A WALK IN LIVING LIGHT
Step out from the dim, moss-scented shade of Koroi’s mid-altitude forest and the day opens like a pair of wings. Where sunlight pierces the canopy, the air itself stirs, sudden flickers of colour rising from the path. Here, in the montane forests of Arusha National Park, butterflies seem almost inseparable from the light that guides them. Wherever warmth and moisture meet – at puddled tracks, on damp leaves, beside a trickling stream, or over fresh buffalo dung after rain – the forest hums with delicate motion.
Butterflies thrive here because the forest offers everything they need in generous measure: food, shelter, stillness, and sun. As morning mist thins, the first glades to brighten reveal quiet bursts of colour. The forest floor glitters with dew beading on balsam (Impatiens) blossoms, whose violet and white flowers spill nectar that feeds the early risers. Around them flutter the Diadems (Hypolimnas misippus), Gold-banded Foresters (Euphaedra neophron), and the shimmering green loop of a Green-banded Swallowtail (Papilio nireus), tracing lazy arcs through the filtered light.
A little higher, where Croton megalocarpus trees lift smooth trunks toward the canopy, flashes of movement betray Papilio dardanus – the Mocker Swallowtail. Its graceful rise and turn conceal an extraordinary trick when females appear in several different guises, imitating the warning colours of inedible species to fool predators. Their caterpillars feed on the aromatic leaves of Teclea and Vepris, plants that lace the mid-story with citrus scent, nourishment and nursery in one.
Climb further, and the light changes again. Among the high branches of Diospyros abyssinica, cool air drifts through pools of shadow where turquoise glints betray Forest Swallowtails darting between beams. They vanish as quickly as they appear, flashes of living gemstone in the canopy gloom.
Every butterfly here has its role. Monarchs and other orange-washed wanderers glide with unhurried grace, largely ignored by birds that have learned to avoid their bitter taste. As caterpillars, they feed on toxin-rich vines and carry those chemical defences into adulthood, a lesson the forest never forgets. Even their choice of flower reflects the precision of their world. Vernonia bushes, crowned with mauve florets, bloom along the tracks where the sun breaks through, offering convenient refuelling stations. Croton’s golden flowers bloom at shoulder height for bees and butterflies alike, while Tabernaemontana, with its spiral white blooms, reserves its scent for night, when hawk-moths hover like ghosts over the forest floor.
The beauty here is a system at work. Butterflies prune leaves while larvae recycle minerals from mud and dung as adults, and in turn feed birds and spiders that depend on their abundance. Every wingbeat helps the forest breathe. Look closely, and you’ll see how orchids, mosses, ferns and fungi turn tree trunks into layered worlds – a thousand hidden gardens where the life of butterflies begins and ends.
By late afternoon, the forest light mellows to gold. The busy wings grow fewer, and a stray Papilio or Euphaedra drifts down the road as if reluctant to let the day go. Then, as the scent of Tabernaemontana rises, rich and sweet as jasmine, the next shift awakens: hawk-moths take to the air, and bats trace their invisible paths through the darkness. Come dawn, when mist burns off the leaves, the cycle begins again – sunlight, motion, and colour returning to the forest’s rhythm.
One last hint for finding butterflies is to walk slowly, and pause often. Let your gaze wander from ground to mid-story to canopy, giving each layer time to reveal its movement. Favour the warm, wet places – puddles, stream edges, patches of dung, and flowers in full sun. On cool mornings, stay a little longer where the light falls strongest. The forest rewards patience: here, beauty is not rare but continuous, a daily unfolding of wings that turn sunlight into living colour.
