I have never stood on the banks of the Mara River to watch the wildebeest migration. Like many Kenyans, I have only admired it from afar: through documentaries, features on local TV, or glossy photographs splashed across tourism campaigns. But I have dreamed of one day saving enough to see it for myself, to witness what the world calls the eighth wonder.
It is a spectacle of life and death: the thundering hooves, the stampedes, the vulnerable calves, the crocodiles waiting, the predators lurking.
In one clip I saw, a wildebeest mother fought off a crocodile to save her calf. As a mother myself, I wept. Because I understood. That instinct to protect your young is universal, whether wildebeest or human.
This is what makes the migration not just a tourist attraction, but a story of survival, resilience, and continuity. It is nature’s greatest drama, performed on our soil.
And yet, we are the ones ruining it.
The recent viral videos of tourists stepping out of vehicles and blocking the wildebeest at a critical crossing point filled me with anger. Not just as a Kenyan, but as someone who has always held this wonder close to heart. Those visitors, inconsiderate, uncouth denied the animals their natural path. They turned awe into obstruction.
The science of disruption
Scientists have long warned us about the cost of human interference. GPS collar studies in Kenya show that fencing, roads, and settlements already shrink wildebeest migration routes and restrict daily movement. Other research reveals that herds exposed to human disturbance have elevated stress hormones a biological response that weakens immunity, reproduction, and survival.
If we continue on this path, the ecological balance of the Mara-Serengeti will collapse. Predators such as lions and crocodiles depend on the migration. Carcasses from natural drownings and predation sustain scavengers and even fish. Interrupt that cycle, and the entire ecosystem suffers.
Kenya’s image at stake
The wildebeest migration is also the backbone of our tourism economy. It draws hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, pumping billions into the country and sustaining local jobs. According to the Ministry of Tourism, wildlife-based tourism contributes about 10% to Kenya’s GDP.
That is why officials, including Tourism Cabinet Secretary Rebecca Miano, expressed alarm after the viral videos. The Tourism Association of Kenya has also called for stricter enforcement, warning that reckless tourists are tarnishing the country’s global reputation as a safe and sustainable destination.
Let’s be honest: enforcement has always been the weak link. Tourists know the rules remain in vehicles, avoid crowding crossings yet, rogue operators and visitors break them with impunity. Unless the law is applied firmly, with penalties that bite, this cycle will continue.
Culture of respect, not just rules
But regulation alone will not save the migration. What we need is a cultural shift among guides, tour companies, and visitors alike. Safaris should not be treated as circus acts for Instagram reels. A safari guide’s duty is not just to deliver close-up shots but to protect wildlife and ensure that their guests understand the privilege of being in such a space.
Some conservationists have suggested bold measures: banning vehicles within 1,000 feet of river crossings during peak season, limiting the number of cars per crossing point, or even capping visitor numbers in the Mara altogether. These are not radical ideas. They are urgent, necessary steps to protect a fragile wonder.
For me, this is not just about science or policy. It is about something deeply personal. I have never seen the migration with my own eyes, but I carry it in my heart. I imagine standing there one day with my son, watching the herds thunder across the river, knowing we are witnessing something eternal a rhythm older than any of us, a story of survival and courage.
But what if, by the time I finally make it there, the spectacle is gone? What if all that remains are faded photos in tourist brochures, memories of what used to be? That possibility haunts me.
Because if we lose the migration, we lose more than wildlife. We lose jobs. We lose revenue. We lose a piece of Kenya’s soul.
Those tourists who blocked the crossing may not have understood the gravity of what they were doing. But we do. And with that knowledge comes responsibility.
I still believe that one day I will stand at the Mara River, my child beside me, and watch the wildebeest charge forward into the unknown. I want that moment to be real, not a dream deferred by our own recklessness.
The wildebeest are fighting for survival. The least we can do is get out of their way.
Let the Wildebeest Cross, Leave Nature Alone.
