I’m not really sure when my facination with the Okavango Delta began. I know I watch too much David Attenborough—sue me, I find the sound of his voice very soothing. And he’s narrated about the Okavango Delta many times.
There’s also an old saying that you can take an African out of the bush but never the bush out of an African, and the draw of this earthly paradise is irresistible. I had this idea of what to expect from Botswana, generally regarded as the most stable, least corrupt country in Africa, rich from diamond mining. I expected a lush paradise. But the Kalahari Desert swallows up the majority of the country, which makes the Okavango wetlands a jewel in Botswana’s crown. The largest inland delta in the world, its water rises every year with the flooding of the Cubango River in Angola.
Into the Okavango
I wasn’t the only one yearning to see the Delta. I’d already been travelling with a pack of other 20-something campers for two weeks and after the Namib Desert we were joined by two newlywed couples all taking part in their friend’s decade-in-the-making plan to see the Okavango. Arriving in Maun on Saturday, June 3, we got to experience the delta from the air on board a twelve-seater Cessna at an altitude of just 150 metres. The thorny scrub of the desert opens up to shimmering streams and slipways, twisting channels of deep blue water edged with papyrus stalks and fan palms, marula, mangosteen and sycamore fig trees, the elephants mere specks the size of my thumbnail from my window.
As wondrous as it was, when we landed, we were a little queasy. A quick roadside lunch under the shade of a camelthorn tree followed. Then we loaded our day packs into 4x4s and set off. Leaving Maun behind, the corrugated tin shanties spaced out and the cattle grazing roadside became gradually scarce. The road ended and the sand track began, what must have been the longest, most uncomfortable ride of my life. Driving on sand is no mean feat, and our track had been cratered by herds of elephants and strewn with land mines of their sun-baked dung. The farther we drove, the more our surroundings changed.
Rest Camp at Khwai Conservation
We came to a rest at the Khwai Conservation, a private reserve on the northeastern fringe of the delta. Travelling to the centre of this green paradise is prohibitively expensive. The reserve deep, deep in the delta where Prince Harry whisked Meghan away to clocks in at 1,200 pounds sterling per night in peak season. But even perched on the very edge of the delta, every moment was utterly magical.
This whole time, I’ve been cutting off my liquid intake at roughly 4:00 pm, not wanting to have any encounters with wildlife on my way to the outhouse in the middle of the night, and every night thus far my body has betrayed me. Luckily, our two-room tents came pre-erected and fully equipped with portable potties in the cordoned off canvas backyards. Thank goodness, because wildlife in the camp is a common occurence. When we arrived just after sunset, it was to an elephant bull grazing where you see our 4x4s parked below.
Stalking Cats by Sunrise
Sunday, June 4, we woke bright and early and packed into our 4x4s at sunrise. Now, sunrises at the heart of the delta are something else. The sky is threaded with pale yellow, peony pink and lilac light, shining through the clouds and giving it a veined marble effect. We set off to stalk a leopard through the undergrowth.
The big cats are notoriously elusive, and because they do all of their hunting at night, it’s quite rare to spot one after the sun comes up. But the nice thing about being on a private reserve is that you can really get into the bush in search of animals. In national parks like Etosha and Kruger, you’re bound by strict rules and you must stick to clearly marked roads or be ejected from the park, and that means you may only see a rhino or a giraffe at a distance through a pair of binoculars, and you must be content.
Out here, there are no roads. We drove through swamps and gunned the engine to traverse fallen camelthorn trees as we went after the leopard, and what a beautiful creature he was! Once we’d had enough, we drove to meet our mokoro guides. The narrow hollowed-out boats are just another way to admire the delta from the water. Even though it’s the dry season and the tall grasses are yellow and the trees aren’t flowering, the delta is a myriad of colours. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be in the wet season, but then I’d have to contend with malaria-carrying mosquitos and sticky humidity. The Kalahari sun feels heavy, especially at midday, and it can feel like a fist resting on top of you, slowly wearing you down.
Gliding Through the Delta in Mokoros
You never think you’ll be a bird watcher until you actually spot magnificently-coloured birds in the wild, and from the mokoros we did. The air was buzzing with life—turquoise-feathered Budgie Starlings, tiny Little Bee Eaters, rainbow-beaked Saddle-Billed Stalks and the most photographed bird in Southern Africa, the Lilac-Breasted Roller with its medley of colours including sapphire-blue wings, a matcha-green crown and a lilac breast. The banks were thick with reeds and the water studded with rutabaga-coloured lily pads and lilac-coloured lotus flowers. Our polers plucked these beautiful flowers from the water and twisted their stems into necklaces and gave one to each girl in the mokoros.
We were so busy having our breath stolen by the scenery that we almost didn’t register we’d come across a hippo’s lair. Generally the polers stick to the shallows where the water is only a metre deep and the river bulls can’t lurk beneath the boats, but occasionally you have to cross deeper water. The guides have sharp senses. They dug their poles into the mud and ground us to a halt, bidding us all be quiet. The river bull’s snout appeared and he snorted angrily at us. We watched and waited for the longest five minutes of my life, and then he disappeared, leaving air bubbles on the surface, and resurfaced even closer, snorting even louder. That was when our polers dug their poles into the mud with an unparalleled ferocity and pulled us away.
Game Viewing by Sunset
Disregarding that close call, the mokoros truly are the best way to see the delta, and they’ve been poling through the shallow waters for over 40 years without incident. We pulled ashore and quitly watched a lumbering elephant come to drink from the stream on our way back to the launch. After a siesta at home base, we set out on an afternoon game drive and witnessed the Okavango at its finest. Botswana is home to the largest population of elephants anywhere in the world, and we spent hours with our chins rested on folded elbows, watching the herds play in the glimmering water.
On Monday, June 5, we bid farewell to Khwai and started on the long journey overland to Kasane, where Botswana borders Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia’s Caprivi Strip. Only 250 km, it was a 10 hour journey on account of the roads, or should I say, lack thereof. Realistically, you can’t exceed 25 km per hour without doing serious damage to your undercarriage. Perhaps the most exhausting drive of my life, our guides told us that we wouldn’t be stopping for wildlife unless it was exceptionally special. And we did have a such a moment just after the sun came up at around 6:30 in the morning.
Thus far, the king of the jungle had proven most elusive. But our guide’s radio crackled static. He turned around and told us to hang on to our hats and ready our cameras. Then he veered sharply off the road and crashed through the undergrowth before coming to an abrupt halt that nearly ejected us from our seats. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.
