By Annabelle South of the University of Vermont
“Lion! Lion! Out of tents!”
Only a few of us, those sleeping in on our off day, received that unique and somewhat startling wake up call. The rest of our cohort had left before sunrise for research transect and had either not seen the male lion in the dark or had already left by the time he made it to the outskirts of camp. We all made it safely into the cars, but for a few minutes, I had my first experience with a feeling of adrenaline that would become very familiar to me over my time spent camping in the Botswanan bush. The emotion was somewhere at the intersection of awe, fear, and fascination, fueled by the knowledge that, despite our extensive safety protocols and practices, we were living amongst some of the most powerful animals in the world in an environment that was entirely foreign to us Americans.
When asking my cohort about encounters in which they felt this same way, they told stories of male elephants emerging from behind the pit toilets or times at night when grazing hippos had begun grunting much too close for comfort. Another instance that came to mind for me was when we were told by a campsite attendee that a black mamba snake was suspended in a nearby tree. One of our instructors, Dix, from the village of Sankuyo even recounted a story when, many years back, lions had begun dragging the exterior of his tent while he was inside. In all of these instances, neither the animals nor the people involved were at fault; it’s the natural consequence of multiple species (humans included) sharing land and resources. Moreover, we had accepted the risk of human-wildlife interaction by being in the bush in the first place and can attribute no blame to the animals for simply existing in their habitat. Nevertheless, these instances were reminders of the incredible strength of nature and our relative weakness as humans. It’s not only experiences with wildlife that have invoked these feelings, but also the forces of the landscape itself. A prime example would be an incident the night of Thursday, March 28th when we were staying in Makgadikgadi National Park for our semester break.
Video 1: Close encounter with a bull approaching our 4WD vehicle.
It was a fantastic day. Because we were on break, we were not responsible for conducting our normal daily research transects and instead were able to take a long game drive out to the famed Makgadikgadi salt flats. We saw herds of elephants, zebras, giraffes, an array of antelope species, and multiple families of ostriches, among other wildlife. When we arrived back at our campsite, we all raced down to the neighboring expanse of salt pan and ran, cartwheeled, and laughed until we were gasping for breath. Being able to run in the open was a particular treat because our camps in the bush were always too close to wildlife to be able to run safely.
Afterwards around 5pm, we settled back at camp into a fiery game of ”Oh Hell!” on our makeshift card table (a whiteboard propped on a camp chair). The air was noticeably cool, and to our surprise, some of us even had goosebumps. I can confidently say that I’ve only had goosebumps a handful of times since being in southern Africa. It was especially dark for this time of day, too. A thick cover of clouds let only a few stray sun rays cast down onto the neighboring pans. When the sun eventually set, instead of the usual spectacle of oranges and reds, it was as if someone was just turning the dimmer down on a light switch. How weird, I thought. By nightfall, we had eaten our dinner of beef seswa (a traditional Botswanan meal) and enjoyed the cinnamon rolls that Tate had baked us over the fire. We then formed a circle around the campfire to play music, and as I strummed the guitar and the group sang the (mostly accurate) lyrics to various Phoebe Bridgers songs, the wind picked up. What began as a light breeze became more and more forceful, until we couldn’t hear one another. The visibility suddenly decreased drastically, with sand frenzying through the air. Then came a huge crash. Our trays of drying dinner dishes had been flung to the ground and the tents were caving. We were in a sandstorm.
All of us students, being primarily from the northeastern US, had never seen anything like it before and it took us a few moments to realize what was happening. Once the initial shock of the situation at hand passed, we sprung from our chairs and grabbed onto our tents, bracing against the wind with all of our weight to keep them upright. Sand was hitting our faces from every direction and making it difficult to keep our eyes open. Seeing that our efforts to keep the tents up were in vain, our instructors drove the 4WD vehicles slowly and carefully up to the sides of our tents and attached ratchet straps from the sides of the vehicles to the sides of our tent. The next day, when I asked our instructor SB if he had been able to see while driving, he said only barely.
Amidst the chaos, in some kind of collective moment of clarity, we realized how incredibly ridiculous this all was. We laughed and laughed and laughed, taking videos of the madness, and accepting that there was absolutely nothing we could do to have power over this situation other than wait it out. We were truly, once again, at the mercy of Mother Nature. It was scary, but spectacular and humbling and a blessing to experience all at once. Through squinted eyes, I looked at the beautiful squall of sand and debris the same way I had looked at wildlife I had accidentally come face-to-face with all those times in the bush, with utter awe and reverence. Eventually, Lindsey and I entered our tent where it was somehow flurrying sand just as aggressively as it was outside. We were laughing hysterically at this point and documenting the whole thing on my phone. We tried to de-sand as much as we could by sealing the exterior tent flaps, but not much was accomplished. Jodie, our other tentmate, made her way in and we all fell asleep, exhausted from the day, while the storm raged on outside and inside. It apparently lasted until about midnight.
The next day, we were pleased to see that all was well. Our stoves and dishes were okay, none of the tents ripped, and everyone was safe and sound. In broad daylight, we could see the tent-car contraption in its full glory and could more fully appreciate the quick-thinking and creativity of our instructors who engineered it. At breakfast, we passed around our phones showing the videos and pictures we took. An especially funny one was of our friend Caitlyn in the neighboring tent struggling against the tent walls which were collapsing over her sleeping pad.
While the sandstorm was funny and awe-inspiring at times, the night had also been undeniably stressful and even scary; It was yet another demonstration of how strong the Earth is and a reminder that its forces are nothing to be reckoned with. In short, we had been humbled. Overall, I can say that my time in the Botswanan bush has instilled in me a newfound respect, fear, and admiration for the sheer force of the natural world. My cohort and I will certainly take these lessons with us beyond Botswana and through the rest of our lives, letting these lessons guide and inform us through our future careers in field work and conservation biology.