Serengeti weather does more than set the stage for your next visit to Serengeti. It decides the rhythm of life out on the plains. Wildebeest feel the mood shifts before we do. They lift their heads at the first scent of rain long before a single cloud appears in your camera frame. Lions stretch in shade when the heat climbs just a little too high for graceful movement.
Meanwhile you, the visitor, try to square practical questions with half formed dreams. Will the light turn golden enough for that photo you have imagined. Will the road feel too muddy for comfort. Will a cool night breeze slip under the canvas and convince you that life can still feel simple.
We will talk about temperatures, rainfall, and wind. We will drift month by month without getting too lost in numbers. Then we will pair each span of weather with the kind of experience it usually brings. Expect an honest walk through comfort levels and wildlife moments rather than a strict forecast. The Serengeti often shrugs at strict forecasts anyway.
Some travelers focus only on the Great Migration. Fair enough. The moving carpet of wildebeest and zebra is a wonder. Yet the climate shapes smaller moments too. A fresh green flush after rain can soften the entire landscape, let it breathe a sweeter scent, and prompt giraffes to wander closer to tracks because shoots taste better there. Long spells of dryness turn grass straw colored, help cheetahs blend when they crouch and stalk, and leave your skin feeling as if every sip of water matters. Knowing roughly what to expect lets you relax once you arrive, and relaxed eyes see more.
Two main seasons that do not behave exactly the way a textbook would like
Local guides often divide the Serengeti year into dry season and wet season. That broad split works, though each part contains subtle shifts. The wet portion actually comes in two separate pulses, a longer one in the first half and a shorter one toward the end of the year. Even then the clouds sometimes break rules. A visitor in mid February can get a sudden afternoon downpour followed by a rainbow so wide that an entire Maasai village stops to stare. A photographer once told me she welcomed the unpredictability because every surprise forced her to stay awake in a creative sense.

Wildebeests and Zebras in Serengeti
During these months, the southern plains around Ndutu turn a luminous green, almost too lush to be real if you arrived from a northern hemisphere winter. Calving season begins and thousands of wildebeest give birth within a few short weeks.
You may watch a newborn take its first shaky steps while jackals lurk at a polite distance. Temperatures hover in the mid to upper twenties Celsius daytime, cooler at night.
Humidity goes up but mornings feel fresh. If you like dramatic skies, you will probably love this span. Dark clouds gather, then slide away, leaving shafts of sunlight that make every acacia look like a stage prop.
During these months, some camps close because murram roads turn to soft clay and trucks sink past the axle. Those that remain open very affordable and favourable rates.
Bird-watchers whisper that this stretch is their secret favorite because migratory species linger and forests near the Grumeti River echo with unfamiliar songs. The air thickens and the evenings can feel steamy, though a thunderstorm may sweep in to cool things for an hour.
Grass grows tall. That tall grass hides newborn fawns and simultaneously makes predators work harder. If you do not mind occasional down time under shelter, with rain thrumming on canvas like someone testing a drum, these months can bring an intimacy many guests miss.
Skies clear. Daytime remains warm but crisp. Night air slips into the low teens Celsius and you might reach for an extra blanket. Winds pick up over the Western Corridor as rivers swell with earlier rain. This is the moment when the great herds bunch near the Grumeti River, noses lifted as if waiting for a collective cue to leap into water thick with crocodiles.
There is several crowds, yet the region feels large enough to hold them. Early starts mean dawn chill, a sip of coffee that seems to steam straight from cup to sky, and an engine rumble that feels like promise more than noise.
Dry season rules. Dust hovers in the air but the light turns sharply clear at sunrise. Daytime temperatures climb into the high twenties. Vegetation thins, waterholes shrink, and animals line up in neat yet nervous queues, especially toward the north where they prepare to cross the Mara River.
You may spend hours watching a single bend in that river while zebras test the bank, retreat, test again, comedic in hesitation until one bold soul jumps.
Once they surge the sense of energy hits like a drumbeat you feel in the chest. Comfort wise you will need sunscreen, lip balm, and patience with bumpy roads now rutted by earlier traffic. The trade feels worthwhile when the sun sets a deep burnt orange and hyena whoops rise under an early evening moon.
Short rains return. They arrive in brief dramatic bursts rather than the settle-in pattern of April and May. Dust settles within days, leaving a fresh scent on the wind. Migratory birds circle back. Visitor numbers dip slightly.
One guide described this window as the Serengeti stretching after a long dry yawn. Grass shoots push up fast enough that you can almost see the color change hour by hour. You might pack a light rain shell and accept the chance of getting damp in return for gentler crowds and cooler afternoons.
During December, Serengeti’s cloud remains and there is little rain providing soft light that photographers moment. The southern grasslands prepare again for calving, and predators prowl with that extra spark of energy that accompanies the prospect of easy prey.
Holiday travelers arrive and some bring children who pay more attention than adults realize. A friend once caught her seven year old sketching a line of wildebeest under a December sky back at camp and thought, quietly, that the cost of the trip had already paid itself.
Annual precipitation averages around 600mm, yet distribution matters more than total. Long rains pour with commitment mainly from late March through May. Short rains drop quick heavy showers in November. In between you might go weeks without a single cloud. That dry clarity produces the shimmering heat haze that turns distant antelope into pale mirages until you drive closer.
Trade winds creep from the east during dry months raising dust tails behind each vehicle. A scarf or buff across nose and mouth helps. Some evenings a calmer north breeze slides in carrying floral hints you will not detect unless you stop talking for a moment.

Serengeti Packing List
On my first visit in early April, rain chased us into a fig grove where we waited engines off. The smell of damp earth rose like warm bread from an oven. A dozen giraffes ambled past with rain drops glistening on their coats, silent except for hooves pressing mud. That memory sits brighter in my mind than any classic dried season cheetah chase.
In late August I once stood at a high lookout above the Mara River. Dust hung in the air yet the sky remained flawless blue. When the wind paused the plain fell eerily still except for distant wildebeest grunts. I realized then that silence is part of Serengeti music.
A November afternoon brought storm clouds so black that a lone acacia seemed cut from paper against the sky. Lightning struck far away yet the thunder rolled across open space and reached us like something alive. That single rumble has followed me home in dreams more than once.
Begin with the picture that inspires you most. If it involves newborn calves wobbling on stick legs while mothers nudge them upright, you already know your window. If it shows a torrent of hooves splashing through river water while crocodiles lurk, then plan for high dry season in the north.
If you want fewer vehicles and are willing to take a chance on afternoon showers, lean into the shoulder months around March or November. There is no wrong answer, only the answer that feels right for your own sense of adventure and comfort.
Serengeti Weather does not simply frame the Serengeti story, it writes entire scenes. It pulls curtains of cloud across a sunset then whips them away to reveal a moon so bright you can read by it.
It lays a dust veil across the plain then soaks that same ground in a cleansing roar of thunderstorm. You arrive as a guest of that weather, no matter what the brochure promised. And once you accept that contract, the Serengeti shows you moments that feel carved into memory with surprising tenderness.
Low season
Oct, Nov, Mar, Apr, may
Peak season
Jun, July, Aug, Sept, Dec