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Africa and safari: my most unforgettable wildlife encounters and how to plan yours

Africa and safari: my most unforgettable wildlife encounters and how to plan yours

Africa and safari: my most unforgettable wildlife encounters and how to plan yours

Africa is one of those places that quietly takes hold of you long before you land. It starts with a name on a map — Serengeti, Okavango, Kruger — and suddenly you’re dreaming in golden savannahs and distant lion roars. My first safari felt like stepping through the pages of every travel book I’d ever underlined, except the air smelled of dust and wild sage, and the soundtrack was birdsong instead of turning pages.

In this article, I want to take you with me to a few of my most unforgettable wildlife encounters, and then help you plan your own safari: how to choose a destination, the best time to go, what type of safari fits your style, and how to travel responsibly in these fragile landscapes.

Waking up with lions in the Maasai Mara

My alarm that morning was not my phone, but the low, shuddering rumble of a lion’s roar rolling across the plains of Kenya’s Maasai Mara. It vibrated through the canvas walls of my tent and into my chest, like distant thunder that somehow had a heartbeat.

We set off before sunrise, thermos of coffee in hand, the air still cold enough to sting my fingers. The sky was just beginning to pale when we found them: a pride of lions, nine in total, draped across a small rise like faded gold coins scattered in the grass.

The cubs played in the first light, pouncing on each other, tumbling clumsily over their mother’s paws. Every so often, one would stop and stare directly at us, eyes like burnished amber, then lose interest and return to its wrestling match. The adults barely acknowledged our presence. For them, the Land Rover was simply part of the landscape, another harmless shape on the horizon.

What I remember most is the sound. Not the famous roar that documentaries love, but the soft, almost domestic noises: cubs mewing, a lioness chuffing softly at her young, the faint tear of flesh as one of the males finished the last of a wildebeest kill hidden in the grass.

That morning set the tone for every safari I’ve taken since: the sense that you are a guest in a world that existed long before you, and will continue long after you’ve boarded your flight home.

Elephants and silence in Botswana’s Okavango Delta

If the Maasai Mara is a theatre of wide-open plains, the Okavango Delta in Botswana is a whispered secret. Water channels thread their way through reeds and papyrus, creating a mosaic of islands, lagoons and floodplains where life gathers in quiet abundance.

One afternoon, my guide suggested we abandon the vehicle for a while and explore in a mokoro — a traditional dugout canoe. The water was mirror-still, broken only by the gentle push of the pole and the distant call of an African fish eagle. Dragonflies hovered like tiny stained-glass windows above the surface.

We rounded a bend and there they were: a family of elephants at the water’s edge. One of the younger ones stepped into the river, testing the depth with exaggerated caution, while an older female — the matriarch — watched us with a wise, steady gaze. I could see the texture of her skin, every crease baked by sun and time.

She flared her ears slightly, not in aggression but in assessment. We kept our distance, the mokoro barely moving, the world narrowing to the soft plop of water on the hull, the wet sound of trunks scooping and spraying, and the occasional rumble of elephant conversations too low for our ears to fully grasp.

It struck me then how quiet a true wildlife encounter can be. No engines, no crowd of vehicles, just the shared stillness between species who are carefully observing one another.

Tracking rhinos at dawn in South Africa

Some encounters are not about the quantity of animals, but the gravity of a single presence. Rhinos have that gravity — they carry the weight of their own vulnerability, whether they know it or not.

In a private reserve bordering Kruger National Park, we went out on foot with a ranger and a tracker. The air was cool, filled with the fragrance of crushed grass and wild basil. Our guide walked ahead, scanning the ground for clues: a broken twig, a fresh pile of dung, the faint outline of a three-toed print stamped into the dust.

When we finally saw the white rhino, he was standing in a clearing, head down, a living relic in grey armour. We stopped at a safe distance, the ranger’s rifle resting but ready, and watched in absolute silence.

He lifted his head and the morning light caught the curve of his horn. My throat tightened. This creature, perfectly adapted to millions of years of wild living, was being pushed to the brink by human greed and myths.

That moment changed how I think about safaris. It’s not just about spotting the “Big Five” and ticking boxes; it’s about making a quiet promise to leave these animals, and the spaces they inhabit, a little better protected than we found them.

Choosing your African safari destination

So where should you go for your own safari? Africa is a vast, diverse continent, and each region offers a different flavour of wilderness. Your choice will depend on what you dream of seeing, how you like to travel, and your budget.

Some classic options:

Ask yourself:

When to go: seasons and wildlife

Timing can make a big difference to your safari experience. Contrary to what many imagine, the “best” time is often the dry season, not the lush rainy months.

For specific spectacles:

If you’re flexible, talk with a specialist or lodge directly; they’ll tell you when their area truly shines.

What kind of safari suits you?

“Going on safari” can mean many things, from canvas tents under a sky full of stars to polished lodges with infinity pools overlooking a waterhole. Matching the style to your personality is half the fun.

Ask yourself how you want to feel at the end of the day. Rested with a glass of wine on a deck? Or dusty, exhilarated, and falling asleep to hyena calls in a simple tent?

Planning the practicalities: budget, length, and logistics

African safaris have a reputation for being expensive — and they can be — but there is more range than many people realise.

Consider working with a specialist operator or local agency, especially for your first safari. They can balance the puzzle pieces — flights, transfers, park fees, seasonal nuances — while you focus on dreaming about elephants.

Packing: what you really need (and what you don’t)

Safari packing lists can be intimidating, but you don’t need an entire new wardrobe in “safari beige” to blend in. A few well-chosen items make all the difference.

What you can happily skip:

Ethical and responsible safari choices

Every time we step into a wild space, we leave a footprint — the question is whether it’s light or heavy. A few thoughtful choices can make your safari more positive for wildlife and local communities.

An ethical safari isn’t about perfection; it’s about consistent small choices that align with the wild places you’ve come to admire.

Capturing the moment without losing it

You’ll be tempted to photograph everything: the way dust glows behind a herd of impala, the exact moment a leopard pads across the road. And you should. But remember that no camera, however expensive, can fully steal the soul of what you’re seeing — that part is for you alone.

A few tips:

Some of my strongest memories aren’t my sharpest photos, but the ones taken a beat too late because I chose to simply witness the moment first.

Letting Africa stay with you

My last night on safari is always the same ritual. I sit outside, however chilly or warm it is, and listen. Sometimes it’s the far-off whoop of a hyena, sometimes just the creaking of insects and the wind threading through the trees. I try to map the sounds to memory: the textures of darkness, the particular way the air smells of dust, woodsmoke, and something green and wild.

African safaris are not just about seeing animals. They are about feeling small in the best possible way. About being reminded that the world is older, larger and more intricate than our daily routines suggest.

When you plan yours, leave space in the itinerary for doing absolutely nothing: no extra activity, no checklist. Just you, a chair, and the wide, breathing landscape in front of you. In the end, those are often the moments that refuse to fade, long after your suitcase is unpacked and the last trace of red dust has been shaken from your shoes.

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