African Storybook Media - Cape Town - South Africa | 021 465-5030 | www.africanstorybook.com

AFRICAN STORYBOOK “He’d been living the social highlife in the staff village, with drums at his disposal...”Africa For Kids...

It’s pitch-black outside and the sound is growing louder. From our tiny, thatched and reed-walled hut in the game reserve, we can hear everything that crawls and walks.

Fynn, my toddler of 30 energetic and cuddly months, has never heard anything like it. He’s clinging to my leg - a short, sharp intake of breath illustrates his unease.

Thankfully it’s nothing more threatening than the chorus of a thousand frogs outside - and the reeds do little to soften their song.

If you had to ask most visitors to the African bush why they go on safari, whether from Louisville or London you would find the answer surprisingly simple. As cliched as it is obvious, most are seeking to replace the unforgiving pace of modern city life with a brief return to nature.

To breathe in its scents, take in its landscapes, meet real people, and witness its wildlife. No-­‐one  ever  said  a  return  to  nature  had  to  come  dressed  in  2ive  stars  with  Indian  cotton  sheets  and  an  infusion  of  berry  jus.

It is this absence of ‘puffery’, the adherence to basics, that distinguishes Umlani Bushcamp - deep in South Africa’s Timbavati Game Reserve - from many of the bushveld pack. And it’s at night that the difference is felt most clearly.

By design, the Umlani experience is one of complete immersion. Crickets, frogs and nightjars rustle and tweet themselves awake.

“No-one ever said a return to nature had to come dressed in five stars with Indian cotton sheets and an infusion of berry jus.”

Angus Begg & Alison Hofer

African Storybook Media

Cape Town

E M A I L angus@africanstorybook.com

MOBILE(+27) 82 451 3828

Here with Elvis, Umlani’s chief guide..

Telling Africa’s Stories

www.africanstorybook.comIssue No. Eighteen

AFRICAN STORYBOOK! PAGE2

Without aircon and bricks ‘n mortar to seal out the bush, the imagination is left to run wild - especially when that heavy breathing of the leopard saws its way through the subconscious into reality.

And thats what happened to us. Dragged from its light sleep, my mind began plotting our own escape route in case the feline leapt from my thoughts into our bathroom – on the other side of a whiny swing door. While my mind raced, I was wishing Fynn was awake to hear primeval at play.

But he wasn’t, and we woke to a beautiful morning, with scary frogs replaced by panicking francolins and weavers busy about their nests. Rising with the bushveld in autumn is a privilege.

The game-drive left at 05h30 without us. Being so little, I know how important it is – for my

own sanity as much as the other guests – that Fynn gets a big sleep. But I also wanted to witness his waking to this world. Thankfully David, the camp manager, had arranged a separate drive for us.

David is a curious fish. His super-competency and efficiency is betrayed just by the way he moves – I swear there’s a touch of Sandhurst military in him. He tells me, in a wonderfully candid manner, that the closest he’s been to children is his nephew, ‘and that’s close enough’. Which makes his tolerance at having Fynn bash away at the bongo drum in the kitchen, and stealing the staff ’s attention during dinner, all the more impressive.

The game-drive is good. Just as the faintest drizzle begins to tickle, we spot a leopard – Ginger, our guide, had been looking for him. He has four kills

in a tree – three steenbok and an impala.

The average game-drive is 3-4 hours, and although I’ve brought along juice, rusks and a couple apples, by the time we find our next leopard know I we’re testing his limits.

We are well-positioned to watch a male on a kill beneath a tree next to a dry riverbed - when Fynn decides he wants to get out. He howls. I mutter serious thanks that we are alone.

Back at camp, all he wants for brunch is egg. Usually a brilliant eater, his eating – like his routine - has been all over the place.

We spend a while in the pool, after which he nods off. I’ve meanwhile given myself the luxury of the afternoon game-drive, leaving him in the capable care of Leeneth, the cook who doubles-up as a babysitter.

Happily, Fynn doesn’t miss me like I missed him when we found the lion cubs. He’d been living the social highlife in the staff village, with drums at his disposal and people who appreciate children, simply enjoying his happy little self.

That’s something many forget when travelling this luscious and dusty continent – its capacity for human connection. It wouldn’t be what it is without its people.

And next time we’re travelling with Mom.

www.umlani.com www.avis.co.za

Waiting for our plane View onto the river

Impala lily

“Without aircon and bricks ‘n mortar to seal out the bush, the imagination is left to run wild” wild ...

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