Home » Botswana » Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana Part 2 - Conclusion

Pardon me for the interruption. I had to step outside for a moment to “gather my thoughts”. It feels as if there is a little more activity in the bush tonight. I’m hearing a sound that I can only guess is the troop of baboons near Stanley; or what could it be? There is a bird very close to us, I think in the tree overhanging our tent. I can’t hope to recreate the song in words, but it has a kind of “wind-up and pitch” aspect to it (“there’s the wind-up and therrrrrrrrre’s the pitch!”), to use what from me is a quite rare sports analogy. Then another sound I’ve never heard before; and now the recognizable grunt of a hippo... every so often the distant calls of hyena. There is a strange energy in the atmosphere. Perhaps it can be explained scientifically – waxing moon and increased illumination, barometric pressure, dew point, humidity – but the air feels different.

Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana Part 2 - Conclusion

Tom Schueneman
2006-03-27 15:40:37

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Bruises were imminent, which would alert parents of something going on. Jayne, Stanley, and I didn’t want to be accused of beating their children when the children were doing a fine job on their own.

With the help of Jayne’s urging, a peace and quiet settled in the Land Cruiser as Stanley headed back to camp. The sky was changing from deep blue to velvety purple, to the west lit with bright orange. The ball of the sun sank slowly and relentlessly into the horizon, jagged with line of distant mopane and acacia trees.

The trail that led back to camp ran parallel along the Khwai River to the west. Tall grass hid any distinct shoreline, the stillwater pools of the river provided the perfect respite for birds and hippo. We came up behind Alwyn’s truck parked on the road along the river and stopped. Alwyn, Nancy, Bill, Barb, Nicky and Christian (Alwyn’s younger brother and a member of the camp crew) were all intently looking to the west.

It seemed to have no beginning or end – it was suddenly just there, and we were in the middle of it – there was a sound, a gentle rush of air in the growing depth of twilight. And then a ribbon, a black wave of movement, flying low, counterclockwise in a great circle on the horizon all around us. Quelea by the millions, roosting in the transition from day to night, when so much of the African wilderness comes to life.

At first there was some furtive conversation, but soon the only sound that could be heard was the snap of shutters and the rush of air caused by the synchronous movement of a million pair of wings. Alwyn allowed us to get out of the trucks and me to walk a short distance away in my attempts to capture the sound with my sound machine. I stood about fifty feet from the truck in the tall grass holding up my little contrivance to the horizon. I realized that the effort was most likely futile. There would be no way that I could ever hope to recreate what we were witnessing, ...