Namibia
When you're planning a safari, something dangerous happens. You watch videos. Lots of videos. On YouTube, lions chase buffalo across the savannah. On Instagram, leopards stroll past safari vehicles as if they have appointments to keep. Travel brochures feature elephants perfectly positioned against glowing African sunsets.
After a few months of preparation, you start to believe, without even realizing it, that Africa is one giant wildlife documentary. Then you arrive in Etosha.
When Expectations Meet Etosha
The first day had been fantastic. Elephants everywhere. Giraffes at the waterholes. A herd of forty elephants bathing together before completely surrounding our vehicle. In front of us. Behind us. To the left. To the right. Baby elephants included. This was the Africa we had hoped for.
Maybe even more.
And that led us to make one classic mistake:
We expected tomorrow to be even better.
Hours of Empty Waterholes
But Africa has little interest in your expectations. The next morning, we set off full of optimism.
Today would be the day. Lions. Rhinos. Maybe even a leopard. The children were ready. So were we. Reality, however, had other plans.
Waterhole one. Nothing.
Waterhole two. Still nothing.
Waterhole three. A few zebras. Nice enough, but by then we had seen so many zebras we could probably have drawn one from memory.
We kept driving. And driving. And driving. Bumpy roads. Dust. More dust. Another empty waterhole.
The car gradually fell silent. Not because everyone was enjoying nature. Because nobody wanted to say it out loud. This was actually a little disappointing. The irony was that we were working hard for it. We spent hours searching. Every bend in the road could be the bend. Every bush could hide a lion. Every waterhole could be the jackpot.
Yet time after time, the result was the same: Nothing.
And the longer it lasted, the greater the disappointment became. Because somewhere in the back of your mind, one thought keeps returning: "Did we come all the way to Etosha for this?"
By lunchtime, we were even a little grumpy. Not terribly grumpy. Just enough. We had expected more from the famous Etosha. Much more.
Kruger National Park in South Africa had left a lasting impression, and so far Etosha wasn't winning that comparison.
Hyenas to the rescue
And then something happened that felt very African.
Just when you stop hoping. Just when you've decided that today simply isn't going to be a great day. They appeared. Two hyenas. And they were eating.
We parked the car. Engine off. Windows open. And then we heard it. Crack. Then another. Crack. Bones. The sound of bones splintering between the jaws of a hyena.
Not on television. Not in a wildlife documentary. Twenty metres from our vehicle. The circle of life, just without the Disney soundtrack.
The strange thing about hyenas is that they're not animals people dream of seeing. Nobody hangs a poster of a hyena above their bed. Children don't collect stuffed hyenas.
When you travel to Africa, you dream of lions. Nobody says,"I really hope I see a beautiful hyena." Until you watch one in action. Then something changes. You no longer see an ugly animal. You see a machine. A perfectly adapted predator. Muscle. Jaws. Instinct. Everything designed for survival.
One of the hyenas calmly walked to a nearby waterhole. As if it had just finished a leisurely lunch and was heading off to wash its hands. Except, of course, hyenas don't have hands.
At the same waterhole stood a giraffe drinking. The most elegant animal in Africa next to a creature that looked as if someone had assembled a wolf using spare dog parts.
Our big ending with rhinos
Still, the grand prize remained elusive.
No lions.
No rhinos.
Visiting hours in Etosha were slowly drawing to a close. Two waterholes left. Two final chances.
The atmosphere in the car felt like a football match entering the ninetieth minute at 0-0. Everyone knows it's probably over. Then suddenly:
"STOP!"
That single word changed everything. There, among the bushes, stood something grey. Something large. Something you first mistake for a rock. Or a shadow. Or perhaps just wishful thinking. But no. A rhino. Perfectly hidden.
As if it had no desire whatsoever to be found. Then it decided to cooperate. Slowly, it stepped out from the bushes. Completely visible. As if it knew how much effort we had invested in finding it. As if it knew how many conversations we had already had about its absence. We stood there grinning from ear to ear.
Five minutes later, another vehicle arrived. They got to enjoy the moment too. But we had spotted it first. And somehow, that always makes it a little more special. A little later, a second rhino appeared. Etosha had scored in stoppage time. Not with a hat-trick. Not with fireworks.
Just enough. And perhaps that was the lesson of the day.
We often thought back to our grumpy question:"Did we come all the way to Etosha for this?" Looking back, the thought feels completely absurd. But in that moment, it didn't. A safari is not a zoo. You don't buy a ticket for certainty. You buy a chance. Sometimes you get a day full of elephants. Sometimes you get hours of dust, empty waterholes, and doubt.
But that is precisely why that one rhino feels like winning the lottery. If nature could always be planned, it would lose its magic. We saw hundreds of animals in Namibia. Yet when someone asks me about Etosha, I rarely tell them about the elephants. I tell them about the day when there was almost nothing to see.
Our journey doesn’t end here. ❤️
From African wildlife to Asian adventures and the incredible landscapes of Canada, we’ve collected quite a few stories along the way.
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