The Laikipia Plateau of northern Kenya is spectacularly wild. Commanding granite kopjes glower down on a harsh, rolling landscape in which ridge follows ridge, torn by dramatic river gorges. This vast rugged land is the setting for a number of Kenya’s best-known bush homes, substantial private ranches that offer visitors not only access to some of the best wildlife and most inspiring scenery in the entire country but the freedom to enjoy a more personalised experience with a far greater range of activities than is generally permitted in the national parks and reserves.

We had come to Kenya with our three boys – Ned (ten), Kit (seven) and Jamie (five) – looking for adventure. For a family, safaris provide amazing experiences and the chance to explore together one of the most exciting environments on earth. But planning a safari with young children poses challenges: regardless of your children’s devotion to the Discovery Channel, hours of bumping around on endless wildlife drives can quickly pall. Standard safari schedules, which begin before dawn and finish long after dark, may produce tears of tiredness not joy.

Variety and flexibility are the formula for success and the bush homes we visited catered for this perfectly. Children enjoy lots of stimulating activities tailored to their interests and attention span; mealtimes fit into their normal regime, with food they at least recognise; pools or rivers are nearby for them to cool off in; parents can programme in needed downtime for rest and realistic bedtimes.

Perched on a cliff edge, Ol Malo House looks out over towards the bald dome of Ol Donyo Lotim and on over the Ewaso Nyiro valley to the distant jagged peak of Mount Kenya on the far horizon.  Built by owners Colin and Rocky Francome and their son Andrew, Ol Malo House is a flight of fantasy. With its individual rooms, quirky design, spiral staircase and central tower, it is a kind of African Hogwarts.

On arrival, the children run ahead of us to choose their room.
“That’s my bed.”

“That’s mine!”

“Dad, come and look!”  

Following the noise down a tight spiral stairwell, we enter the Cave Room – and gawp. I am not sure if I am in Narnia or Fred Flintstone’s House. Two colossal beds are cocooned in a painted concrete tunnel with irregular rounded openings. In the similarly fantastical bathroom a huge sunken bath could accommodate an entire pod of hippos.

The boys race on. Exotic gardens lead to the swimming pool – a stunning infinity pool that looks straight out over the abyss to the wilderness beyond.  Kit wanders round mouth open. Not normally our most expressive child, he yells to Louie, “Mummy, I have arrived in paradise!” It is impossible not to agree.

Over tea, shared, to the boys’ delight, with the Francome’s pet kudu Tandala, Colin describes how the family’s unrelenting effort over the past 18 years has rehabilitated the once neglected and over-grazed landscape. “At first, I couldn’t think how we would ever do it, but it was so beautiful I knew we had to try,” said Colin.

We have arrived at the beginning of the long rains; the land is uncharacteristically green and lush. Yellow anisoppapus africanus flowers blossom everywhere like buttercups in an English meadow. Wildlife is plentiful. The elfin features of Guenther’s dik dik seem to appear behind every small shrub.  We see many classic northern species: oryx, gerenuk, reticulated giraffe and the majestic spiral-horned greater kudu after which Ol Malo is named.  Herds of elephant drift through the ranch at will.

The Francome’s informal approach is perfect – less safari lodge and more family home. The children treat Colin as a surrogate grandfather and Andrew – bush-pilot, guide and instigator of all things exciting and dangerous – with a reverence verging on worship.  

A walk with Andrew is a relaxed affair. Slinging his Winchester .458 over his shoulder, he leads us through the bush with his border terrier and Labrador at heel. Along the way Andrew points out a klipspringer poised daintily on an implausibly steep rock. We scramble up a dry gulley and into a small cave to find a colony of bats, which flit within inches of our faces. Ned has become Andrew’s shadow and bombards him with questions about everything from dung beetles to a bright green chameleon that we stumble upon.

Just as the two smaller boys are flagging, as if by magic, Hussein Lachangai, Ol Malo’s charismatic head guide, appears leading a train of five saddled camels. Camels are perfect for children – controlled by Samburu handlers, they are comfortable, require no riding skill and provide a fantastic viewpoint. At our fly-camp that night on the banks of the Ewaso Nyiro River, the camel saddles make great bush sofas from which we watch Andrew teaching the children to cook over an open fire.  

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Days blur happily into a catalogue of spontaneous adventures and visits to see the Ol Malo Trust’s work with the local Sumburu community. Andrew takes us hurtling down rapids in the chocolate waters of the Ewaso Nyiro on inner tubes whilst his girlfriend, Chyulu, leads us on horse riding safaris to find the elephant herds. One afternoon we visit the Sampiripiri Art Project. The Samburu teacher overseeing a group of children painting shows our three boys how to begin their own watercolours. Ten-year-old Pires Tiresi Lochopoko paints red and blue giraffe browsing from green topped acacia trees watched by a blue rhino. His brushstrokes are made with infinite care and delicacy.

