The sky was just turning to rust, a pale reflection of the iron-rich red soil below, here in the far reaches of the Kalahari Desert. With the day quickly fading, we needed to make a reluctant retreat back to the lodge. But it was hard to leave. After all, what we had just witnessed was one of Africa’s greatest shows.
In arid regions like this, everyone comes to the watering hole, in this case, one created by a dam. “I tell you, if you come here from morning to evening, you’ll see all of the Big Five,” our guide, Honest, said. We sat in awed silence as zebras sipped, and then turned to make their way to a safe place for the night, traveling in a tight, single line. Giraffes dropped their giant necks for a drink. It’s awkward, those big animals spreading their legs and squatting to reach the water, a dangerously exposed position with so many predators around. Fortunately, they only need to get a drink every few days. And then, finally, the elephants—a whole huge herd of them jostling for position, little calves squeezing through a forest of big legs.
Finally, Honest told us it was really time to go, and as we wound back to the lodge the sun formed a huge orange dome as it sunk toward below the surrounding mountains. But the day wasn’t over—not yet. A surprise awaited us, just around the bend.
An Ancient Safari
I was in Madikwe Game Reserve, set on the northern edge of South Africa, right on the Botswana border. It is, perhaps, the country’s most underrated safari park, at least when it comes to foreign visitors. Covering just under 300 square miles, it is the fifth-largest game preserve in South Africa, home to more than 20 lodges. But few North Americans come this way.On our first game drive, Honest tells me that settlement here dates back to ancient times, and that archaeological digs have unearthed stone-age cave sketches and tools. The legendary Mafekeng Road runs through this territory, which long transported traders and explorers. King Mzilikazi passed through in the 19th century in his pursuit to expand the Matabele kingdom. At one point, Honest pointed out a mountain where a fierce battle took place between Zulus and Tswana.
He’s guided here for years. It is a place that he loves. “It’s a free-spirited park, where you can explore all corners,” he explained. Unlike other safari destinations in the country, where lodge owners limit access to their individual, private sections of land, Honest says that’s not the case here. “You can go everywhere. Everyone gets along.”
That probably stems back to Madikwe’s founding, which was rooted in collaboration and cooperation right from the start. With its arid soil, this part of the country was never ideal for farming, and those who tilled the soil here, or raised cattle, did so without much success. After a feasibility study showed a game reserve would provide better returns from the land, the farms were combined. Old fencing and derelict buildings were either removed, or restored. A new fence enclosed the entire area.
And then, the government began something called Operation Phoenix. Begun in 1991, it became the largest animal relocation project ever pursued, anywhere in the world. Creatures great and small were transported to Madikwe from all across Southern Africa. By 1997, some 28 species and 8,000 animals had been released into the reserve.
Today, they thrive. This became apparent within mere minutes of my arrival at Rockfig. A stylish lodge on the western edge of the park with large individual villas with their own pools and huge patios, a key feature—right amongst the accommodations—is the “hide.” After a warm welcome, a staff member drove me down to my villa.
But on the way, she suggested we check out the hide to see if any visitors had decided to rock in. Entering the underground structure through a short tunnel, we stepped into a sort of bunker, very much hidden from the creatures outside. Peering out, the little pool outside was busy. A whole family of elephants awaited. They sipped serenely, unaware of our presence. Just a few feet away. Close enough to appreciate the small nuances of their behavior—how they dangled their legs, one at a time, just a bit, to take a little weight off. And the smallest, cutest ones, who mimicked drinking but weren’t actually consuming—just practicing for when they’re bigger.
It was a fitting introduction to a few days just absolutely filled with wildlife. Madikwe isn’t home to just the Big Five, but all of the Magnificent Seven—in addition to lions, leopards, Cape buffalo, elephants, and rhinos, the park also has wild dogs and cheetah. And we saw the latter, on one morning drive.
After spending some time with lions, Honest said, “Let’s see if we get lucky with the cheetahs.” And we did. Following a location tip from a fellow guide, we found two brothers, resting in the morning sun. One remained asleep. The other was watchful, craning his neck every few minutes in search of threats, then briefly nodding off before rousing himself to resume his watch. A warthog tiptoed by, behind them. “They would hunt him—if they knew he was there,” Honest explained.
And then, the surprise. On our last night, after that awe-inspiring parade at the dam, we zoomed back to the lodge. But instead of the usual drop-off point, we rolled down a small dirt path that I hadn’t noticed before. Honest led the way down the slope, which opened onto a broad lookout point.
On a stone patio, the broad plains spread out at our feet, the last pink hues of that spectacular sunset fading on the horizon. Just beyond a distant mountain twinkled the lights of Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. Gin and tonics awaited, paired with a spread of local snacks that was under the gaze of a troop of baboons hanging out on the hill, awaiting any food we may leave behind. The end of a day, and a visit that was truly special. Created from the dust, just over three decades ago.