All language subtitles for Brotherhood Of Lions S01E02

Five tiny male cubs,
just a few weeks old.

Destined to be mighty hunters
in the Masai Mara.

Years later, driven mad by hunger.

The strongest male
kills one of his sisters.

Violence is ever-present
in their lives.

The five brothers take over a pride.

Family relations are never simple.

The annual wildebeest migration
eases their hunger.

But here

nothing comes easy.

At four years old, five brothers

patrol their territory
in the Mara Reserve.

This is Olomina.

A leg wound when young
left him with a limp.

Olosiadu:

cautious,

quiet,

reserved.

Lorkulup.

A hoof broke his nose.

Now it never stops running.

The hunter.

Orpadan.

Always out in front.
First at the prey. A true fighter.

Beside him:

Oloborr.

Sibling-killer.
Unchallenged clan chief.

Aggressive, ruthless, reckless.

The Mara reserve is in Kenya,
along its border with Tanzania.

It's the northern extension
of the Serengeti.

This is where
the five brothers have settled

after years of wandering:

the narrow Rongai River.

Now, at the end of June,
there are few prey animals here,

except buffalo.

Oloborr, the chief,
has almost recovered

from a mauling
by neighbouring males.

With Orpadan,
he shadows the buffalo herd,

looking for isolated animals.

If the buffalo stay close together,

the lions will never
reach the weaker calves.

After hours of waiting,

they try a fake attack
to scatter the herd.

But the buffalo know what to do.

They turn the tables.

It's a tough time for the lions.

Hardly any prey animals worth
pursuing, apart from the buffalo.

The five brothers
command a territory

that belongs to three lionesses,

who themselves wrested it
from other lionesses,

defending it for years
against female competition.

They are the actual owners.

The males only maintain
their claim on the females

and keep other males at bay.

That's what they need
their mass and their muscles for.

As hunters,
they're really only effective

against bigger and slower prey.

June brings the first zebra herds
into their territory.

For them,
the tough, tall grass is perfect.

They're a welcome sight,
and now the new lion lords

are more than happy
to defer to their ladies.

At last, an alternative
to the dangerous buffalo.

The slight, streamlined lionesses

are far more agile
than the bulky males.

So it's not just laziness
when the males

leave this kind of work
to the females.

Even in the long grass
it would be hard

for a fully-grown male
to creep up on the prey.

A lioness sneaks to within meters
of an unsuspecting zebra.

About ten meters,
perfect range for a surprise attack.

And the zebra
has absolutely no idea.

The females aren't
just doing the work.

They're taking the risks, too.

Accurate kicks break bones.

The black-shouldered kites
have seen it all before.

They have something else
on their mind.

This couple have
only just come together.

In this first phase of courtship,
aerobatics are a display of fitness.

As each seeks a partner
to bring up a family.

In June, fires blaze
through the grassland.

They were started by Park Rangers,

to burn up the tough, stringy grass
and encourage fresh, new growth.

Still damp at this time of year,

the vegetation releases
great clouds of smoke and steam.

When fires are set responsibly,
there's little damage to the land.

In fact,
they make for better grazing,

at least for a while.

But at the same time it's a gamble.

New growth only appears
if new rains come on time.

When the rains are late
it's hard for the herbivores.

Then, square kilometers
of earth are covered in ash,

and there's no food, for anyone.

When the buffalo move on,
the lions must follow their prey.

In a situation like this
the choice is unattractive:

starve where they are ...

... or risk trespassing
on others territory.

The serval, too, has a problem:

even hunting mice
is difficult in these conditions.

Everyone is waiting for the rains.

As soon as they come,
the first shoots force their way up

between the red-scorched
ebony bushes.

The land transforms
into a patchwork:

Newly verdant burned areas,
next to yellow fields

the fires, often halted
by a brook, couldn't reach.

Life on the unburned parts
continues as usual.

For the serval family,
long grass is especially important.

The mother finds mice here.
And the young cover from predators.

An old tree like this is a
wonderful climbing frame.

