Their safari guide was a tall, cheerful Maasai man named Samuel. He wore a bright red shuka cloth and drove a green open-top jeep that smelled of red dust and adventure. He shook Aryan's hand very seriously and said,"Welcome to the Mara, young naturalist. The animals have been waiting."
Aryan decided immediately that Samuel was the coolest person he had ever met.
As the jeep rolled out of the camp and the tall golden grass swallowed the road on either side, Priya reached for Rajan's hand. The sky above the savannah was turning from pale grey to the most incredible shade of orange and pink Aryan had ever seen — as if someone had spilled a whole tin of paint across the horizon. A lone acacia tree stood silhouetted against it, still and dark like a painting.
"Papa, look,"Aryan breathed, barely above a whisper.
Rajan put his arm around his son."I'm looking, champ. I see it."
They sat in silence for a full minute, the three of them, watching the sunrise over Africa. And in that quiet, even a ten-year-old boy who had read six books about the Mara could feel that no book had quite prepared him for this.