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Camp Wildlife

On the last day of October, an effervescence of dragonflies fizzed the shade and skies around camp; an immaculate incandescence, prompting a frenzy of hyperphagy – the glut of softly whirring insects easy prey for hawking kingfisher, bee-eater and roller.

Up in the canopy of the acacia, shrouded and spotted by the fallacious shade of arborial twilight, was the female leopard. Up in the mottled murk of branch and leaf, was the baboon, also. There, Mavara, of the golden eyes

Margarine yellow, the moon has risen slowly above the Zambezi, carving a path of liquid gold in eddy and ripple, morsed into splashes and dashes by the trunks of the winterthorns along the river. There’s a crackle of “kaingu” on the

Leopards and baboons, have, since their respective species emerged from the primordial soup, been set against each other in pitched warfare. Their shared realm of the tree canopy, the leopard’s opportunistic propensity to prey on baboon, and the primate’s to