The scenario is almost unthinkable. But herein lies the problem: accustomed to the cosseting comforts of luxury safaris, we’ve forgotten we are in the realm of wild animals.
A couple of years ago, I too found myself in a sticky situation in Kafue, when my vehicle broke down with a puncture on an early morning game drive. Although we had a spare tyre onboard, the mechanic had forgotten to load a toolbox, rendering it useless. Despite my poor guide’s best efforts, no-one back at camp was picking up the radio (the receiver had been left in the bar, which was only serviced from 10am) and there was no mobile phone reception.
Our only option was to abandon the vehicle and walk – unarmed – through thick, dense vegetation where I’d seen a pride of lions tearing apart the stinking carcass of a buffalo only minutes earlier. To make matters worse, the air was heaving with black clouds of tsetse flies – viscous, blood-sucking insects that pierce the skin with painful pin pricks, producing sores so itchy you’ll scratch the skin raw.
In this instance, elephants came to my rescue. Setting fire to a ball of dung wedged onto a stick, I used a smoking lollipop to ward off the evil little vampires. Waving it back and forth, I felt like a priest swinging incense in a thurible.
Of course, it’s possible to walk through the bush without getting mauled or trampled. The key is to always exercise caution and follow the instructions of your ranger or guide. These people have an intuitive understanding of the animals that share their living space. Crucially, they have respect.
I’ve encountered lions, leopards, elephants, buffalos, rhinos and wild dogs on walking safaris. Despite their years of experience, my guides have always been on high alert – listening for movements, checking the wind direction, assessing suitable trees to climb. Never are they complacent.
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