Safari sanctuary on the edge of two countries is packed with sublime vistas and wildlife action

The short transfer flight from Harare to Mana Pools National Park, right on Zimbabwe’s northern border, takes in the capital’s sprawling urban area, then small-scale farms, larger farms and the endless darker green of protected woodland. Then, on the horizon, a silver strip reflecting the sky – the Zambezi, at this point, sprawled around islands where hippos crop the grass, and the water offers lighter or darker shades of green depending on the sandbanks.

The plane loops briefly over Zambia before crossing back into Zimbabwe to land at the Mana West strip, where guide Faidon awaits with a safari vehicle and a cooler box full of drinks. The landscape is different to many safari areas, with dark, hard tree trunks as much a feature as open grassland, with tall palm trees dotted throughout.

One of the first sightings is ground hornbills – two separate groups – which is a great start, given how endangered the birds are. A young elephant then appears on one side of the road, inspiring happy sighs from guests. One curve in the road later, a rustle of branches announces the arrival of an older brother or uncle, a male in musth who is not keen on any other big creature being in his zone, even if it’s a noisy metal box full of tourists.

Well into winter, the oncoming evening doesn’t yet require a jacket and arriving towards sunset means being introduced to Wilderness Ruckomechi Camp when it looks like it’s been dunked in amber, with gorgeous golden light on the wide deck of the common area and on the flanks of the safari tents on either side.

Those tents face the river and the Zambian escarpment on the other side, with glorious views from the couch, bed, writing desk… and shower (hopefully fishermen and booze cruisers are focused on what they’re doing).

Into the darkness

A night drive sees Faidon handling a powerful torch with a red filter that makes the light less invasive for wildlife. This is immediately evidenced by a nightjar that sits calmly for inspection until the onlookers are distracted by a shadow in the darkness beyond – a colossal hippo that doesn’t even deign to look over as he heads back to the water.

Large numbers of impassive impala suggest that not much is happening in terms of predator movement, and though a couple of crocodiles have broken the surface at a river crossing, it seems, for a while, like they are correct. However, after seeing first an elephant shrew and then its full-size counterpart, there is a sighting that confirms the need for the pretty antelope to remain steadfastly on alert. Something is crouched beyond a prominent tree root, its profile difficult to make out – a jackal, a hyena? Then the animal stands up. It’s a female leopard, ensuring that the dark bulk of the vehicle was not a threat before revealing herself. She’s svelte and sleek, listening carefully and peering into the gloom as she prepares to hunt.

Our own meal is much easier to track down, arriving at mood-lit tables while a glowing bonfire attracts guests who’ve already dined to share favourite moments from their day. Delicious food, intelligently portioned, arrives with wine, with a refill a great companion to joining the fireside chat and interpreting the night sky.

On the path back to the tent, another guide shares tales of the myriad creatures encountered on this same walk. He’s still reminiscing as another elephant materialises, a few metres off the path and a short distance ahead. The route is altered to include improvised bundu bashing around a neighbouring tent to ensure all parties have enough space.

Safely in the tent, the night is both deliciously peaceful and alive with sound – coughing hippos, bickering frogs, the calling of various birds and the snapping branches nearby as the elephant completes his errands.

Cats and lairs

In the darkest part of the night, a lion roars. Insistently. The story (it transpires in the morning) is that he was calling to communicate with two lionesses who walked through the camp with their cubs. The females didn’t answer – which explains the male’s testiness – suggesting that they may have had concerns about the male’s infanticidal tendencies.

Walking to breakfast involves passing a hippo grazing on the riverbank near the pool. The continental breakfast here, with the continent being Africa, involves sweet scones cooked over glowing coals. With the big cat still in the area, this short fuel stop is attenuated in favour of a long lion linger as the young male – still alone, still calling – lies on a hippo-cropped lawn and enjoys a leisurely tongue bath before ambling into the bush. He stops often to both spray urine and rub his facial glands on clumps of grass and low tree branches: if he can’t impose his will on the lionesses, he can at least make sure everyone knows he’s around and in charge.

Shortly afterwards, there is the first of a number of starkly beautiful bird sightings – two tall, elegant saddle-billed storks. There is, more intriguingly, a huge baobab, towards which Faidon steers with a smile on his face. On inspection, the tree is hollow, with concentric circular steps carved into the inside, going upwards. Faidon explains that it was used by local Shona people to hide from raiding Matabele warriors. As many as 20 people could hide inside the tree, along with supplies, with a branch pulled across the entrance to conceal it.

Generational investment

The final morning includes a bush walk. A trio of lions is waiting in, according to Faidon, the exact spot he was hoping to park. There are, this time, two females and a male, with the ladies playing not-at-all hard to get, which is not necessarily a cuddly affair, involving much cuffing and snarling.

Faidon pulls over just 300m further up the road, where we dismount and follow Faidon, his rifle at the ready, stopping regularly to note and discuss the minutia of the landscape. There are harvester ants and their nests, the night-time business of porcupines and evidence of human settlements from the 1950s and before (Faidon’s father lived there!).

Returning to the vehicle for coffee, we look up at a golden swathe of grassland, the site of the village’s former farm fields. There is a sense of nature returning wherever it is allowed to, with the beautiful poetry of the current generation caring for the same land, but in different ways.

Text | Bruce Dennil 

Photography | Bruce Dennill and Supplied

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