The cubs are very exposed,

but they can disappear
in an instant down below.

And their mother can return
to stalking mice, without worries.

And these neighbours
are no problem anyway.

Dry, fibrous grass
may be useless to most herbivores,

but the mother serval
finds exactly what she needs.

Her young will
have enough milk, now.

For weeks, the territory
the five brothers took over is bare.

They don't mind.

They're busy
befriending the three females

they won with the territory.

New relationships take time.

Oloborr's excursion
to neighbouring territory

was six months ago.

His wounds have healed,
with just a few scars.

But the attack seems
to have damaged his testicles.

He is less interested
in mating than before.

He leaves the females
to his brothers.

He's still closest to Orpadan.

They patrol together,
leaving hundreds of scent marks

to deter interlopers.

Inside the territory there are
still half-brothers and sisters

their mothers left behind
when they departed.

It's July 2021.

Four of these
adolescent half-siblings

still live here
along the Rongai River:

two males and two females.

They avoid their older brothers,
who ignore them too.

They scratch along with small kills,
and by scavenging other's prey.

They're too young
to challenge a fully-grown buffalo.

That doesn't mean they won't try.

It'll take a little while yet.

Oh, never mind.

The two females
have a crack at a warthog.

That's not so easy, either.

There's good cover for the chase.

But it's hard to run down
a nimble hog in tall grass.

Hungry times.

But relief is on its way,
from the south,

across the border in the Serengeti.

It's now late July.
On the far side of the Sand River,

the long-awaited
columns finally appear:

the wildebeest migration
is at the Kenyan border.

Endless columns,
hundreds of thousands of wildebeest,

streaming into
the Masai Mara Reserve.

It's an astonishing sight.

But since the early 2,000s,
numbers seem to have dropped.

Conservationists worry.

Because they have
no reliable figures.

It's been more than a decade since
Tanzania released census statistics.

Those figures are really needed now.

Because climate change

and the growing human population
around the Serengeti

are putting pressure on the park.

Wildebeest are the keystone species
of the grasslands.

All the great carnivores
depend on them.

The trek through
the Serengeti’s ecosystem

is the last great
animal migration on Earth.

A huge tourism industry
depends on these numbers.

This is the high season
in the Masai Mara.

And yet,
only one third of the wildebeest

actually cross the border.

Twice as many
stay on Tanzania's side.

Climate change,
heavier rainfall in the south,

may mean they no longer
have to move here for food.

Most lions
are tied to their territory.

Few will follow the wildebeest:
only the so-called nomads,

with no fixed territory,
continuously pursue the herds.

This means local predators
like the five brothers

now face
little incoming competition.

The sudden abundance
is theirs alone.

That means a couple
of carefree months.

Lions prefer to hunt
where the fires haven't reached,

and the high grass conceals them.

But wildebeest don't like eating it,
and they don't linger.

So the best hunting is
in the first weeks of the migration.

The lions get straight down to it.

Wildebeest, though, are not
quite the passive, clumsy victims.

They have a real a turn of speed.

They know how to deal with lions.

Overall, they're well equipped
to handle the trials of life.

They're the most successful
species of this ecosystem, by far.

The northern Serengeti

is wetter than
the grazing lands further south.

Many streams and rivers
eroded the Mara region,

leaving rolling country,
with dips and valleys.

It's is dangerous terrain
for herbivores.

Big cats are more than comfortable
in its deceptive contours.

To use the full resources
of the Mara region,

the herds must cross
a number of rivers

flanked with
gallery forest and bushland.

Wildebeest are built
for all terrains.

These are no obstacles.

But the crowds
and the confusing landscape

let predators sneak up unobserved.

Losses are
unavoidable collateral damage.

The herd simply moves on.

The biggest threat ... are hyenas.

They pursue their prey
till it's completely exhausted.

And no wildebeest
will stop to help another.

Lorkulup, he of the broken nose,
sees what's going on.

The hyenas see him coming.

And so do the wildebeest.

Hyenas know
an adult lion means danger.

A lioness will chase them away.

