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watch the animals. If ever there was a moment when an emotional link might have been formed, then I was whisked away from it and moved quickly on to the next destination. My trip to Botswana was entirely different. We stayed in remote, unfenced camps and rarely saw another party. Every comfort was provided and safari drives in spacious, open vehicles were relaxed and unhurried – each time we encountered animals, we were able to spend as much time as we wanted in their company. During the late afternoon safari outing each day, we would stop, get out of the vehicle and indulge in
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“sundowners”, a delightful African custom. While watching the setting sun, usually in some picturesque spot, we would enjoy chilled drinks and a canapé or two. On this particular occasion, we had stopped in a forest clearing where the visibility on all sides was good and hence safe. Earlier, we had seen some wild dogs trotting off to hunt. I was standing a few feet away from the seven others in our group, sipping my glass of chilled chardonnay and enjoying the hush of the close of day. “Look,” exclaimed Lex, our guide/leader. A hundred or so metres away, a wild dog was trotting with intent through the forest. Furthermore, he was trotting directly towards me – closer and closer he advanced. “Don’t worry,” said Lex, “he won’t harm you.” I quivered, mesmerised and rooted to the spot, tightly gripping my precious glass of wine. Lex was right, of course. The beautiful wild dog had no interest in me. However, to everyone’s amusement, he trotted past me at a distance of just a few feet, ignoring someone’s suggestion that I might offer him a sip of my wine.
Cute, cuddly and curious: Botswana, at the edge of the Kalahari Desert Early mornings on the unpronounceable Makgadikgadi Pan
at the edge of the Kalahari Desert can be surprisingly cold during the dry season. Hastily downing a first coffee, I boarded our four-wheel-drive vehicle to venture into the desert. In this part of Botswana, several families of meerkats have been habituated – meaning that through the patient efforts of local people, they have become accustomed to human beings such that visitors can spend time in their company, up close and personal, without disturbing them. I was looking forward immensely to this experience and the very early start in the cold and dark was no deterrent. We drove silently for a short distance. Ahead of us, light had begun to flow into the horizon, heralding the dawn. “We’re here,” announced our driver, stating the obvious – as the vehicle had already stopped. I peered into the lunar landscape, wondering exactly where we were. Daylight arrived quickly as the sun burst over the horizon. We walked silently over the rough sandy ground for a few minutes before arriving at a place where nothing at all appeared to be going on. “This is the meerkats’ burrow,” said our guide, confidently pointing at a big hole in the ground just ahead. “We just need to wait for them to wake up.” Meerkats, like people, don’t much like cold mornings. Who can blame them? It was, however, becoming imperceptibly warmer as the sun began to climb the ink-blue sky. Suddenly, a movement. First one, then another, and moments later several meerkats emerged from the burrow. Each stood upright on its hind legs, shivering in the cool dawn and ignoring us completely. They stand upright like this to expose a bare patch of skin on their underbellies, which acts to absorb the rising sun’s heat. “They’re so tiny,” exclaimed one of my fellow travellers. Meerkats are only