Lion Chasers
I’ve said often and loudly that I’m not leaving Africa until I see an elephant and a lion. African tourism is game parks and little else, and I’ll be damned if I don’t see some big cats before we ship out for the Middle East. With that in mind, Jamie and I put on our best lion hunting boots and signed up for a genuine Botswanan game drive.
Chobe National Park was our first attempt in the Great Lion Chase. The park is renowned for its elephant population, home to some 50,000 of the great grey giants according to our guide. Lions and leopards are also in the park, alongside hippos, buffalo, and crocodiles.
But as we found out, Chobe is all about the elephants. In the space of some 500 metres of river bank were not one, not two, but three separate herds of elephants, each with about twenty or so family members.
Many viewings of the brilliant BBC Planet Earth had led me to believe Africa had about five elephants total, and that finding them would involve many months, teams of trackers, and a budget on the order of a major motion picture. I have never been so lied-to in my life. Elephants are everywhere, and are a common nuisance in villages and game lodges surrounding national parks.
As a kiwi we learn at a young age that animals in the bush are shy and will not appear unless you are very still and very quiet. In Chobe, game drive trucks regularly park up five metres away from elephants, hippos, and all manner of antelope. Hippos watch with casual disinterest as trucks roll past, roaring occasionally at another close-by herd. The sheer numbers and mass of wildlife was awe-inspiring. Herds of up to fifty impala happily wander along the dirt roads used by safari trucks. The vivacity of the Chobe is not to be missed and never to be forgotten.
Sadly though, Chobe national park provided us with zero cats. No leopards, and certainly no lions. Jamie and I discussed the chances of sightings on a morning game drive and the emptiness of our pockets. Cats are most active around dawn and dusk, when the day is cool and the herbivores are settling in for the evening. The woman at the safari lodge desk was less than reassuring, and we decide to decamp and try our luck elsewhere.
As it turns out, spotting a lion in the wild is far from a guaranteed thing. The big cats are notoriously shy, and in very limited numbers in southern Africa. They are much more abundant in Tanzania and Kenya, which are home to over half of Africa’s lions and some seriously horrific park fees. Mere entry into the Serengeti, Tanzania, costs $60USD. At South Luangwa in Zambia, those fees are $25USD, while back at Chobe they charge a paltry $12USD . For a two-month jaunt in Africa that may not be a great difference, but for us it’s completely prohibitive.
Lions are the big game, the jewel in the crown of Safari animal spotting. Elephants are a dime a dozen, hippos are a curious oddity. Lions are king. Hanging around safari lodges, the chatter is only ever focused on the great beasts. “Did you see any on the game drive?”, “Have you seen lions yet?”, “What are the odds of seeing lions on this tour?” A bunch of Arizonans on a school-building mission told us about a guy on one of their game drives. This guy, also American, was a photog and was so keen on lions he offered the driver $100USD if he could find him some cats. $100USD in Africa is a small fortune, close on a month’s pay for an average labourer. Sure enough, right around the next bend was a full pride in the middle of the road. “We made him pay”, one of the Arizonans told us, and I’m sure he did. Lions are a madness amongst safari tourists, the gold-rush fever of the animal kingdom.
The only other topic that even comes close to the big cats in popularity is malaria. It’s the bogeyman of Africa, tourists are convinced they’re one mosquito bite away from death. Conversations centre around the different medications. Malarone is the gold standard, a daily tablet that guarantees protection but costs $1USD per pill. There’s a weekly pill that works very well, but gives you vivid, vivid nightmares. Apparently doxycycline is the cheapest and most rubbish medication, which incidentally is what New Zealand prescribes. Hoorah for New Zealand, bastion of first class medicine and well-judged treatments. People look at us funny when we tell them we’re on the doxy.
But it’s not just paranoid tourists. Even the locals can’t resist talking malaria. Most of them, as it happens, aren’t taking medication at all. The word is, if you get malaria you can dose up with three Malarone tabs and ride it out in hospital. Contrary to popular belief, locals insist that malaria isn’t a recurring disease, and that getting it once every 10 years or so is par for the course. There’s a lot of bravado about it. You often hear “it’s not as bad the second time”, or “I’ve never got it and I get bitten every day” from Zambian residents.
We met a guy in Livingstone, Zambia, who’d got malaria. I’ve never seen someone so limp and pallid. Louis was completely laid out, draped over a couch in a backpackers. His face was ghostly pale, odd for someone who’d spent two months under the African sun. The disease and treatment had taken its toll: Louis barely had the energy to make phone calls. Preventative medication has made a lot of sense since, in spite of what locals might say.
Three days later after our adventures in Botswana we find ourselves in Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. Our destination is Croc Valley Camp in the South Luangwa, a place of legends and international renown. Overland truck operators recommend it as a place where you can wake up in the morning with an elephant outside your tent, and it sounds like paradise. A wheeling and dealing local tour guide named Moffy talks Jamie into a bit of a deal, $150 for three nights accommodation, an all-day safari and transportation on to Malawi afterward. I have my reservations about how good this guy is, but we agree and the lion chase is back on.
Lions are most active around dawn, and the change of light is the best chance of a sighting. Mofi oversleeps, and we watch our dreams of lions evaporate in the morning sun. To his credit he drives us around the park for an extra half hour, but no dice. We retire to Croc Valley Camp for lunch in low spirits.
Thankfully the evening game drive was run by the camp, with professional guides and a slick safari truck setup. Twenty minutes in the park we spot two leopards, and they are gorgeous. One napping in a tree, the other sunbathing in the grass. Someone in our truck stands up for a photo and the second leopard spooks a little, wandering over to the nearest tree and climbing into the fork. From his new vantage point in the trees he surveys the gathering safari trucks with beautiful golden eyes. I’d swiped Jamie’s binoculars and couldn’t tear my eyes away from them: not for the hyenas gambolling about the truck, certainly not for the ever-present impala. Leopard number one is close by where we are stopped, her crisp and clean markings easy to pick out on her luxurious coat. After some time we drive on in search of new game. Our driver assures us we will come back.
We later have the good fortune see African hunting dogs, something of a rarity in the wild. Our driver and spotter are visibly excited, sightings in South Luangwa are few and far between. “They are the best hunters” our spotter exclaims. Their mannerisms are eerily similar to domestic dogs, scratching their ears and playing in the dust. A few even have collars, apparently for tracking purposes. But as good as it is to see them, I’m still thinking I’d rather be watching leopards.
Our game drive ends around 8pm. Neither sight nor sound of lions, but we aren’t too fussed. We chat with two Polish travellers who are absolutely thrilled by the leopards, and we agree. The leopard is a glorious creature to behold, magnificent in their spotted coats. Lions can go hang: the real prize in Africa is the leopard.
The two Poles do a morning drive the next day sans Jamie and myself, and spot nine lions. Bastards.
