Facing extinction

"When we lose an animal species to extinction, we lose part of our family!"

"Journey to Extinction" Kenya. The home of the last of the Northern white rhinos. The journey begins in Nairobi — a city that hums with life. Buses honk, street vendors call out, and the scent of roasted corn drifts through the air. It’s chaos and beauty all at once. For a brief moment, the calm of the Intercontinental offers a pause — a quiet fortress in a city that never truly sleeps.

Then comes the road to Ol Pejeta. Red dust, endless horizons, and that unmistakable feeling of being on your way to witness something you’ll never forget. The names Sudan, Najin, and Fatu carry a weight that’s hard to put into words — the last of their kind.

Stepping into Sudan’s enclosure, time slows. There he stands — the last male Northern white rhino. His keeper hums softly, rubbing cooling mud over his thick skin while Ringo, his cheeky companion, nudges for attention. It’s a small moment of tenderness, a gentle rhythm in the middle of an extinction story. Standing there, you feel both heartbreak and awe.

A little further away, Najin and Fatu roam under the open skies of Mount Kenya. They move slowly, gracefully, their massive forms backlit by the setting sun. Carrots in hand, I reach out, their leathery lips brushing my fingers — a fleeting connection with a species teetering on the edge. Rangers head out on evening patrol, their silhouettes framed against the mountains, protecting what’s left — and what still could be.

As darkness falls, the sounds of the bush rise — hyenas calling, jackals yipping, the wind whispering through the grass. Under a silver moon, reflection comes easily. Hope feels fragile here, but it’s still alive — carried by the rangers, the caretakers, and anyone lucky enough to stand in the presence of these quiet giants.

The story of Sudan, Najin, and Fatu isn’t just about loss. It’s about the stubborn, beautiful belief that we can still choose a different ending.

(photos: kimberly wood, bog photography)