An male will try to kill them.

They won't argue.

Lorkulup eats his fill.

In these weeks
the five brothers will kill

only a tiny proportion
of their food.

They'll steal or scavenge the rest.

The wildebeest migration
brings them more than they need.

The lions regain their strength.

Fire-refreshed, glowing grasslands

host hundreds
of thousands of animals.

Even without the predators,
sick or weak animals die every day.

The scavengers are well catered for.

Every morning they gather
for the night's harvest.

Today

the flock of vultures
have an unexpected guest:

a male kori bustard:
Africa's largest flying bird.

Its delicate table manners
seem out of place here.

Great bustards pick
mainly at fruits and seeds.

But they don't turn up their bill
at a little morsel of meat.

Those raised tail feathers
show he's in the mood for mating.

And the marabou, standing tall
in front of him, looks like a rival.

That's something no self-respecting
bustard can tolerate.

To the stork
all this is simply too silly.

But the bustard won't let up.

So the marabou finally
just ignores the cock.

The brothers are
enjoying the easy life.

As long as there are
no powerful lions to challenge them,

they can take anything they like.

Whoever actually killed it.

Black-backed jackals
get most of their food the same way.

But there's a family issue here.

This cub really ought to
start fending for himself.

His parents are trying
to make that very clear.

They don't mean him any harm,

but he's no longer
welcome in their territory.

They're literally pushing him away.

While hyenas await the scraps

from Oloborr and
Orpadan's stolen breakfast ...

the parent jackal
is getting ever more annoyed

with its adolescent offspring.

But it would seem a nagging parent
is preferable to scary independence.

They really have to insist:
his time is up.

Oloborr's mother once
cast him out in the same way.

Many sons
of carnivores suffer this fate.

Which doesn't make it
feel any less of a rejection.

As the day warms up
across the savannah,

the lions have almost
finished their breakfast.

Time ...

... to seek a shady place to rest.

Nothing but scraps
left for the real hunters.

And now the jackals
are getting cheeky, too.

Sometimes you just can't win.

Now Lame Olomina claims
the privileges of an alpha male.

Even if the lioness doesn't seem
quite convinced he's earned it.

But something's a little awry here.

Her teats are full. That would
normally mean she’s lactating.

And two kilometers away,

three tiny babies
are hidden in a den.

They're hungry.
Waiting for their mother.

But Olomina
won't let her go to them.

For too long,
he's had no opportunity to mate,

weakened by his wounds.

The lioness has just
given birth to his brothers' young.

But a rare hormone imbalance
has made her receptive again.

It's an unexpected chance
for Olomina,

as his brothers
are no longer interested.

The lioness is beside herself and
wants only to return to her cubs,

but he keeps forcing her back.

Forced couplings often
happen after a territory takeover.

But that was five months ago.

For a few days during her pregnancy,
the lioness was compliant.

Olomina exploited that.

Now, it's dangerous
for the newborns.

Torn by conflicting instincts,

the lioness moves away,
followed by her suitor.

She shelters from the heat
of the day next to a small brook.

When Olomina is briefly
distracted by the elephants ...

... she seizes her chance.

This is the moment to disappear.

She finally makes it
to the den and her pregnant sister.

But she's slow
to approach the babies.

The abandoned Romeo,
free of the elephants,

stubbornly follows her tracks.

When he reaches the den,
he is more cautious.

Perhaps he's already
had a bad experience here.

Meanwhile
the little ones are starving.

The mum they waited for so patiently
doesn't exactly greet them warmly.

Her hormones are
desperately out of kilter.

Sideswipes alternate
with gentle licking.

The usual way
of stimulating a baby's digestion.

Olomina's presence
is making things worse.

Abashed, shameful, he withdraws.

Olomina may sense
the situation is explosive.

He holds back.

For the babies,
it's an emotional rollercoaster.

They need their mother and her milk.

But she veers between
affection and brusque rejection.

Hungry, scared, the little ones
creep between the adults.

It's like running a gauntlet.
There's no sanctuary anywhere.

