Safari scars: Traveller’s tale of a game drive experience gone wrong

Working in the media industry certainly has its perks, one of which, as a lifestyle journalist is the opportunity to travel. After almost a year at my company, I was being given the opportunity to travel further than they’d ever sent me: back to my home province: Mpumalanga. Here’s my take on why safari’s can suck it.

The safari trip

“Where are you from?” is the question I get asked most. “Here,” I respond, making reference to South Africa. To which people normally say “Really?” or “Oh, you don’t look like you are.” It’s always confused me: is there a South African look, one applicable to the people of this rainbow nation? Nobody has the answer.

My parents are second- and third-generation Saffers respectively. As for how my lineage arrived  here … that’s a discussion for a different day. The point is, I’m fully South African. I love our country and her people; this is home and I’m proud to say it is. I’ll tell you what’s not so South African about me, though: I don’t enjoy Rooibos tea. I’ll wait for the shock and disappointment to simmer down before I continue. Ready? Okay. I once went horse riding through a game reserve and soon discovered I don’t quite like these kinds of animals safari adventures — you know, the ones tourists visit Africa for.

I’d be travelling to a luxury lodge in the greater Kruger region, one which is generally speaking only affordable for foreigners. It is no secret that many luxury establishments engage with media who cater to international audiences for this very reason. Amanda Kotze-Nhlapo, South African National Conventions Bureau Chief Convention Bureau Officer says that in 2019, they want to show “Africa, especially South Africa, is a destination well positioned in the minds of foreign tourists seeking exclusivity, luxury and unique experiences.”

Transferring from the budget airliner to a plane with room for no more than 20 passengers had me shaking before the turbulence even began. It was the tiniest plane I’d ever been in, but I tried to put on a brave face for my editor sitting opposite me, who showed no signs of nervousness as she waited for the chance to whip out her laptop. The trip lasted only about 45 minutes and when time came to descend, I felt proud for having weathered the ride better than I thought I would, and started to feel nostalgic about being back in MP.

It had been years since I returned to the province, having left after high school to pursue my studies and the city life. But growing up there was special, and I made many lifelong friends in the small city that is Nelspruit. I thought about the last safari I was on and couldn’t quite place a particular memory. What we normally did was take a drive in the Kruger Park every now and again. As I was about to learn, safaris are a world away from self-drives, which allow for you to see animals safely from a distance in a much less invasive fashion. 

Photo: Shannon Correia

The fear

A member from the lodge awaited us at the small airport and transferred us to the lodge. When we arrived, we were greeted by the manager, who promptly showed us to our rooms before the first afternoon safari. There were to be two safaris daily: One in the early morning after a 5:30 wake-up call, and another at 16:00 which would continue through to sunset and starry skies. We walked along a path to my very own villa. It was gigantic; it was extravagant. A large door opened up to my complimentary (not-so-mini)-bar and lounge area. 

When we turned the corner, my four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room, and next to it my open-plan bathroom with a magnificent stand-alone bath. I plopped down my backpack and glasses as the woman showing me the room motioned toward the desk and cupboard, and an emergency walkie talkie before stepping out. Being a millennial and very excited to be encountering the highest level of luxury I’d ever come to know, I was filming everything as I walked through.

The room had natural stone walls on the two sides, met by stretches of panoramic glass, opening up to a direct view of a river with the wild animals, and also to my very own pool. I could barely contain my excitement as I headed outside to feel the water; here, you can literally swim in the park, watching as animals roam. Knowing that the next safari left in five minutes’ time, I decided to head back inside and get a drink. As I turned to do so, I saw a thin green snake drop from the tree towering over the thatch roof. It took me a moment to realise that the snake and I were heading in the same direction, me running and it slithering just as quickly. I stopped dead in my tracks. Having grown up near the bush, I ought to have known better. I slowly walked backwards, while the snake continued on – heading straight into my room, where every other door was locked. 

I was alone outside. The villa was completely private, so there was no chance of anyone seeing me, let alone hearing me. I frantically called my travelling partner, and all four times I got no response. I googled the lodge so I could call them, since I didn’t have the walkie talkie on hand and my glasses were inside, making me feel even more vulnerable; I wouldn’t be able to spot the snake very well. I couldn’t get through and when I did, the person on the line didn’t understand me.

I felt hopeless and bad signal finally ended the call, leaving me with no choice but to broadcast what was going on on Instagram – in my mind, the idea was that if something happened, people would at least know what went down. My voice was breaking and my hands shaking as I explained the situation. After 10 minutes or so of this panic, someone finally came to my aid – after all, I was holding up the safari. I explained what had happened, and the two women, who looked almost as frightened as me, told me we had to quickly walk through the room and make an exit. I barely made it to the safari vehicle, re-explaining the story to everyone in a clear state of shock. Of course, I thought, this had to have happened to me. 

