BOTSWANA & SOUTH AFRICA

For as long as I can remember I’ve had a severe obsession with nature. largely fed by growing up surrounded by animals, encyclopaedias permanently stacked at the foot of my bed like some sort of scholarly safety net and documentaries playing on a near constant loop during the many, many rainy afternoons in the English countryside.

But those days came with one non-negotiable: the unmistakable melodic tones of Sir David Attenborough, Frankly anything else felt like a betrayal. To this day he remains someone I aspire to resemble even if I only manage a shard of that calm, curious, brilliance that has inspired millions across generations and countries I would be something to be proud of.

For years, that was how I experienced the natural world safely, comfortably, always one step removed from anything larger than a horse or more deadly than a fox.

And then suddenly, there I was. No screen, No pages, No narration. Just the wilds of the southern tip of Africa…. And I was hooked.

I had the undeniable pleasure of embarking on what can only be described as a slightly surreal, deeply profound and at times entirely overwhelming adventure through Botswana and South Africa. When I say overwhelming I mean the good kind, The sort that sneaks up on you quietly and then promptly knocks the wind out of your chest in the same way that that perfect song makes you hair stand on end or how a perfectly acted piece transports you to that time and place.

The trip began in Botswana, widely considered one of the great safari destinations and it was very easy to see why, It’s the sort of place where wildlife isn’t something you go looking for so much as something you politely try not to bump into something that was made evidently clear early doors! Upon arrival at the airport, we were collected and almost immediately ushered toward a very cheerful little plane, And I do mean little. Five of us sat comfortably in the back with our luggage then two in the cockpit.

The moment we got on our little plain we were elated and once we took off the excitement only continued to grow! below us stretched herds of giraffes moved with theatrical elegance and impala darting about like they had somewhere far more important to be. There was flora & fauna in every direction all entirely unbothered by our presence above. It felt less like looking out of a window and more like accidentally peering into a documentary I had watched a hundred times before, only now there was no pause button.

Upon landing we were greeted by the wonderful Pulse Africa team whose warmth and knowledge immediately set the tone for everything that followed. As we drove toward camp, they began pointing things out with the ease of people who genuinely know and love the land. Every tree had a purpose, each landmark meant something, every detail carefully pointed out as if the land itself was being gently introduced to us.

The camp itself was incredible.

The “tents” (and I use that term loosely) came equipped with some of the comfiest beds I have ever had the pleasure of collapsing into, along with fully functioning outdoor bathrooms which felt both luxurious and adventurous. There were pathways and a main lodge where we gathered for meals but beyond You were in the thick of it, not separated from the wildlife.

At night, the tents reminded you exactly where you were. It let the gentle chorus of insects, distant animal calls and the occasional unidentified rustle became the soundtrack to sleep all hidden away behind the veil of inky black twilight so untouched by light pollution that it seemed almost physical like a wall or an inky pool that could swallow you whole. One night a storm rolled in, scaring the sky with sharp flashes of lightning followed by the guttural cacophony of thunder, I stood in the open bathroom simply staring for lord knows how long in wonder…. Now don't get me wrong, I have seen plenty of storms in my time but something about this one felt primal and electrifying.

The camp itself was shrouded in some growth consisting of trees and bushes but around it was what can only be described as a very polite fence, enough to reassure but perhaps not enough to convince.

And the food. Good lord, the food.

Everything was local and utterly phenomenal. One night we were served an oxtail stew and I can safely say I have thought about that stew for YEARS. We ate around a campfire with other residents all served from the same large pots as we swapped stories under a sky that refused to end.

The safaris themselves were nothing short of brilliant. Our guides wrapped themselves in jumpers and seemed entirely unbothered by what to us sun-sensitive Brits felt like beautifully warm to occasionally aggressive heat. October, apparently, is all about perspective but that didn't stop us from tracking down the local wildlife! For example, A lone pregnant lioness, whom our guide had been following since she was a cub. It was her first brood, and he spoke about her with such genuine excitement that you could feel the pride in his voice. Not far off, a lone male, likely her mate, had secured himself a baby impala for dinner which felt both incredible to witness yet fascinatingly morbid.

There were countless herds of giraffes and zebras and even the skeleton of a giraffe, which somehow managed to be just as fascinating as the living version.

But without a doubt, the memory that has lodged itself most firmly in my mind came one afternoon in a clearing….

