Cecil the lion was more than just a famous face in Hwange National Park – he was a legend. His story had everything: power, pride, fierce rivalries, and a coming of age that captured the hearts of many. He moved through the bush like he owned it, with a quiet strength that turned heads. This isn’t about how his life ended – it’s about how he lived, and the legacy he left behind.
Introducing Calvet, Our Storyteller
The story begins, as the best ones do, around the campfire. Our guide, Calvet, leans in with a familiar spark in his eyes – this is his favorite tale of territory and legacy. Raised in a small village in southern Zimbabwe, Calvet’s love for the bush runs deep. Since stepping into the guiding world in 1995, he’s become known not just for his vast knowledge, but for the warmth and energy he brings to every game drive.
When it comes to Cecil’s story, Calvet truly comes alive. His storytelling is vivid, animated, and deeply personal – he speaks of the lions as if recalling old school friends. At Somalisa Expeditions, where the fire crackles and the night settles in, we listen closely. There’s a hush of anticipation. We know we’re about to hear something unforgettable.
The Rise of Cecil the Lion
Cecil wasn’t just any lion – he was known, named, and tracked as part of a research project, which gave the world a rare window into the life of a true wild icon. He was the Hercules of Hwange National Park: powerful, unmistakable, unforgettable. With his thick black mane, towering frame, and golden eyes that seemed to see straight through you, Cecil embodied everything a lion should be. Travelers came from all corners of the globe for the chance to witness him in the wild. He wasn’t just admired – he was revered.
“It all started with Cecil and his son, Xanda. They had a pride of 16 strong,” Calvet begins, his voice low and steady as the fire crackles. The two lions ruled the eastern reaches of Hwange, in the Linkwasha Concession. Then came the challengers – a formidable brotherhood from the north: Bush and Bhubesi. “You can only imagine the scene,” Calvet says. “Four massive males locked in battle. Roars, dust, blood – the power of it all.” Cecil and Xanda stood their ground and drove the intruders back. For a time, their kingdom held.
But then came a turning point. “This is where Cecil makes a mistake,” Calvet continues. After the fight, Cecil began to see Xanda not as a son, but as a rival. Feeling threatened, he chased him away. It was the opening Bush and Bhubesi needed. Without his son at his side, Cecil was vulnerable. The brothers returned, and this time, they forced him out for good.
“In 2013, Beks – founder of African Bush Camps – lured me here to Somalisa,” Calvet recalls with a grin. “And just as I moved, so did Cecil. He followed me.” Calvet had tracked Cecil for years in Linkwasha, and now their paths crossed again. It’s clear this wasn’t just another lion to him – this was a companion in the wild, a thread woven through his guiding journey, and a story he tells with deep pride and affection.
Cecil and Jericho
At the time, Kokore was the dominant male in the Somalisa Concession. By now, Cecil was a shadow of his former self – thin, worn down, and lacking the strength he once commanded. In a rare show of submission, he approached Kokore, hoping to form a coalition. But Kokore saw him as a threat, not a partner. With a pride of his own to protect, he rejected Cecil, wary that the older lion might kill his cubs to claim dominance.
But Cecil wasn’t finished yet. He found Jericho – another lone male with size, strength, and a storied past. “Legend has it,” Calvet says, “that Jericho’s father killed Cecil’s father in a territorial battle. So no, they weren’t exactly friends.” Yet something shifted. Whatever grudges lay in the past were cast aside as the two joined forces and entered Somalisa together. Though they were a formidable duo, their alliance was not without friction. Tempers flared often. Calvet describes the testosterone-charged tension – squabbles over food, dominance, lionesses. But no matter how fierce the fights, they always came back together. They had learned that their strength lay in unity.
“They advertised,” Calvet says, his voice suddenly deepening into a guttural roar that echoes into the night. The roar of a male lion is more than sound – it’s a message. To the females: We’re here. We’re strong. We can protect. To the males: We’re coming for your territory. A lion’s roar reaches deep – it shakes your bones, pulls something ancient from within. In that moment, you understand why they rule this land.
Kokore heard them. He came to defend his turf – but when he saw the sheer presence of Cecil and Jericho, standing side by side, he backed down. Outmatched, he abandoned his pride. And just like that, Cecil and Jericho took the crown. They approached the lionesses, but their presence sparked fear. The lionesses fled, trying to protect their cubs – aware that new kings often mean new bloodlines.
Still, Cecil had returned – not as a lone shadow, but as part of a new brotherhood, ready to reclaim his place in the wild drama of the land.
