Botswana & South Africa
Thirteen days from Okavango's floods to Savuti's dust, Victoria Falls' thunder, and Sabi Sands' abundance — ending at the Cape's edge.
Okavango Delta's mirrored channels, Savuti's lion-ruled dust, and the roar of Victoria Falls — six days across Botswana's most dramatic ecosystems.
Four nights at Mala Mala — lion cubs beside the vehicle, leopards against hyenas, wild dogs with pups, and elephants at the pool. Life overflowing.
The edge of the continent — where mountain meets sea and the journey becomes a promise to return.
Thirteen days across water, dust, and light — a second safari that felt less like travel and more like an initiation. If my first trip to the Serengeti was scale and spectacle, this one was access and intimacy: a private passage through the intelligence of life.
We arrived over a map of mirrors — floodwater stitched with islands, a geography drawn by light. Flying in on tiny planes, the Delta looked alive, breathing through its channels. For three days at Pom Pom Camp, wild dogs chased lechwe through water that caught the sky, and elephants moved like slow currents through the papyrus. The Delta was not what I imagined; it was more diverse, more immediate — a world stitched from sound and reflection.
Two flights and the water was gone. Savuti was quintessential Africa: dry, harsh, and beautiful in its refusal to yield. Lion tracks cut through dust where the channel used to run. Here, life survives by understanding limits — nothing wasted, nothing taken for granted.
For a night we traded silence for thunder. The Falls were majesty bordered by memory — portraits of colonial explorers still hung in Zimbabwean halls, a reminder of how history and nature intertwine. Mist rose like steam from a world rewriting itself.
Then came Mala Mala: the culmination. Here, life overflowed — lion cubs sleeping beside our vehicle, leopards going up against hyenas, wild dogs tending pups, watching elephants from the swimming pool of our camp. For four nights I was invisible inside the system itself, watching without disturbing. The abundance was overwhelming, but what moved me most was the order beneath it — how everything knew its place without command.
The journey ended at the edge of the continent, where mountain meets sea. Cape Town felt like a pause — a chance to look back and forward at once. I was excited about the images and footage I’d captured, but what stayed with me was the certainty that I would return. If so much life could unfold in a few days, how much more waited beyond the next flight and the next dawn?
This expedition marks the moment the safari stopped being a trip and became a thread. A reminder that photography is not about images but about witnessing a system older than language — and a promise to return to it.