4/5 Morning

Rain slashed and pounded our tent roof all night and inundated the savanna beyond the glass doors that overlook the Kalahari’s Korannaberg mountains, enveloped by a thick, dirty gray fog. My sister Denise and I shuffled from our lodgings on the Tswalu Private Game Reserve, bundled for the wet cold, and climbed into the Rover. I had seriously considered staying in bed and giving the morning drive a pass, but once we splashed through broad puddles and along tracks that were swift-running canals only hours before, I felt better about the day to come. 

Stepbrother portrait Photo by Denise Vouri

We splattered through a dazzling landscape, fringed by tendrils of fog that interlaced the dun hills freckled by sun breaks, when the radio squawked. The lion brothers (or stepbrothers), subjects of the futile search the day before, were nearby and in the open. No bushwhacking! We found them a few minutes later, already under observation by another Rover. The engorged cats—one black-maned, the other the blond we saw mating two days before—were digesting under a camel thorn tree. In this instance, the drivers maneuvered so that all could have a decent shot. 

Second Stepbrother - Photo by Denise Vouri

The lions looked over at us, but that was about all. Unthreatened (or not enticed) by the Rovers, they gave us a pass. (After nearly two weeks, this still amazed me.) The blonde mane rose first and strode heavily past to our rear.

“He’s heading for that pan behind us,” Denise said. “They’re thirsty.” (A pan is an enclosed depression that fills with water during rainy seasons.) Hailey agreed, adding that the reason we never saw them among the thickets was that they were off hunting. Though tending to laziness—males prefer to let the lionesses do the heavy lifting, then steal the kill from them—they are just as effective on the hunt and the stepbrothers work efficiently together, Hailey explained. By their full bellies that much was obvious.

Hailey fired up the Rover and headed for the far side of the pan, passing the lead lion to set up for the shot. Sure enough, here he came, hunkering down to drink, lapping the water as a domestic cat does a bowl of milk, looking up from time to time, then turning briefly when his black-maned stepbrother arrived. The two of them settled in, flanks touching as they drank. The black mane was especially fetching. Hailey explained that if he were not the smaller of the two, he would have scored with the lioness. The size and color of the mane normally decide who the lionesses will accept. The more luxurious the mane, the bigger the attraction, and if it is black there is no doubt. But the blonde is bigger, so he gets to dance.

Thirsty lions  photo by Mike Vouri

The lions drank their fill and plodded heavily across the track, the black mane finding shade under a camel thorn, and the blond opting to bake in the sun (once it appeared) by the side of the road. Agreeing that we had seen and photographed enough, we left the big cats in peace, moved on and soon the radio squawked that a lioness was working on a kill a couple of miles away. We bounced off the track, following the spoor of a Rover (been and gone) to a thicket topped by a silver cluster leaf tree, where a lioness with engorged belly snored blissfully. We repeatedly orbited her and the springbok she had killed, and she did not so much as twitch. The springbok’s body was mostly intact, which led Ahti to believe that, although sated from a recent feast, the lioness could not resist another opportunity for an easy kill. Backtracking to the road, we spotted where she had dragged it across on the way to her dining and napping space. 

Save for a large troop of baboons galloping across an open grassland in the distance, that was the extent of our morning drive. 

The afternoon and a Meerkat sighting awaited.

4/5 Afternoon.

Our purpose for the afternoon was the meerkat burrows on the western side of the reserve. If you have not seen National Geographic’s “Meerkat Manor,” the animal is a small mongoose native to southern Africa, and like the prairie dogs in North America, is an excellent excavator. Their name comes from the Afrikaans word mier meaning “ant.” They feed on ants, therefore “ant kat.” They live in highly social units, led by a dominant female and her male consort who appear first from the burrows at dawn or late in the day to ensure the coast is clear. If all is well, the family unit soon follows. The best-known images are of them standing erect on their hind legs, using the tail for balance. Denise has shot a ton of photos of them over the years.

Hailey timed the drive so we could arrive at what the locals call the “rock star” burrows for the late afternoon scout, about 5 p.m. But en route, while passing through the gates, Hailey spotted the flash of a calico pelt (a wild dog) crossing the road ahead into the bush. Ahti hurried into the vehicle and away we went, entering a heavily vegetated area between two roads, where the pack had sought shelter.

Hailey and Ahti

We drove down the perimeter road that runs along an electric fence and then cut overland, bushwhacking as we went. It was clear Hailey was not about to allow another opportunity to slip by. Meanwhile, she contacted another Rover by radio for help, and they quickly materialized. The dogs were lying low and difficult to spot. When we were about to give up and redirect to the meerkats as planned, the other driver called.

“We found them!” 

After taking directions, Hailey made a U-turn, and we again plunged into heavy foliage. It was only five minutes later that we came upon the other Rover. The dogs were lying in a swale under a copse of camel thorn trees, but with the arrival of a second noisy vehicle, they rose as one and began streaming away. The late afternoon light was excellent for photos, but the dogs were moving fast, vanishing into one thicket to reappear 100 yards away exiting another. It was hard to focus, even with video and the results are a roller coaster of topsy-turvy views. Nonetheless, Hailey persisted and availed Denise the opportunity to grab a few good shots.

We must have bounced around for 45 minutes, Hailey steering the Rover in ever-widening arcs, a step ahead of the pack. Rather than shoot stills, I stuck with cell phone video, but even that was tricky as we tumbled into wart hog holes and over hidden rocks. And the dogs, fanning out in a manner of tactical hunting, were not cooperative when it came to a group photo. Finally, Hailey checked the sun and her watch, and we gave up the chase.