Even their mother's sister,
heavily pregnant herself,

is in no shape
to look after another's offspring.

The cubs' life
is hanging by a thread.

This time of year, September,
is still supposed to be rather dry.

But in the northern Serengeti

unscheduled showers
are nothing unusual.

A rainstorm disturbs
a martial hawk-eagle's meal.

Not far away is
the huge expanse of Lake Victoria.

Vast quantities of water
evaporating every day

can return as rain,

making the Masai Mara
especially attractive

to migrating herds
in the dry season.

Heavy rain-showers
are dangerous for tiny lion cubs.

Right now
they need all their strength.

Thankfully, their mother's
hormone levels have settled.

She can care
for her young in the normal way.

She carefully carries her cubs away
from the den. It's become too wet.

Olomina hasn't bothered her
for three days now.

Everything seems to be all right.

But the lame lion's
obsessional behaviour

has claimed a victim.

Only two
of the three cubs are still alive.

And they must survive
any more hormonal swings

over the next few weeks.

The rain has turned
the once-charred plains

a brilliant green.

Yet, with their heavy muscles,

the buffalo have trouble
plucking the fresh shoots.

Nevertheless,
this is still a good time for them.

The migrations have brought them
weeks of freedom from the lions.

The wildebeest are far easier prey.

Young bull buffalo can enjoy
friendly skirmishes: play fights.

The mothers can relax, too.

Amongst all the wildebeest,

even the warthogs
can take it easy for a while.

And except for the buffalo,

all the hooved animals
love the juicy short grass.

But soon
the great migration must continue,

back to the southern Serengeti.

The deadly power struggle between
lions and buffalo will begin again.

The female that Olomina harassed
for so long seems to be at peace.

The five brothers’
first offspring ... are doing well.

The lioness stays away
from the fathers as far as she can.

It's not clear
how they will interpret

their unfamiliar paternal role.

They watch ... and wait.

Their curiosity
grows from day to day.

Oloborr, mighty leader of the five,

cautiously nears the bush
where his first children are hiding.

Their mother must still
be approached carefully.

He's especially docile today.

Sometimes she seeks close contact.

Other times she's
uncontrollably aggressive.

At the sight of their young,
guarded by their erratic mother,

the pride kings seem rather subdued.

They're curious, but they can't
seem to find a confident way

to relate to their new family.

The female seems
uncomfortable with the males.

Their presence disturbs her.

And there's no sign
of them moving on.

So: she just moves house again.

There are plenty of suitable places
to stay along the river.

She knows them all
and soon finds a new home.

Oloborr, meanwhile,

re-establishes
his territorial rights.

For the lioness,

the stream is more than just
another place to hide the cubs.

It's the grass and the water.

Perfect conditions for wildebeest:
they love the juicy shoots.

So some herds
walk to the brook every day.

Hearing the baying of wildebeest,

the lioness benefits
from all the years she's spent here.

Quickly, she slips into position,

without arousing
the attention of the herd.

A herd offers safety in numbers,
but not equally.

Animals at the rear
are slowed by those in front.

Wildebeest are
easier to hunt than buffalo.

Not only because they're lighter.

They would never turn round,
as a group, to protect each other.

No one comes to help.

Olosiadu, the cautious,
had his beady eye

on the pride females.
In minutes he's on the spot.

He knows this female
can be sensitive,

and lets her eat alone.

He'll get his lion's share later.

All pride males
steal the females' kills.

But in exchange, they protect
the pride young against any threat.

Without this protection,

a lioness could rarely
raise her cubs to independence.

That's the deal between the sexes.

But today,
he waits until she's had her fill

and is on her way back to the young.

Soon, the land
belongs to the locals.

Late September.

In the short rainy season,
wildebeest leave the Masai Mara

for the mineral-rich plains
of the southern Serengeti.

When the last columns
cross the Mara River

the balance of power changes.

Now the lions confront
their most formidable adversary.

The brothers must prove

that they have what it takes
to hold territory all year round.

And the tensions
between them... are rising.