In 2000, after two years of protracted drought, and with their livestock dying in alarming numbers, the Samburu were literally starving. Having rapidly realised that the soup kitchen they had set up was unsustainable, Colin and Rocky’s daughter Julia started teaching the local children to paint pictures of life as they saw it, which were then sold to guests in the lodge shop. Within weeks the children were supporting up to 200 families with their earnings from their pictures.

Regardless of the language barrier, our boys make friends and interact with the Samburu children. Ned shows pictures of England on his digital camera while Jamie sits drawing with two little girls, one of whom keeps surreptitiously stroking his blonde hair.

The next morning we go to see the children at the school Ol Malo has built. We find the same teacher, Lesengai, leading the children clapping and chanting through their ABCs while each child takes turns skipping to the rhythm. An impromptu game of football ensues and the boys are lost amidst a whirl of shukas and bare feet. In contrast to the approach in missionary schools, the emphasis here is on promoting the Samburu culture. The two classroom teachers conduct lessons in full tribal dress, braids and with a short sword in their belts. The friendliness of the Samburu children and their eagerness to learn strikes a chord with our boys. As we leave, Ned says that he would like to write to them from his school – a significant commitment for a severely dyslexic child.

That evening we visit a Samburu manyatta. With the advent of rain, the young warriors no longer take their herds to distant grazing grounds. Now is the time for courting. The children watch transfixed as the ochred warriors leap high into the air as they dance.

With the boys clutching their treasured gifts of a bow and arrow each from Hussein, we take the short 20-minute flight south to Lewa Wildlife Conservancy. One of Kenya’s old settler dynasties, the Craig family has turned their 26,000ha private ranch into a pillar of regional conservation. You can’t drive far around Lewa’s gentle rolling hills and acacia stippled plains before you bump into the great lumbering bulk of a black rhino.  With its impressive rhino protection team and successful breeding programme, Lewa has played a pivotal role in saving Kenya’s black rhinos from extinction.  

Lewa epitomises the best of all that the bush homes offer to a family on holiday.  At Wilderness Trails, the Craig’s private lodge, we are greeted by Kiaama Karmushu. A shuka-clad Laikipiak Maasai, he greets our bow-brandishing boys with an indulgent smile. Karmushu leads us to a pair of comfortable cottages a discreet distance from the other guests, where he tells us we can have meals at whatever time works for the children and if we want to have supper in the main dining room once the children have gone to bed, the night watchman will sit with them till we get back.

Experiences come thick and fast. We head out into the wilds of Lewa with Karmushu and his team of guides to introduce us to the animal characters.

“Look Marty!” Jamie’s high-pitched shout causes Mwangi to stamp on the brakes of our Land Cruiser. In place of the cartoon zebra from Jamie’s favourite movie, Madagascar, we stare into the tight striped face of a Grevy’s zebra with its comical outsized ears. Lewa has 23 per cent of the remaining Grevy’s in existence. We peer down aardvark holes, watch cheetah grooming each other and get bogged down feet from two enormous male lions. The children are unperturbed.

On a bush walk, Kit insists on carrying Rakita’s Maasai spear, despite the fact it is almost twice as high as he is. We get close to giraffe browsing peaceably, navigate our way around elephant and keep a safe distance from a large herd of buffalo. Moving slowly and quietly, Rakita takes us to within 30m of a group of five white rhino.  Wildlife viewing doesn’t get more exciting than this.

After a morning’s exploration on horseback, Delia Craig, the warm-hearted 86-year-old matriarch of the Craig family, sweeps us off on a crab hunt at a natural spring in a grove of massive wild fig trees.

“Come on, I’ll catch more than you,” she challenges the boys and with a flourish of her walking stick sets to her task. For the next hour there is a frenzy of peering under pebbles and luring out freshwater crabs with bits of bacon. Later, after a sumptuous picnic lunch, Karmushu and the other Maasai organise an archery and knobkerrie-throwing competition.

On our last afternoon, Ned and I are given a special treat. Will Craig drives us up to the airstrip in his ancient Model T Ford.  In the hangar sits his pride and joy – a canary yellow 1930’s style Waco Classic bi-plane.  With the wind whipping through the open cockpit and the music of Out of Africa swelling in our headphones, we soar over the plains, past herds of eland and giraffe. Maasai children wave at us from their shambas as we swoop past. Ned’s tiny face, almost lost in his leather flying helmet, looks ready to explode with happiness. Another unforgettable adventure, just another day in Laikipia.