Our first game drive was rather laid back. You’re destined to see many animals during your stay, from crocodiles and hippos in the waters – which of course you drive through – to families of giraffes, all sorts of birds and, perhaps most exquisitely visible, are the cats, ngoma‘s and indgwe‘s (lions and leopards). With my glasses on, I was able to see animals as we passed them, from birds perched on branches to some buck prancing around. The shock of the incident must have lulled me as we followed a large herd of elephants through the trees. This would be the first of our many off-road experiences, which I wasn’t entirely sure about.

The shrubs we drove over cracked as we drove behind the grey giants, finally parking on the riverbank as we watched on. There were baby ellies who used the trucks of their elders to get up and down the riverbed, crossing the water as the sun dipped. Our Ranger told us it was safe to get off the vehicle to stretch our legs, nibble on that snacks they’d brought for us, and sip on a sundowner of our choice. I was nervous to do so, but the G&T was certainly well needed. Every other time we stopped for drinks, the go-to was a “mocha-locka-choca-vula-vala,” a mocha hot chocolate with a dash of Amarula.

We returned to the lodge, ate a meal on a wooden deck and retreated to our rooms. I was informed that there were no other villas available, so I had to be brave and stay in the original one. I had the Ranger come to my room to do a snake inspection. He didn’t find anything, which actually worried me more. Being 24, alone, and generally very dramatic, I lit the room dimly, played some Andrea Bocceli and reclined in a hot bath. After dancing and singing to my heart’s content and my body’s abilities), I melted into my bed, enclosing the four posters with the mosquito netting, feeling safely cocooned away from my lime green neighbour. Thankfully, it wasn’t until breakfast the next day that I was told snakes love hiding in beds for their warmth.

Photo: Shannon Correia

The prowl

Game drives are invigorating, as adrenaline rushes through your body, which feels like a stark contrast to the serenity experienced while unwinding at the lodge. We set out to find hyenas at their den, but sadly they weren’t home. Instead, we saw a pack of lions hanging out, with three playful cubs among an otherwise very boring lot. Lions are most active between dusk and dawn, while their days are spent resting.

We watched them for a while before heading back and were promised that, in the afternoon, we’d be on a mission to find and track a leopard. The area is well known for its leopard sightings, having one of the most dense of its populations in the country. I spent the day eating far too much, lounging by the pool outside and almost always questioning whether I was looking up at branches or reptiles. 

Before we knew it, it was time to get back into the safari vehicle to fulfil the promise of tracking a leopard.”Popcorn!” exclaimed the ranger. Our Animal Tracker, was sitting at the edge of the seat, at the front of our safari truck, looking for tracks. Sitting just behind the duo, we searched the greenery as we rode past it, playing our part in searching for a glimpse of Nyeleti, one of the male leopards known to frequent the area. 

Suddenly, we smelt popcorn again. It meant we were close, as this is what the leopard scent smells like when it marks its territory. Our guide radioed another game driver nearby, who told us that he had heard him vocalising. We were close. Reaching a fork in the road, and the Spotter scanned the ground, and eagerly told us to continue on the left path after spotting the iconic print softly placed in the sand not too long ago.

A short drive down, our Spotter raised his arms in the air in satisfaction, gleefully turning to us. He didn’t need to say it; he had spotted Nyeleti on an adjoining road. “Yes please!” he exclaimed, to which our guide responded with a “Good job, boet!”

Nyeleti, meaning shining star, stood wondering along, in a coat that had white underpinnings, rich black spots and golden-orange ombre. He approached the bushes every few metres, smelling it, before running his body and tail along with leaves, letting the others who may be close know of his presence. 

Nyeleti stood still to watch the animals within his territory. Impalas were alarm-calling with a loud, deep screech. He kept moving on the prowl though, not quite ready to hunt. As we followed him, the smell of popcorn remained, and while we marvelled at his majesty, the sun dipped past the horizon. The road ahead was a sandy-tan colour, winding around turns between patches of deep green bushes. This was the third time today that our guide were the first to spot an animal. Our Spotter had an in incredible eye, and the Ranger was able to involve everyone in the safari in the action, telling interesting stories and snippets of information – it was clear that we were riding with the dream team, and the ones you should ask for by name during your visit. 

Photo: Shannon Correia

The kills

Sunsets are their best in the company of the savannah, with the sky rapidly changing hues in the open above you. Here, you will feel the duality of being so close – to the ground, to the animals, to nature, and so far – into the expansive landscape, and from the busyness of the modern world. Just as you ponder these thoughts, you get word of a pride of lions with a kill, and just like that, you’re off on a ‘Ferarri Safari’ …

We sped off in silence for what felt like another 10 anxiety-filled minutes. En route, each bump in the road jolted a new thought in my mind about what we were headed towards. It was the same pack of lions we’d seen earlier, except this time we wouldn’t find them looking so ‘boring’. I tried to rationalise it, being glad that they had a kill, that is – because this is the cycle of life after all, and they did look pretty starving earlier on.

