Aryan had been counting down for forty-two days. He had a hand-drawn chart on his bedroom wall, and every morning before school he would cross off one box with a thick red marker. When the last box was finally crossed, he ran into the kitchen and announced to nobody in particular: "Kenya is tomorrow and I cannot sleep and I don't want breakfast."
Papa Rajan looked up from his tea and smiled over the rim of the cup. "You're going to need that breakfast, Aryan. Lions don't wait for hungry boys."
Mama Priya was already packing the last bag — sunscreen, hats, binoculars (two pairs, because Aryan had made her promise), and the brand-new notebook he planned to use as a "Wildlife Journal." He had read six books about the Maasai Mara in the past month.He knew that wildebeest crossed the river in their thousands every year, that cheetahs could run at 120 kilometres per hour, and that elephants remembered faces for decades. He felt extremely ready.
The flight from Chennai to Nairobi took nine hours and forty minutes. Aryan spent the first two hours watching the clouds, the next two drawing animals in his journal, and the final five falling asleep sideways across both his parents' shoulders, his new binoculars still looped around his neck.
When the wheels of the plane touched down and the pilot announced, "Welcome to Nairobi, Kenya, where the local time is 5:45 in the morning," Aryan pressed his face against the window and whispered: "We're actually here."