R
RECENTLY I EMBARKED on a journey into the Seren-
geti. It wasn’t the Serengeti you might envision,
not the postcard vistas of rolling, yellow-grass
savannas punctuated by umbrella thorn acacias.
And I didn’t stay in a luxury tented camp or join the armies
of tourist vans swarming around lion kills.
Instead, I traveled to Loita, a part of the greater Seren-
geti ecosystem that doesn’t appear on the standard
itinerary—a hidden Serengeti, if you will, one that
includes a lush mountain wilderness rising more than a
mile above sea level. It’s about a 150-mile drive southwest
from Nairobi and overlooks the world-famous Masai Mara
National Reserve. Yet it’s a place most visitors to Kenya
don’t know exists.
My plan was to make my way up into the heart of this
green fortress to a place known in the Maa language as
Entim e Naimina Enkiyio, or the Forest of the Lost Child.
It’s a 115-square-mile cocoon of unspoiled rainforest, a land
practically hidden in plain sight. Once there, I hoped to be
granted an audience with the man who oversees this realm.
First you must know that I live a world away from Loita,
in Nairobi. It’s a metropolis of some five million people. It
THE LOITA FOREST IS THE
HIDDEN SERENGETI, A PRISTINE
WILDERNESS SACRED TO
THE MAASAI. THE FOREST’S
OCTOGENARIAN PROTECTOR SEES A
MYSTICAL LANDSCAPE INCREASINGLY
THREATENED BY GREED.