On a mild day in late August, beneath the endless East African sky, hundreds of wildebeest gathered on the banks of the Mara River in a line straight enough to make the British proud, and waited. We had no choice but to wait, too.

My journey to visit friends in Kenya and see some of the world’s greatest wildlife was years in the making, and yet it almost didn’t happen. Fresh from the pain of burying my mother after a long illness, I was not at all sure that this family adventure was worth the risk or the effort, emotional and otherwise.

But the scene I witnessed that day delivered a powerful lesson about the beauty and brutality of nature, placing my own grief into a perspective both terrifying and comforting, and resonating with the horror that Hurricane Katrina was about to inflict back home.

The khaki colored hills of Masai Mara in Kenya are a central stop in the annual migration of 1.4 million wildebeest as they search for ripened grass on East Africa’s vast plains and woodlands. There’s an African proverb that God made these odd-looking animals with parts left over from other creatures.

Wildebeest are famous proscrastinators. They gather at the shore of the Mara River – which they must cross to get to the pasture that is, literally, greener on the other side – line up with military precision, and wait. If the large hulk at the head of the pack takes the plunge, the rest follow.

But he may just as easily reverse course and within moments, the line dissolves and the herd scatters, the crossing postponed indefinitely.

On our first visit to the Mara that August morning, two wildebeest did plunge into the muddy-brown river, but none followed. Upon our return that afternoon, the line was poised to go, then suddenly dissipated.

When they seemed in full retreat, our guide began looking for another spot. Then, with incredible speed and precision, the line reformed and one after another, the wildebeest dove into the rushing water.

We raced to a small clearing and watched as a dramatic scene unfolded.

At first, the wildebeest easily scampered up to the top of the embankment, until the stream of animals inexplicably went into a new and potentially fatal direction. Caught in a gully with no access to the land above, they fell upon each other in hysterical confusion.

As we watched with fascination and horror from the opposite shore, we were sure some were trampled to death.

Adding to the drama were two crocodiles waiting by the shoreline to attack their prey. One opened its huge jaw and clamped onto a struggling wildebeest, drowning the animal amid the chaos. Another crocodile latched onto a baby.

Behind us, the wildebeest kept coming, oblivious to the dangers ahead.

Never have I seen a creature so perfectly live up to its gruesome reputation.

Amazingly, the wildebeest managed to find another route up the shore to safety, and this brutal crossing ended with a remarkably low cost of life.

Awestruck and relieved, I sobbed when it was over. We may believe our time on Earth has a greater social purpose than that of the animals who roam the African plain, and if we live well and right, it does. But our existence is still as fragile as theirs, and what happens to us can seem to make just as little sense, whether we face the death of a loved one or the destruction of a great city.

It is said that there is no real beginning and end to the wildebeests’ journey, that it is an endless pilgrimage, a constant search for food and water and security. On that day along the Mara River, I humbly realized how our own human journeys mirror those of the wild beasts, subject to a beauty and brutality that is in nature’s power alone.

– Jane R. Eisner is a columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer.