We'd already missed the sunrise by Mount Kilimanjaro, which was to have been the first stop on the itinerary that we'd spent months planning back home. But - ever optimistic - we were grateful to be moving on and anxious to catch up with our guide on the other side of the Kenyan border. Despite earlier claims that this was a two to three hour journey, we found ourselves being bumped and jostled along for the next six hours on a hopelessly rutted road, which disintegrated from tarmac to gravel to dirt track as the route progressed. There were many stops along the way: to refasten the baggage that had shifted dangerously overhead; to examine potholes in the road that threatened to swallow up vehicles daring to cross their gaping yawns; to negotiate our passage through various security checkpoints and most especially to bargain our way across the bustling, chaotic border between Kenya and Tanzania. The journey seemed to take on mythical proportions - one with seemingly no end!

It was already mid afternoon when we arrived in Arusha, Tanzania's third largest city and unofficial safari center. The day - and indeed the trip with its well-defined programme - seemed to be slipping away from us. We were road weary and somewhat disillusioned when we finally met Jerry, our driver and guide. A warm, friendly Tanzanian, he flashed the kids a winning smile and scooped them into the jeep, instantly assuming their friendship. He wasted no time loading our luggage into the back of the vehicle and setting off. Day One hadn't turned out quite as planned - indeed, the much-anticipated safari hadn't even begun yet - but, with Jerry in the lead, we learned to relax and adopt the hakuna matata ("no problem') attitude that is the unofficial mantra in this part of the world. Strict schedules, attention to detail and structured programmes - all things inherent in the West - simply don't compute here. Yet life happens anyway despite whatever gets in the way. And this is what ultimately made our trip so memorable.

Tarangire National Park

The near-calamitous start to our adventure was forgotten shortly after passing through the gates of Tarangire National Park - our first stop. Although it is often overlooked by tourists who flock to the more famous Serengeti reserve, Tarangire offered a very special opportunity to view herds of wild animals in a peaceful, unhurried, isolated environment. Our first sighting was a heart-stopping, awe-inspiring moment, which came in the form of an enormous tangle of black and white zebra stripes. Only moments later we encountered the largest herd of elephants we would see during our entire trip, munching happily at a leafy grove of trees. Tucked amidst the sea of tough, wrinkly, grey hides were several baby elephants, whose trunks twirled possessively around their parents' tails. As the sun began to sink swiftly, we headed to the lodge where we would spend our first night on the African savannah. The day ended under a riotous sky streaked in gold, violet and red, as we enjoyed a quick dinner and fell exhausted into bed.

Our next stop was Serengeti National Park - home to some of the most impressive migratory herds on the planet. Zebra and wildebeest in the millions roam the savannah from one side to the other during wet and dry seasons in search of food. Antelopes, gazelles and giraffes are often too numerous to count. Others were much more elusive, like the shy cheetahs, of which we managed only hurried glimpses as they kept a considerable distance from our vehicle. Several times we were able to come within a few metres of an enormous male lion, which seemed oblivious of - or unimpressed by - our presence. While it was tempting to look upon these magnificent creatures as big, cuddly toys, Jerry gently reminded us that arms and legs were to remain inside the vehicles at all times and windows were to remain closed. The roof was in any case always raised to allow for fresh air as well as stand-up, open-air views of the animals.

We spent several days on the Serengeti, sometimes jockeying for space with crowds of other safari vehicles rushing toward a reported animal sighting nearby, which the guides communicated via walkie-talkies. Other times we found ourselves completely alone in a quiet corner of the world where we could sit and watch the animals with only the whisper of an African breeze to accompany us. Life followed no particular programme and we were content to fall into the simplicity of this rhythm. We were determined to see all of "the Big Five' - the five most sought after animals on an African safari: lion, buffalo, elephant, leopard and rhinoceros. To keep the kids entertained on the long drives, Jerry taught them their names in Swahili, one of Tanzania's official languages: tembo for elephant; punda milia for zebra; kifaru for rhino; twiga for giraffeÉ and, of course, simba for lion. We were successful in spotting all of them, except for the chui, or leopard, which eluded us completely. We were incredibly lucky, though, with over 70 lion sightings during our trip. Many visitors consider themselves fortunate to see just one!

