Your First Safari

They say you never forget your first time. That’s certainly true for me.

My first safari happened in 1985 in Namibia’s Etosha National Park. 

My South African boyfriend, Tony, and I had spent the day driving through the park. I saw my first lions, wild dogs, elephant, wart hogs, zebra, hyena. I was beyond excited. Little did I know that those sightings were only a prelude to what would happen that night on my first safari. 

 

 

Earlier that day at a gathering of animals Tony had given me a basic lesson about animals and water. It was the dry season which meant the animals would most likely be found near watering holes.

 

Back at our lodge that night, I noticed a man-made watering hole the size of a large pond, lit up by two spotlights.

After a South African style barbecue (called a braii) of sausages and veggies, we climbed into bed.

But I couldn’t sleep. I was too wound up from the thrill of the days animal sightings.

Wrapped in a wool blanket I told Tony, “I’m going outside to check the watering hole.”

“OK,” he murmured, already half asleep.

Sitting on a wooden bench, in front of an almost invisible wire fence, I was the only one in the audience, and the liquid stage was empty. Glittering specks consumed the sky. I’ld never seen so many stars.

My breathing and heart rate slowed to meet the nights peaceful rhythm until a mouse scurrying along the fences edge interrupted my solitude.

Then I head something else. A movement in the bushes to my left. Suddenly, as if it had been waiting stage left for a cue to enter, a huge silent mass, like a ghost from a prehistoric world, appeared. Then another and another until five elephants were 100 feet in front of me.

I froze.

The largest living land animal, the elephant’s cushioned footpads had held their arrival in secret until the very last moment. The small herd entered the water. Using their trunks, they lifted the liquid to their mouths, and  sprayed it onto their backs. A thick layer of dust and sand fell from their bodies, clouding the water. They didn’t see me watching their pool party. Or, they did, but didn’t mind.

Fifteen minutes later, just as silently as they had entered, they exited in lined formation, until I was left with nothing but the sound of my own breath.

My heart rate quickened again as four giraffe approached the water across from where I sat. Taking one cautious sideways step at a time, their thin legs splayed outward, they brought their long necks more in line with the ground. Sucking water in this position made them vulnerable to predators. After only a few minutes, in one synchronized movement they  jumped to their feet and galloped away in long strided gaits.

The cause of the giraffes sudden exit?  Six lions. The pride crouched along the waters edge, scanning in all directions, even it seemed looking straight at me, while they lapped at the water with no sense of urgency. It’s clear they had nothing to fear here.

 

 

A few minutes after the lions left, a lone rhino, shielded by a thick grey armour sauntered in. He too was not in a hurry.

I stayed at that watering hole watching as one at a time, gazelles, warthogs, and a couple of hyenas showed up as if they had pre-scheduled turns at the life giving liquid. 

For 2 hours I didn’t move, containing my desire to jump up in excitement, and scream out to all the sleeping tourists, “Wake up, your missing the show.”

The production of my first safari night, starring of all of Africa’s wild celebrities, was flawless, the most magnificent show on earth.  But my only witness were the glistening stars.

Snuggled back with Tony, I replayed each waterhole memory over and over, until I finally drifted off to sleep, not knowing at the time that there would be thirty years of safari’s in my future, each as wonderful, but not quite as memorable, as my first safari. 

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