The Spice Girls
Unshaken and determined, Cecil and Jericho continued to make their presence known – roaring into the night, a powerful declaration that they were in charge and seeking lionesses to build their legacy. Their calls didn’t go unanswered. Drawn by the commanding force of their roar, three lionesses emerged from the bush – affectionately known by the guides as “The Spice Girls.”
“They saw Cecil and Jericho and thought, ‘Yes, these are the guys we want. Let’s see what happens here,’” Calvet grins, his voice playful.
In 2014, the lionesses began to spend more time with the males. “They entertained the boys,” Calvet adds with a chuckle, his smile giving away more than his words.
At first, the females entered false oestrus – an instinctive move to test the waters, build trust, and form bonds. But by mid-2014, those bonds had deepened. The lionesses went into true oestrus, confident that Cecil and Jericho were worthy fathers. By September, all three were pregnant. And in December 2014, they gave birth to seven cubs – two males and five females.
“Happy family,” Calvet beams. For a while, life in Somalisa was idyllic. The pride had swelled to twelve, a powerful unit ruled by seasoned kings. Jericho, the more submissive of the two, likely deferred to Cecil – making it probable that all the cubs were his.
But as the pride grew, so too did the challenges.
The Beginning of the End
As the pride flourished, so did the pressure – space and food grew scarce, and expansion became necessary. Jericho took it upon himself to scout new ground, venturing north toward Kennedy 1, near the old railway line. Beyond that lay the forest concession, a known hunting zone. There, he encountered an aging lioness named Cathy, living alone.
“She didn’t give birth,” Calvet says, “but she was entertaining the boys.”
Jericho returned to Cecil with the news. He had found a territory large enough to support their growing pride. Together, they headed north to investigate. “Cecil saw Cathy and was probably like, ‘Well done, my friend, Jericho,’” Calvet laughs, clapping me on the back as if playing the part of the great lion himself.
Over time, the bond with Cathy deepened. Cecil and Jericho began spending longer stretches away from Somalisa, returning only briefly to check on the pride before disappearing back into the forest. At first it was a few nights, then a week, and soon they were gone for longer and longer.
“And that,” Calvet says, lowering his voice, “is when the trouble began.”
By July 2015, Cecil had been in the northern reaches of Hwange for over a month. He had unknowingly crossed the invisible boundary of protection -leaving the safety of the national park and entering a hunting concession, where laws shift and danger waits.
It was there that Cecil was lured out and shot as part of a trophy hunt – killed not for food, but for sport. The news made international headlines, sparking global outrage and casting a harsh light on the ethics of trophy hunting.
“They chose Cecil because he was handsome,” Calvet says quietly. “A lion like that – you don’t see often. He was special.”
Photograph by Bill FlemingA Legacy
Silence settles over the fire.
Only the gentle crackle of flames remains. Faces lit by firelight stare into the embers, reflective. There’s a heaviness in Calvet’s voice now—a quiet tension that lingers in the still air. It feels like the end of the story.
But it isn’t. As with all things in Africa, the sun rises again. Life moves forward. And so do those who loved him.
Like many of the guides who knew Cecil, Calvet chooses to focus on what remains: the legacy carried by the pride he left behind.
Jericho never returned to Somalisa. He stayed in the North with Cathy, eventually joining two more lionesses and fathering five cubs of his own.
But what became of Cecil’s pride – the seven cubs he left behind?
Nature is unrelenting. Without the protection of adult males, the cubs were vulnerable to the many dangers of the bush. Hyenas, wild dogs, buffalo, and even rival lions—all posed a deadly threat. It was up to the Spice Girls now. The three lionesses who had trusted Cecil and raised those cubs stood between survival and extinction.
And somehow, against the odds, they held the line… Read Part 2 to uncover the next chapter of Cecil’s Pride.
Conservation & Wildlife Fund
While Cecil’s death dealt a heavy blow to conservation efforts, it also lit a fire across the world and within the safari community. Guides, conservationists, and travellers alike felt compelled to act.
From this collective resolve, a powerful initiative was born: the Conservation & Wildlife Fund (CWF), a Hwange-based collaboration of local safari operators, including African Bush Camps. Its mission is clear – protect Zimbabwe’s iconic species, including lions, elephants, and rhinos, through coordinated conservation efforts on the ground.
In a way, this is the heart of Cecil’s legacy – not just in the cubs he left behind, but in the renewed commitment to protecting Africa’s wild places and the creatures that define them.
