By Gabriel Mungarrieta
Photographer11 Aug 2025 - 5 Minute Read
If you had told me at the start of the year that on a random autumn morning I’d be in the back of a roofless jeep, heart in my throat as an elephant herd surrounded us, I probably would’ve believed you. Why? Because stories have a way of pulling you toward the unbelievable.
Eighteen months ago, I left home in Australia with one goal: to collect stories. Stories of my own — stories that widen eyes, draw gasps, and inspire others to seek their own.
My love for stories began early, sparked by my father’s campfire tales. Though I’ve never been the most compelling speaker, I’ve found my voice through the lens of a camera.
When I found out I’d been chosen as one of three scholarship winners to document an African safari, I felt a quiet mix of disbelief, excitement, and pride. It felt like recognition—not just of my work, but of the path I’d chosen. From that moment, expectations were high. But what the trip became still managed to blow them out of the water.
From the moment we hit the dirt roads, camera ready, I was on the lookout — not just to outdo our eagle-eyed tracker Noel in spotting animals, but also to catch little moments of magic. No amount of research can prepare you for what’s out there: untamed chaos. One moment, a pride of lions devouring a Cape buffalo bull, vultures watching and waiting nearby; moments later, a standoff between two
massive bull rhinos. Just beyond that, Noel spots a leopard camouflaged by the bush, resting beside its next meal, a dead impala. All within 20 minutes.
But if you look closely enough, within that wild chaos, the African Savannah reveals another side to its wilderness.
When people think of our link to animals, they often think first of our biological relatives — chimps, monkeys, and the like. But after hours spent within arm’s reach of animals that thousands of years of evolution have taught us to fear, I started to see parallels not in DNA, but in behaviour.
The tender embrace of a lioness grooming her cubs — the unmistakable warmth of a mother’s touch, reminiscent of the quiet love we see in a human mother cradling her newborn. For an animal known for its unforgiving strength and ferocity, witnessing that bond felt profoundly human. Beneath the wilderness, maybe we’re not so different from these beasts.
Or the childlike innocence of an elephant calf running through the herd, its short legs scrambling to keep up. These calves, no more than 6 months old, eyes marked with the unmistakable sparkle of curiosity - splashing in the water while the family drank, rolling in dirt during dust showers - all with a smile on their face. Blind to the unforgiving world around them, like a newborn taking its first steps, seeing the world for the first time, seeing only the beauty in it that we adults sometimes forget.
But we don’t share just beauty. We share flaws.
In a world where the next meal is never promised, animals don’t just fight rival species, but each other.
I watched a pride of lions, supposedly family, vanish into a cloud of dust as they clawed and bit at one another over a carcass. A buffalo, already more than enough to feed them all. A display of violence and a ruthless greed that felt eerily familiar. Not just animalistic - but human.
So many deadly battles amongst their own, often not for survival, but rather ego or dominance. These are the traits that earn them the title of the wildest, most dangerous animals on the planet. Traits that don’t stray too far from those we find in our society. It makes you wonder, are we so different?
But as the savannah seems to mirror our chaos and conflict, it also reminds us of something far more tender — stillness, wonder.
One afternoon, as the golden hue of a setting sun illuminated the savannah, we stumbled across a pride of lions resting amongst the tall grass. Close enough to hear their breaths, the world went quiet. Cubs tumbled, playing, but one lioness caught my attention. She lay there, completely still, her eyes weren’t scanning for danger, nor looking for prey. I followed her gaze upwards, a full moon.
There’s something about seeing the moon during the day — it always stops me. I like to think that, for just a moment, it stopped her too.
That she felt what I was feeling: awe, wonder, maybe even the tiniest sense of purpose.
In that moment, I saw curiosity. Reflection. Maybe even longing. I saw something that felt, unmistakably, human.
I came to Africa in search of stories, and I found them in the moments that blurred the lines between wild and human. I found mothers who love, kids who play, rivalswho fight, and individuals who wonder. I found that awe isn’t a human invention - it’s a universal language.
Because everywhere you look — if you’re still enough, quiet enough — there are stories to be told.
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Photographer
Gabriel Mungarrieta is a photographer and recipient of the 2024 World Nomads Travel Photographer Scholarship.
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