Driving to a more solid section of shoreline, we sit out the brief downpour, then walk toward the water as golden light pours across the valley. Black sky gives way to enormous white clouds, and the curtain lifts on an exquisite pink ballet in the shallows. Not a word is spoken, and the only sound is the mutter and honk of thousands of flamingos. At the Samburu Game Reserve, we camp on the banks of the Ewaso Ng'iro River. It's humid here, dense with peculiar vegetation.
Small hills rise like islands from the valley floor.
The place is thick with bird life. Nighttime, and I write by the glow of lantern light as the forest beyond swells with a chorus of croaks, peeps and chirps. A bird coos a dreamy note, over and over. Ground-dwelling cicadas emerge from holes, crackling the steamy air with their shrill buzz. Green moths as big as my hand slap against the glass lantern.