the Maasai Market. There were rows and rows of handcrafted goods—beaded jewelry, batik fabrics, soapstone carvings, and handwoven baskets. It was vibrant, colorful, and beautifully overwhelming.

Prices were negotiable, and bargaining was expected. I proudly haggled a bracelet down from 3,000 KES to 1,000 KES, only to learn later that I’d still overpaid by local standards. Tourist tax. It’s worth it.

Pro Tips for First-Time Safari-Goers

• Pack Imodium. Enough said.
• Bring a scarf or bandana. Great for dust, sun protection, or fly-fighting.
• Avoid flip-flops. Especially when meeting cows or worms.
• Don’t skip the early drives. That’s when animals are active, and the light is magical.
• Ask about food safety. If your lodge has reviews mentioning GI issues, pay attention.
• Visit the local villages. Authentic experiences that deepen your perspective.
• Look up. The mountain appears when you least expect it—but always when you need it.

For the full planning checklist, gear guide, and budget tips, read the complete safari prep guide here.

Safari Schedule 101: When and How You Ride

There are typically two game drives per day:

• Morning Drive (6:00 AM – 9:00 AM): Cool temps, fresh animal tracks, golden light.
• Afternoon Drive (3:00 PM – 6:00 PM): Animals head to water sunsets over the plains.

Our trucks were open-roof Toyota Land Cruisers with tiered seating—perfect for photography but less perfect for potholes. Each drive felt like its own epic film.

Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely. The magic of Amboseli isn’t just in the lions or elephants. It’s in the details: the soft whoosh of zebra hooves, the hypnotic rhythm of tribal chants, the mountain’s silent watch. Even the chaos—the stomach bugs, the monkey drama, the flies—made it unforgettable.

A safari in Kenya teaches you to surrender. To let go of comfort and control. To trade luxury for life and neatness for nature. And when you do? You might find that wild, messy magic you didn’t even know you were searching for.

Don’t Just Read About It—Live It:

Thinking about your first safari? Don’t just dream it—do it. Say yes to the bumpy roads, the monkey madness, and the unforgettable beauty of Kenya’s wild side. Bring your curiosity, camera, sense of humor, and hand sanitizer. Amboseli is waiting, and it’s wilder, weirder, and more magical than you ever imagined.

Start planning your safari to Amboseli now—your story’s about to begin.