On our return trip after two glorious nights at Xobega Island Camp earlier this week, a group of visitors and myself were fortunate enough to witness an extraordinary scene involving two big cats.
It all began with a nice sighting of a young male lion, sprawled full length alongside a termite mound in the shade of an acacia, where he was dozing peacefully out of the mid morning sun.
He was in good condition and we were all very pleased to see him. Cameras clicked away and he paid us not the slightest bit of attention as we marvelled at him. The shaggy locks of his golden man had not fully developed, but he made for an impressive sight nonetheless. He was big, strong and healthy. In a year or two he’d be a force to be reckoned with.
An instant later, though, his whole demeanor changed. He got to his feet and turned, ignoring us all the while. He sniffed and pricked up his ears. Something had got his attention alright.
Just then he began to call. There was something different about the sound he made though. It was timid and anxious. There was an unmistakable note of desperation. This was far from the brute territorial roar emitted by a mature male surveying his realm; this was something else entirely.
If he received a response we did not hear it, but he suddenly began to move. He took off at a trot, emitting his peculiar plaintive calls every so often in mid-stride as he went. We could not help but follow. We had to see how this drama played out and he certainly didn’t seem to mind our presence behind him.
He made his way across a grassy plain with our vehicle in pursuit along the path behind him. He moved gracefully and with unmistakable purpose, eyes fixed intently ahead of him. Was it a female he was after? An intruder on his turf? We were perplexed and absolutely engrossed in the dramatic scene.
At last a shape materialised in the long grass ahead of him. It was another lion, also alone. Obscured as it was we could not tell it’s sex, but it was calling to our male as he approached. As he drew closer the second lion emerged from the long tufts of grass that screened him from our vision and revealed himself to be another young male.
The older of the two slowed as he approached, and they made some yowling sounds and bared their teeth in the prelude to what was an extremely affectionate greeting. They rubbed up against one another and seemed to check on each other’s well-being before the younger of the two collapsed on the ground and the elder stood protectively over him.
These two lions were nomadic males, brothers, interlopers in and across other established territories. They had likely been split up during some incident or altercation, and we’d been lucky enough to witness their joyful reunion on the grassy flats of Moremi.
Male lions are typically expelled from the pride around their third year, and from then on they’re on their own until, one day, they claim a territory of their own. Survival rates are low because making it alone in the wild is tough even for a creature as fearsome as this.
They’re called nomadic because they typically rove around, never spending too long in one spot lest they draw the attention of a resident male. Finding food is difficult too, and nomadic males must often make do with scavenged leftovers and opportunism.
The world is a dangerous place for a lion like this, and for this reason they often team up with others in a similar position, at a similar age and stage. These alliances are often built upon blood-ties, and the bonds formed during these difficult early years often last a lifetime. They can be the basis for coalitions strong enough to rule large prides and command large swathes of territory.
Bonds like this are not only useful for short term survival, in other words, but can be determining factors in the future success or failure of male lions. For this reason the bonds of loyalty and affection that bind these animals are strong, and the visitors and I were granted a rare insight into this relatively obscure aspect of the lives of lions in the form of two separated brothers finding each other in the midst of a harsh and hostile environment.
It was a rare privilege, and one I will not soon forget.
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