OUR nights in Moremi were rather noisy. We had just settled down to sleep on the first night, when a hyena wandered past, about two metres from the tent flap.
Then a hippopotamus found that we were in the way of his evening constitutional and made a thundering retreat into the reeds, followed by a deafening ‘sploooosh’.
Then the wild dog started. There were two packs of them, one on either side of us.
One pack trotted right past the tent to join up with the other. All was quiet for a while, then we heard the alarm barks of the impala herd and the howling of the dogs as they made their kill.
Next morning Big Boy, our local guide, showed us the way along the river to where, he claimed, the animals were. For a long time we saw practically nothing, but gradually the occasional impala gave way to whole herds of tsessebe and waterbuck.
Giraffe abounded, both the common variety and a local variation which is smaller and much paler in colour. Karen was delighted with what she called ‘baby jarf’.
When we reached the stretch of water known as ‘Hippo Pool’, I was prepared to be disappointed. Just about every game reserve has its hippo pool and I had yet to see a hippo in any of them. At first it seemed that this one was to be no exception. There was no sign of anything in, or anywhere near, the water.
For some reason known only to herself, Karen had decided that grandmothers and hippo should share the same nickname.
I don’t think my mother was very flattered, but there was nothing we could do about it. We stood for a while, surveying the empty landscape, when Karen suddenly started jumping up and down, and shouting. “There Nanna. Nanna coming.”
Sure enough, at that moment, an enormous hippopotamus waddled out of the bush and into the water. It didn’t look a bit like Margaret.
HAVE YOUR SAY
Like our Facebook page, follow us on Twitter and Instagram
For news straight to your phone, add us on BBM 58F3D7A7 or WhatsApp 082 421 6033
