The Shocking Safari We Weren’t Expecting

Seeing predators catch their prey on a safari is highly likely at this camp in Botswana.

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o one prepared me for my first safari. I suppose as a travel writer I ought to have had a baseline understanding of how things were going to go, but I was no more ready for the 5 a.m. wake-up calls followed by hours-long game drives than I was watching a lioness catch–and kill–her prey.

Of course, not all safaris are created equal, and while the pre-dawn rise and shine and early morning game drive may be pretty standard safari fare, it turns out that witnessing live kills is anything but. In fact, many veteran safari-goers (and I met quite a few on my recent trip) never experience this type of live, natural action.

At Wilderness Mokete, one of the veteran safari company’s (the outfit started in 1983 in Botswana) newest camps, it’s pretty much guaranteed (even if you won’t find this claim in the fine print).

In the Mababe Village in the Northwest district of Botswana, where wide open spaces are so infinitely vast you feel as if there must be a body of water on the horizon, predators have their work cut out for them.

My husband Steve and I didn’t choose this destination hoping to see the king of the jungle suffocate a baby buffalo and tear through its belly, as one British couple we met at the camp had. After the pandemic slashed our safari in South Africa for my 40th birthday, I jumped at the chance to visit Botswana late last year. Once I convinced Steve he’d survive the helicopter ride required to arrive at our remote destination, we packed our safari-approved luggage and were off.

Since I’d heard that no camp and no guide can promise you’ll see this animal or that creature in the bush, I set out with tempered expectations, hopeful that I’d see a lion or two, certain I’d enjoy the crisp gin and tonic sundowners I’d heard were a part of the experience.

Originally envisioned as a temporary camp to give guests access to the unique area as soon as possible, the camp ultimately evolved into a more permanent fixture in the Wilderness portfolio. During the building process, team members spent time in the Mokete bush, experiencing the different weather conditions and tracking wildlife movements.

One Wilderness team member, Attorney Vasco, didn’t require as much familiarization with the region as a born and raised Botswanan who grew to know and understand the wildlife from a young age. As our Wilderness guide, Vasco articulated deep knowledge about the wild world around us, including expert navigation of the overland vehicle during a sudden and fierce sandstorm.

Vasco made an effort on every game drive to deliver the thrills, and, needless to say, my hope of seeing a lion or two quickly materialized and I saw much, much more than I could have ever imagined: wild dogs feasting on impala; hyenas, dripping in blood, gorging on a dead elephant carcass stuck in a most unusual position; baby cubs finishing off the baby buffalo their mama had hunted for them.

Steve and I were traveling in November, the end of the shoulder season heading into the off season, and Vasco seemed almost apologetic that he wasn’t finding more opportunities to show us the live action scenes, its creatures trying to survive another dry season. In the high season, in June and July especially, on the likelihood of seeing a live action killing, Vasco said he “can guarantee it.” In fact, Vasco said he guaranteed seeing up to 11 kills on a single game drive during the high season.

Was this true everywhere? Was it just such a raw, bloody part of the safari experience that people who waxed poetic about the bush, about the slow-moving elephants sipping puddles of water and the regal giraffes feeding on tall, juicy green leaves, simply chose to omit the details?

“It would be unusual to see this number of kills in other parts of Botswana where the landscape is a bit more challenging in terms of vegetation and changing water conditions as the annual flood waters come into the Okavango Delta,” Vasco explained.

And another safari expert, Justin Chapman, an advisor at Go2Africa, spoke to the rarity of witnessing a kill: “While these encounters are among the most dramatic and raw moments in nature, they are relatively rare – which is exactly what makes them so unforgettable when they do happen.”

One friend whose safaris numbered in the double digits professed jealousy over our sightings after I started posting some pictures on Instagram (with the appropriate trigger warnings for the squeamish). “A kill is on my bucket list,” she said. My editor, who was lucky enough to have seen kills in Tanzania, admitted, “I was absolutely shocked–not by the kills themselves, but by the fact that I found them so viscerally thrilling.”

“Everyone wants to see them,” he said. Few are so fortunate.

Part of our success in this endeavor was due to the nature of the area — not just the vast, wide-open landscape but also Vasco’s familiarity with the animals inhabiting it. It would be impossible for Vasco to name every elephant or buffalo roaming the land, but he seemed to know all the lions and the lionesses, regaling us with stories of which lion was trying to steal which lioness and her cubs. Vasco knew when the lions had last eaten — and, therefore, when they’d be hungry again and on the hunt for more prey.

“As guides, we try to have a spiritual connection with the wild, bringing ourselves to understand nature and how everything is tied together for a purpose. We listen, observe, and we anticipate how the story might unfold,” Vasco wrote to me after I’d returned home and wanted to better understand our unique experience.

I found that I could handle the kills — both the act of catching and killing before digging in for a satisfying feast — but what I could not stomach was an inefficient kill. When our jeep pulled up a safe distance beside a pride of young lions tearing into a moaning and groaning baby buffalo, I covered my eyes as though I was watching a horror movie. I could not bear to hear the poor creature suffering.

This kill hadn’t gone according to plan. Impatient as they were, the young lions failed to suffocate the baby buffalo before eviscerating it. In time, they would learn to hunt correctly and practice patience as they waited for their next, unassuming water buck or impala.

For guests, patience is also paramount.

On our very last morning in Africa, our guide, Moathodi Manyenyegwa, who goes by MP, at Duma Tau Wilderness, another Botswana camp, refused to admit defeat on the last game drive.

He drove for miles and miles, following the call of the mighty lion, until we landed on an epic, post-kill scene: Three adult female lions ignored the call of the male as they indulged in a waterbuck’s meaty insides, making room for the cubs to get their fill. When I thanked MP for persevering so I could witness one last thrill (despite my assuring him at several points along the way that “it’s ok. We can go back to the camp now”), he shared his own wonder and awe: “Did you see how excited all the guides were to see the lions?”