The long, slow dance of the hunter and hunted

The highlight of our trip came early one Serengeti afternoon. As we approached a watering hole, where a large herd of zebra had come to drink, Jerry spotted a female lion tucked low in the grass some distance away. He pulled the vehicle over and suggested that if we were patient enough to wait and watch for some time we might be rewarded with the opportunity to watch a lion attack. And so - unplanned and clearly not on the itinerary - we spent the next hour and a half watching an elaborate tango between the hungry lioness and the infinitely wary zebra herd.

The female lion watched silently, tail swishing back and forth, as several zebras approached the water and put their heads down to drink. As they did, she moved several, excruciatingly slow steps closer. The rest of the herd huddled closely, nervously together surveying the territory around them. Sensing danger but unable to see it, they twitched uneasily, causing the entire herd to shift abruptly a couple of steps. Those who'd been drinking stopped abruptly to join the rest of the herd that looked around nervously. Several minutes passed before their anxiety subsided and the next zebras would move in to take a drink. The scene repeated itself time and again. On each occasion, the lioness narrowed the distance between herself and her intended victims, like a long, slow dance of the hunter and the hunted.

Once she'd narrowed the gap between herself and the herd to a reasonable striking distance, she decided on a moment and sprinted the last dozen metres towards them. Finally seeing the danger tearing towards them, the entire herd of zebras turned in one giant flash of stripes and raced away, kicking up a huge cloud of dust making it difficult for everyone - including the lioness - to see. As the air shook with the sound of hundreds of sets of hooves, we waited anxiously for the dust to settle to see whether the female lion had been successful or the zebras had escaped unscathed. As the dust drifted lazily into the afternoon sky, we spotted the lioness making her way back to the shelter of a nearby tree to rest - unsuccessful. Our girls, who had initially been mortified at the thought of seeing a zebra killed, learned in that instant an important lesson of nature: that ultimately one animal would have to die in order for another to live. Suddenly, our children's hearts shifted to the fate of the exhausted and hungry lioness, and the realisation of the seemingly cruel play of nature between hunter and hunted, survival and death.

The third stop on our itinerary was the Ngorongoro Crater and conservation area. The velvety green and brown slopes of this 20-kilometre wide caldera drop dramatically to offer spectacular views to its basin 500 metres below. It hosts an amazing variety of landscapes - a soda lake, shallow ponds, grassy plains, sparse woods and a large palm grove - each of which plays host to a unique group of wildlife. A huge flock of noisy, long-legged flamingos stood in the still waters of the lake, which reflected their brilliant pink silhouettes like a gigantic mirror. Fat, round hippos bathed in a deep pool so that only a small circle of their backs stuck out of the water like slippery, grey stepping stones. Several black rhinos - tagged and watched around the clock by vigilant park rangers against the relentless pursuit of poachers - roamed lazily. Sadly at the time we visited, there were only about 20 of these creatures left in all of Tanzania, where once there had been thousands.

Our last day was spent in the smaller, very beautiful, Arusha National Park. The children greeted Jerry with an enthusiastic jambo (hello) as they clambered into the jeep for their last safari day. We spent a few leisurely hours touring the park, before returning in the afternoon to the lodge where we would spend our last evening. Built in the traditional style of the tribes of the African savannah, our small, round thatched family hut was blessed with spectacular views of Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance. Our girls were enjoying some quiet time drawing on the veranda when a group of local children accompanied by two women meandered by. The children stared curiously at our girls who were absorbed in their artistic endeavours. As they slowed down to watch, our girls realised that their coloured pencils were the objects of fascination. My eldest daughter, ever generous, disappeared inside the hut to bring out a handful of rainbow-coloured pencils and a stack of paper. She proceeded to hand them out to the children, who responded in sparkling-eyed wonder at the gift. It was an incredible moment of the meeting of two worlds; and an indelible reminder of the simplicity of the lives of these children, whose imagination could be captured in the gift of a coloured pencil, which our children take for granted. Here, too, was a moment no itinerary could promiseÉ and yet, much later, it remains one of the most memorable moments of our trip.