I’ve traveled to and studied many wetlands in remote locations such as Belize, Honduras, Panama, Australia, and Vietnam. Even in mangrove swamps where saltwater crocodiles roam, I’ve never felt in great danger. So being in the Okavango Delta where it’s essential to be locked in your quarters at night to avoid being eaten by the wildlife is quite a different experience.
The Okavango Delta is a blue and green oasis in the Middle of the African continent where the Okavango River delivers its waters from Angola to the sands of the Kalahari basin in northern Botswana. This 55,000 square kilometer complex of permanent swamp, seasonal wetlands, lagoons, and braided rivers is home to the iconic African mammals: elephant, lion, leopard, cheetah, Cape buffalo, and hippopotamus.
The manager of the bush camp fixes us with a serious gaze and says that she must explain the rules of conduct to us.
“You may walk around the camp during the daytime, but never stray from the paths. At night, you will be escorted by your guide to and from your quarters. There are no fences to keep out the animals, so they freely pass through the camp.”
She pauses to see if her message is sinking in. We both nod affirmatively and try to look appropriately alert and receptive to these instructions.
She continues, “Once in your room after dinner, you must not go out for any reason until the next morning when your guide awakens you at five am.” Yikes, I think, 5 am?
I am also thinking at this point that the chances of encountering any large animals, ones that might be dangerous, seem pretty remote. We spend hours upon hours riding around in a bush jeep looking for megafauna. What are the chances that a lion or elephant will come waltzing into camp?
Well, apparently very good.
As we settle into our accommodation for the night, we take stock of our surroundings. It is a large tent set up on a platform, but the tent frame is constructed of eight-inch diameter poles, and the flooring is comprised of heavy wooden planks—sturdy enough to withstand a modest earthquake. There are windows on all sides with screens and canvas flaps to lower in case of rain. An attached toilet and outdoor shower sit on a porch framed in Mopani poles that provide a privacy screen. A bucket shower is lowered by ropes so that water can be easily added from the faucet; when raised, gravity flow sends the water out of the shower head. Rustic, practical, and safe.
After putting our belongings away, we retire to the elevated verandah that overlooks the marsh. At least, it once did. Now, there is a stand of hibiscus bushes and small Mopani trees blocking the view. It’s quite warm, so I go inside to change into shorts and a sleeveless top.
As I’m standing in the bedroom adjacent to the verandah, I hear branches breaking and leaves falling outside. I momentarily wonder if the camp has decided to remove the vegetation blocking our view. Suddenly, a large grey form pushes through the undergrowth and trees right in front of our quarters and heads straight for the verandah.
I say to my husband who is still on the porch sitting in a chair, “Don’t move. Stay perfectly still.” He doesn’t need much encouragement, as he’s already frozen as still as a Buckingham palace guard.
Two more elephants appear and move leisurely toward our lodging, which no longer seems so substantial. One good shove from one of these guys and this place will fold like a house of cards.
I watch the elephants carefully for any signs of aggression, but they seem intent only on eating a particular plant growing in abundance around our cabin. One of the elephants comes right up to the edge of the verandah, its tusks almost touching the edge of the deck. It could easily reach out with its trunk and grab my husband’s leg. I have a flashback to the TV show, “When Animals Attack”, and video of circus elephants who’ve gone berserk and killed their trainers.
There is a strong, musky odor wafting through the screen door. As the elephant contemplates my husband, its ears flap, and I hear its stomach rumbling. I see my husband ‘s body tensing and pressing as far back into the lounge chair as possible. The elephant also takes note of me hovering on the other side of the screen door taking photos. After a few tense moments, he moves around to the side of our tent and proceeds to rub his butt on one of the larger trees.
Just then, a troop of baboons appears in a gap in the bushes to the right of where the elephants entered. They begin grunting and calling to each other. There are several adults, juveniles, and a couple of babies clinging to their mother’s backs. They are apparently following the elephants to extract undigested seeds and other delicacies from the elephant droppings (elephants have a very inefficient digestive system, we are told).
The presence of the baboons, which have very impressive teeth and are quite capable of jumping onto the porch, galvanizes my spouse to abandon his position and slip inside through the screen door. One of the other elephants notices and flaps its ears and swings its head in annoyance.
The elephants stay for a few more minutes, then graze their way back into the marsh with the baboon troop trailing close behind. We look at each other and say, “Wow.”
I don’t think we’ll be star gazing from our verandah tonight.
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