One late afternoon, a rhino the size of a golf cart hurried into the shrub as if late for the plane. On another, a guinea fowl, resplendent in its spotted plumage, gossiped with an ibis in the bush, not too far from a couple of worried-looking warthogs. Just like in The Lion King.
After a while, I stopped snapping on my iPhone. It was all too much gorgeousness. My brain was overwhelmed by the idea of that much fabulous, Instagramable wild life contained in 14,700 ha, the size of Ngala’s private reserve. It was as if we were all squeezed into a room with Cindy, Naomi, Christy and Linda – you just didn’t know where to look.
In any case, night was descending, the sky turning deep blue with flashes of gold from the setting sun. Soon, even the air changed, the dry heat of the soft African dusk giving way to a cool waft that held notes of ozone, uncut green grass and petrichor.
“Maybe we’ll see a cheetah tomorrow,” Marcus called out over the drone of the four-by-four as we charged along the dirt track through the night towards Ngala where awaited a dinner of Karoo lamb lollipops with korma sauce, and ostrich and brie burger.
Hakuna matata, I thought, staring up at the black-domed starry sky high above. After everything we’d already seen, it just felt greedy to ask for anything more.
