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“The Ngorongoro crater is the mother of all safaris!” yelled Julius as the van fumbled along the rocky path that paved towards the precipice of this East African wonder. We were entering the land of the Maasai. As we climbed ever higher, a hazy fog engulfed us. The grey washed scene was far removed from the blazing heat that simmered through the bustling streets of Arusha yesterday; a memory of which I was painfully reminded every time I turned and my skin winced in pain. Julius erupted into a patriotic song in Swahili as we passed over the summit and descended into the volcanic caldera. “Tanzania nakupenda kwa moyo wote! Tanzania I love you with all my heart!” he sang melodiously while expertly managing the rocky terrain in poor visibility. A fellow passenger comically wailed “Julius! Slow down Julius!”, too preoccupied about becoming one of the Big Five’s next meals to pay attention to our guide. Once we were inside the crater, the sun had risen high in the sky, cooking the basin and creating hazy waves between a majestic herd that moved grandiosely across the plain. I picked up my binoculars, thankful that I had over packed in preparation for any situation (although the ten-too-many boxes of Dioralyte spilling out of my medical kit were possibly a stretch too far) and watched as eight elephants moved regally closer, one behind the other. Vans gathered to view the spectacle: a rich couple were sat closest to the animals in their gleaming Jeep that had the logo of an exclusive nature lodge emblazoned on the bonnet; slightly further behind was a professional photographer whose lens was shuttering with every movement; and at the bottom of the pecking order were the stereotypical tourists sporting ‘I LOVE TANZANIA’ t-shirts and lathered in SPF80. Suddenly Julius, an expert of his magnificent homeland, sprang into action. He put the van into gear and navigated through the throng of spectators, emerging from a haze of dust like a knight atop a fiery steed. “A cheetah is hunting” he said with his loveable rounded dialect that matched his body. We were in pursuit of an animal that could reach 100km/h in five seconds - the man was no match for the cheetah no matter how much ugali the man had eaten. The predator stealthily concealed itself between the blades of grass to choose which unlucky wildebeest it would be having for dinner: the challenge of targeting the biggest animal with the meatiest flesh? Or perhaps the smallest and easiest to kill? He darted decisively for the large group, stirring frenzy as they saw an animal with unrivalled speed and agility sprinting towards them. Spectacularly, this just wasn’t quick enough and the wildebeests defended themselves with a startling dexterity that one wouldn’t normally associate with the spindly-legged, wide-bellied animals. Further along the beaten track, the first remnants of water glistened ahead. In this muddy haven, surrounded by luscious green reeds, a hippo wallowed in all its gargantuan glory. Bathing, paddling and rolling her hefty body around, she hauled her sizeable weight out of the water and, unfazed by the attention, sauntered over to the rest of the hippos wading idly nearby. As we reluctantly ascended out of the crater, we stopped at a ledge that gave a stunning panoramic view of the perennial landscape in its entirety. The animals that had seemed so magnificent down on the crater floor were now lost in the crevices of the basin. With the sun resting lowly in the sky that was painted in hues of faded pinks, oranges and blues, I too felt miniscule under the hand of nature. Julius stepped out of the van to stretch his legs. He looked out into the distance and, without turning towards us, said “Now you understand why we sing ‘Tanzania I love you with all my heart’”.