We passed over a koppie, skirted a ridge and a couple of sand dunes before we turned down a road bordered by sour and bushman grasses, the setting sun intensifying the reds, greens, and blondes of the landscape. And there, not 50 yards from the road were the meerkat burrows, the alpha male upright, scanning for signs of danger, which clearly did not include us as we waded through the knee-high grasses (lush from torrential rains over recent weeks) to reach the burrows. All the while, I was thinking:

A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. 

But this expression (which dates to Virgil in 37 BCE) unfairly pertains to treacherous human beings. (There are more than enough to go around these days.) But snakes, authentic snakes, are snakes, and they behave only as nature intended. I just want to avoid them. 

Meerkat young in October. Photo by Denise Vouri

My anxiety worsened earlier in the day when, in answer to a question, Hailey expounded in detail on the venom delivered by Cape and spitting cobras, the tree-dwelling boomslang and puff-adder. With cobras you have about 20 minutes to receive a shot of antivenin, but vast distances on the reserve and the remote location of Tswalu can make all bites fatal. Naturally, having a snake phobia anyway—dating from an experience in Vietnam—I studied every single blade of grass before taking a step. By the time we reached the meerkat viewing area, I was at peak high anxiety. Nonetheless, I pulled out my phone and began to record these delightful creatures. The big male was the star of the show, occasionally visited by the young, whom Denise had viewed as infants last October. I took several shots, then put the cell phone away and enjoyed the moment. 

The same meerkat burrows in April.  Photo by Denise Vouri

Ahti took note, slipped next to me, and quietly urged me to follow him. We waded through the tall grass, me behind Ahti in lock step, until we ended up on the far side of the burrows. There he pointed out the juvenile meerkats cavorting about their mother, trying (and failing) to suckle, ambushing one another, wrestling, checking in with dad and, like us, glorying in the sunset. We laughed so much at their antics that I nearly forgot about snakes!

Meerkats Photo by Denise Vouri

By this time, Denise, Hailey and a couple from another Rover, guided by Andries (who had flown to the reserve with us days before) were returning from the burrows. The couple were originally from England but had spent most of their lives in Africa where he studied elephants. We moved out and up to the summit of a lofty dune with a 360-degree view of Tswalu at dusk, the rays shimmering and expanding from the cloud bank. We enjoyed what were to be our last gin and tonics in the bush and when darkness fell, headed home, Ahti scanning the roadside with his strobe, picking up a pair of jackals, Cape buffalo and a roan antelope.

A perfect end to a perfect day.

 Mike and Denise on the last Kalahari sundowner.

Last Kalahari sunset…

4/6 Morning

It poured overnight, the cloud bank on the horizon at sunset delivering as promised, sheets of rain drumming on the pavilion and stealing through a window to drench a hallway. Hailey and Ahti arrived at 6:30, as agreed upon, and bundled to the max, we set out on our last game drive (though we did not know it). 

The plan was rhinos or lions; whichever appeared first to Ahti’s keen eye. It turned out to be rhinos, but not the black rhinos that we had expected. Those fellows had fled into the thickets, and we were not about to enter there unless promise would be fulfilled at once. 

White Rhinos Photo by Denise Vouri

Instead, we spotted a pair of white rhinos (male and female) in a wide-open field of sour grass. Tswalu rhinoceros are not de-horned because, unlike Londolozi, the reserve is secure behind a network of anti-poaching electric fences and locking gates, so it was rewarding to view them as they are meant to be. The male was sexually aroused, as evidenced by the curl of his lip, which in zoological terms is known as a flehmen grimace. This allows the animal to suck in and process scents via a specialized organ in the nasal cavity, which answers the question: “Will she, or won’t she?” He lumbered after her seeking resolution, plowing through the sour grass, each of them rubbing their reddish-brown armor (from rolling in the sand) against a lone camel thorn tree. She would turn away and move off when he tried to slip behind her. Had they been black rhinos engaged in this process or tending young they might have charged, owing to our proximity. But the whites are mellower, and they put up with us for about an hour.

That is when Hailey suggested we check once again in on the lion brothers. Their tracks led over the ridge line opposite our lodge. As the sky was beginning to open again, Hailey asked if we wished to continue. 

“Sure,” I said. “Where I come from, if you don’t go out in the rain, you don’t go out at all. Let’s have at it.”

Fool. 

After ascending a dune, following their tracks, the wind freshened, and the sky opened. Really opened. Sitting in the passenger seat next Hailey, I was lashed by a rip of fat droplets, the wind becoming more persistent.

“Do you want to move up to the back with Ahti?” Hailey asked. Feeling “sourdough,” I again turned her down.

“Naw, I’m used to this!”

Wrong. The storm intensified and soon there was no doubt that the drive had ended. Hailey made for the lodge, which was about 30 minutes away. Enduring the brunt of the storm from the driver’s seat, she was soaked by the time we arrived. We offered them both a fire and coffee, but all they wanted to do was return to the village and shuck their wet clothing.

In Africa, like the Great Plains, it seems like everything is BIG. The wind howled and it rained all day, so hard we used up a supply of towels sopping up the leaking hallway. I spent the next several hours consulting weather websites. Some were full of alarm, predicting heavy rains, winds, and floods over the next two days, which spun visions of missing our flights home. And the storm went on, without respite, creating a lake in front of our lodge, obliterating the mountains off in the distance.

Denver and Denise

Fortunately, the storm passed over us about 6 p.m. It continued to rain steadily, but it was more like the drizzle at home. My eyes flew open at 7 a.m. and I busied myself in ensuring that I left nothing behind. When I walked into the living room, Denver, our homati, awaited with a double cappuccino. Hailey and Ahti arrived an hour later to take us to the airstrip, where a smaller King Air 200 was ready to go. 

“Fumba lekhaya,” Denver said. 

Time to go home.