At the centre stood a single tree, which I believe was a Sycamore Fig. We had been allowed to disembark our vehicle so naturally I decided this was an excellent opportunity to climb it much to the amusement of our guide. So up I went, settling myself among its branches finding myself quite proud of how high I had managed to get. However, It didn't take long after reaching my lofty heights for our guide to casually suggest everyone return to the vehicle as he could hear elephants approaching. I began to climb down following the calm order only to be stopped with a wave of his hand, assuring me I could stay exactly where I was.

A few minutes later, they arrived.

An entire herd emerged into the clearing. These enormous, impossibly gentle giants moved together with a quiet impossible grace and there I was, above them, held in the branches of the tree so close that, had I been monumentally foolish, I could have reached out and touched them.

Instead, I stayed perfectly still. watching as they passed beneath me completely unbothered by my existence. It is, without question a memory that I will carry for the rest of my life a memory i believe will be one of the last i will ever think about before i leave this world. To lay there, above them, above giants, engulphed in greenery and warmth… it is something I don't believe even poetry or a photo could truly capture. Though, saying that I will say I was outraged to discover that not a single person had taken a photo! Criminal really. But perhaps it’s better that way, some things are meant to remain entirely your own.

We found the herd again later in our trip, one of whom simply stood watching us with those large wise knowing eyes as my mother who has always loved elephants was brought to soft tears, Understandably so.

Soon enough our time in Botswana came to an end so we made our way toward South Africa by way of crossing over the Limpopo River. I remember it well, not least because our driver explained that Botswana’s national animal is the zebra, symbolising balance, unity, and harmony not only for its people but for its wildlife. Rather fitting really.

From there, we passed through the Waterberg Plateau, a landscape of rolling hills, ancient rock formations and vast, protected wilderness before finally arriving at Ant’s Nest. Once again we were greeted by an incredible team whose warmth made you feel immediately at home. The food, yet again, was impeccable (a dangerous trend at this point), but it was the accommodation that truly stood out. Though technically huts, our accommodation provided perfect amenities and breathtaking views overlooking the reserve below, where white rhinos and other wildlife roamed freely.

What was perhaps the most astonishing thing about Ant’s nest was how the reserve operated. The owners’ home acted as a kind of sanctuary point, where white rhinos would return each evening, protected in the day by dedicated guards to keep them safe from poachers. Despite being entirely wild, they had learned they were safe there. Safe enough, incredibly, to allow us to stroke them from atop the ha-ha wall. The horses did much the same where they were free to rome in the day if not being ridden only to come in at night for food and shelter.

Each day we went on horseback safaris weaving through landscapes no vehicle could reach, riding through that landscape cantering between trees and across open ground felt like something out of a dream. No engines, no barriers, just movement and space and the occasional need to remember you are, in fact, still in control of a large animal that could throw you if they fancied it.

But what of the predators? Well they were never far away, we saw evidence of a leopard in the area, tracks in the dirt and the telltale signs of kills hidden up in trees. Unfortunately we didn't get to see one at the nest but nothing is to say it hadn't seen us!

Now, unfortunately, this is where my own brilliance slightly unravelled….

On the second to last day, in a rush not to miss the morning ride, I made the truly inspired decision to skip sunscreen. A bold move for someone whose natural complexion has previously been described like that of mayonnaise.By midday, it was abundantly clear I had made a mistake. I had managed to severely burn my chest and forearms, achieving what can only be described as an impressively unfortunate tan line. Upon returning, I was promptly covered in burn cream and gauze but the damage had very much been done perhaps five times over with blisters appearing with enthusiasm like rain on a windscreen.

One of my sisters, with whom I was sharing a hut, took it upon herself to become a sort of Florence Nightingale figure to my dying soldier, diligently applying cool, damp towels throughout the night. This was very sweet, until she decided the logical next step was to put said towels in the freezer… and then promptly fell asleep. By morning the full body towels had frozen solid to every crevice of the freezer and we were forced to sheepishly admit our mistake to the staff, who, thankfully, found it far more amusing than concerning.

On the final day I was (quite rightly) banned from riding so instead I sat on the main balcony sketching away, occasionally being joined by small birds and a particularly charming Smith’s bush squirrel who seemed very interested in my presence. Later, I joined the others by a lake where they rode the horses straight into the water, something I watched with a deep and lasting envy.To this day, I regret missing it, all thanks to my own sunburn-induced downfall.

Needless to say the trip has been a roaring success and something i would greatly love to do again and would recommend to any.

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-Abbey Broughton Lloyd