Lake Manyara National Park – The Quest for Tree-Climbing Lions
I never thought these words would come out of my mouth on a trip, but the beautiful room and lodge scenery made it wonderful to have a late 9:00 a.m. start to our safari day. Coffee was delivered early, and I spent the morning savoring the surroundings. As an added bonus, we didn't have to pack up and check out. Not today.
On our way out for the day, we bounced down the most rutted, bumpiest road we had encountered so far. Young kids ran from nearby homes and waved enthusiastically as we passed. Edward didn't wave back.
They were shouting something.
"What are they saying?" I asked.
"Zawadi," he replied. "It means gift."
I had suspected as much and tried not to let it change the interaction. Regardless of their reasons for running to the road, one thing was impossible to fake: the joy on their faces. The smiles were genuine.
We were headed to nearby Lake Manyara National Park. At 360 square kilometers, it is considered small. Nearly eighty percent of the park is now covered by water. Because the lake has no outlet, it continues to expand, gradually pushing wildlife out of areas they once occupied.
In its heyday, Lake Manyara was famous for two things: tree-climbing lions and enormous flocks of flamingos. However, after severe flooding around 2020 altered much of the park's landscape, those iconic sightings became far less predictable.
Portions of Lake Manyara felt like the real-world inspiration for Disneyland's Jungle Cruise: huge tropical vegetation, towering trees draped over the road, baboons, hippo pools, and plenty of elephant sightings. Those parts were beautiful.
A fresh buffalo carcass confirmed that lions were still in the park. Sadly, we became another statistic and never spotted one—either in a tree or on the ground.
But the park still had a few surprises waiting for us.
For one, we saw hippos. All from a safe distance—some lounging in the water, others sunning themselves on land. They're basically enormous pigs. I knew hippos were dangerous if you got too close. Despite their size, they can move surprisingly fast.
What caught my attention was all the ear wiggling. Disney had conditioned me to think it was a warning sign that a charging hippo was imminent, but it turns out it has nothing to do with aggression. They were simply doing what hippos do. Most problems, we were told, start when people get in the water with them—something we had no intention of doing.
Another lesson came courtesy of the elephants.
We were about to drive through a water crossing when Edward suddenly stopped. Another safari vehicle continued ahead, effectively forcing a bull elephant out of the water where it had been happily playing. The elephant immediately turned and faced the vehicle head-on—a clear indication that it should leave.
Edward explained that when an elephant is in the middle of doing something, it is usually best to let it finish. Elephants are intelligent, confident animals and generally don't appreciate being rushed—or moved along before they're ready.
This particular bull had dark streaks running between its eyes and ears—a sign it was in musth, a period of heightened testosterone and increased dominance in male elephants.
In other words, this was the elephant's way of saying: "Don't piss me off today."
It wasn't the most exciting day of the trip, but I wouldn't trade it for another.
As we parted ways for the evening, Edward smiled and said:
"Tomorrow our safari begins."
Tomorrow, we enter Serengeti National Park.
At dusk, having failed to spot any tree-climbing lions and discovering a domesticated cat wandering the property, Greg and I decided to take our chances and walk to dinner without radioing for flashlight security.
So far, the most dangerous predator we had encountered up close was a house cat.
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