While for most foreigners, and probably quite a few locals too, seeing a kill is the ultimate bucket-list item on the safari wish-list. I, for one, could not, and would not, understand that. I know it’s nature, but I don’t need to see that. Just like I don’t need to know the process of how my steak arrived on my plate. If I did, I probably wouldn’t eat, and then I’d be starving like the lions. So, just let me eat my steak in peace, and I’ll let the lions do the same. But, alas, no one else on board shared my sentiment. With that, we arrived at the scene. 

Three other safari vehicles were parked just off the road in a semi-circle. Ours inserted itself in the queue, hearing the purring before we saw the cats. All of the adult pride members were present, each tackling a different part of the eland that stood grazing not too long ago, our Ranger said. The game drivers held torches up as we sat in darkness. We made eye contact every now and again with a lion, their eyes appearing more amber as usual in contrast with the bright red blood around their mouths.

We stared on, some enjoying the sight, others even taking photos. Before us, the buck was tangled in an unnatural position, with parts of it missing as the lions gnawed away. It’s stomach had been ripped open to reveal shreds of bright green grass, freshly eaten, and I tried to look away each time its face was pulled up to reveal its sad brown eyes. All I could do was sit and wait it out, longing for us to head back to the lodge.

Our evening was about to come to an end as we approached the lodge, battling wind and trying to see animals with the help of a torch. Suddenly, the car stopped. The Ranger and Spotter got out and went to fiddle in the back. “Flat tyre,” was said flatly. It was then that I felt the onset of panic and nausea rush through me, which was somewhat quelled when he followed that with a “Just joking!” and passed ponchos to each of us, mere seconds before rain drops began to fall.

Thankfully, we were back at the lodge within minutes – and as far as I was concerned, our nighttime horror show had come to an end. We were informed upon arrival that the snake had been found in the lodge’s main fireplace; and with that, all I knew is that I would be getting a great night’s rest.

Flash-forward to the morning game drive, where I was still rather disturbed by the previous night’s sighting.  Little did I know, the lions weren’t the only cats to get lucky. We happened upon another leopard, sitting under the shade of a tree with a kill. This was an unusual kill for a leopard, but the Ranger explained he must have been really hungry, something we could all relate to, as our stomach growls matched the animal’s purrs.

I couldn’t decide if this kill of the rock monitor (or giant lizard) was more gruesome than that of the eland the night before. This poor little thing was still alive. We sat nearby, passing around the binoculars to get as close a look as possible, watching this leopard bite into the moving creature. It was being eaten alive. We heard every crack of bone. It all felt so cruel. Worst part is, when we eventually left and later returned to the site, we found it had been left as it was, eaten merely as a snack, rather than wholly devoured which would have made us (okay, me) feel like its death was a little better and more dignified. 

Before heading back to the lodge, I had become desperate for the toilet. I reluctantly spoke up, and we stopped off. The car was stopped, facing away from a nearby tall  area of bushes in otherwise yellow-hued savannah, which he double-checked was safe for me. Being out of the vehicle, off road, vulnerable and in the environment of wild animals was pretty terrifying. I was back in my seat as fast as I could manage, and with that we returned to the lodge for some breakfast of our own. 

Our route back was interrupted by yet another off-road look at two stout rhino and then a few metres away, two elephants, neither of which enjoyed our prying presence and looming eyes. They stood their ground, turning to look at us head-on. We sat calmly looking on, involuntarily engaged in a staring contest. The rhino started kicking up dust, mock running toward us before trotting into the bushes as we drove away, my knuckles five shades whiter than they had been at the start of the morning. When we saw the elephants, they too mock-charged us, giving us what the Ranger said was a warning with the waving of their ears. The elephants, though, didn’t play. They came at us as we revered, fast and on musk, before growing tired of us and letting us go.

My anxieties for what I’d witness and which animal we might provoke were ignited in unison with the engine of the safari truck. So much so, that I decided it would be best for me to skip the final morning safari, opting instead for more time wrapped up in what was obviously a very high thread count. This just isn’t for me, I thought. People from all over the world come here for this – to see animals as wild as possible, as close as possible – and in my opinion coming rather close to death. It’s so quintessentially part of the landscape of South Africa, rooted in the life here. And yet, it just isn’t for me.

Photo: Shannon Correia

I know what you’re thinking: how can I be a South African travel writer who doesn’t enjoy safari? My editor had the same question, as she told me about my predecessor who was so terrified that she physically couldn’t keep it together and crouched down, crying when animals approached. Kayla and I are clearly two sissies, who cannot handle that part of the outdoors. I don’t think it makes us less South African though, does it? Feel free to follow my ‘tracks’ digitally, seeing which adventure they’ll send me off on next – and how well I fare.

On the morning of our last day at the lodge, I decided to skip the safari all together. I had had quite enough of the extreme rides, and apparently that day, I didn’t miss much. Instead, I enjoyed my late morning in the villa and took a final outdoor shower before packing my bags. We had another small plane ride to catch, one that this time didn’t feel quite as scary. I looked down as we shakily took off from the ground, smiling down at the vast, beautiful Kruger Park. This is where I’m from, and for that, I will forever be grateful.