A Lifelong Love Affair with Africa

Those early years in the Kruger National Park sparked a little flame within me, and little did I know, it would grow into a sheer craving.

Growing up, my school holidays were spent heading east towards the Kruger National Park and the surrounding private reserves. My parents and grandparents were utterly bush mad, and naturally, my sister and I were brought along for the ride. We were squeezed into our bright red VW Caravelle Kombi amongst the cooler boxes full of food and drinks, picnic baskets, sleeping bags, pillows, luggage and pretty much anything else we'd need for a two- to three-week trip into the bush. My head was out the window, my sister was sitting with a book, and my parents were glued to their binoculars, scanning the bush for anything that moved.

After a few years of exploring the Kruger and staying at the busy camps, my parents took their bush obsession up a notch and bought a share in a little rondavel house at Ingwelala, a private reserve in the Greater Kruger, close to the Sabi Sands. Ingwelala means "the place where the leopard sleeps" in Zulu, and this is where my love affair with the bush fully developed.

The house was one rondavel, plus a separate rondavel with an extra room and an outdoor kitchenette. There was a little fire pit at the front where we'd sit day and night, welcoming any inquisitive or hungry visitors, four-legged or two-legged. It could not get any simpler.

Our days revolved around early-morning and evening game drives. With my bush-mad family, a drive could last anything from two to eight hours. My mom tells me it depended on how hot or wet it was. We drove come rain or shine, because my parents had to get their game drive fix every day.

Ingwelala had so much character. It sits right on the Nhlaralumi River, which is lined with huge jackalberry, tamboti and sycamore fig trees, and more. We'd explore the riverbanks every day in the hope that a leopard had made one of those trees its hideout for the day. We'd drive for hours, stopping for anything that looked interesting, which often turned out to be a log. You had to stop for anything that looked remotely out of the ordinary, because leopards, cheetahs, wild dogs and lions blend into the bush like a needle in a haystack.

The sightings I witnessed as a child are still ingrained in my memory, and I could recite the details of pretty much every one. It's strange how memories made as a child never seem to disappear, yet I've completely forgotten my geography teacher's name.

It was honestly the ultimate way to experience the bush. No schedule, no cell phone signal, no electricity. Just pure bush life with zero distractions, apart from the animals, birds and insects living their lives. We were there simply to observe.

When we weren't on game drives, the bush house was where we spent our downtime. My mom would bake scones and our Nana's famous crunchie biscuits, my dad would fix things around the house, and my sister would play one-player card games because she didn't want anything to do with me. And me? Well, I'd be wandering around the house searching for insects and spiders in the foliage and the woodpile. I'd get so caught up in it that my parents would worry where I was, and I'd have to answer the occasional "SHAUN!" just so they knew I hadn't become lion food.

The house was open to the bush. Anything could walk right up to the front door, or even into the house if the door wasn't closed properly. Once, on my way back from luring antlions out of their cone-shaped sand traps, I found an elephant with its trunk through the front door, eating the fruit out of the fridge. Animals have a remarkable way of finding food. At teatime we'd watch the monkeys plotting their next biscuit heist. The baboons were rather less charming. They'd occasionally break into the house and raid our food cupboards, and their little robberies meant a long trip back to Hoedspruit to restock the kitchen while Dad cleaned up the wreckage they'd left behind.

We all had our jobs around the house. My mom was mostly in the kitchen cooking up a storm. Dad was always coming up with new ways to improve the security system so the hyenas couldn't creep up on us at night. My sister helped my mom make the salads, and I was on paraffin-lantern duty for our evening light and, of course, fire-making duty for the braai. On top of my insect obsession, I was a bit of a pyromaniac.

The afternoons meant our evening game drive, hoping to see some big cats on the move or, even better, on the hunt. And as anyone who's been on safari knows, an evening drive comes with a mandatory stop for sundowners. We'd stop at one of the dams or lookout points, or often at one of the hides, in the hope that the nocturnal animals would come down for a drink before a night of hunting.

After drinks (and, if I was lucky, a sip of Dad's whisky or Mom's Amarula), we'd head back to the house to light the fire and the lanterns for dinner. We'd sit around the fire well into the night, and all sorts of animals would come to visit: elephants, porcupines, genets, hyenas, owls, civets and occasionally even lions, drawn in by the smell of meat on the braai. Honestly, just writing this brings back some of my favourite childhood memories.

One evening, lions were sighted close to the house, so my dad and sister jumped in the game viewer to go and find them. It was winter, and it got freezing on the back of those open game viewers late at night. My mom and I didn't fancy donning our long johns, jackets, beanies and gloves, so we decided to man the fire instead.

Next thing, we heard footsteps coming down the side of the house. My mom pointed out that they were far too slow and heavy for a hyena. Our hearts started beating faster. I stood up with my torch in hand and nearly jumped out of my pyjamas. The biggest black-maned lion was staring right at me, only a few metres away.

My mom panicked and jumped in between the lion and me. He was surprisingly calm. She gave a big shout to try to put some distance between us and him, and to avoid us getting eaten. The lion just stared back at her as if she was mad. Our guess is that he had a full tummy, and a small, scrawny little human wasn't on the menu that evening. We slowly retreated into the house, and we got to enjoy his company for most of the evening.

The funny thing was that my dad, my sister and the other vehicles couldn't find the lions at all. They got quite a surprise when they came home from their unsuccessful night drive.

But that's the bush. A little unpredictable, wonderfully wild and never, ever boring.

Whenever friends and family came to visit, I wanted them to experience the bush the way I did. Not simply to see a lion or photograph an elephant, but to feel the stillness of the early morning, to sit around a fire beneath a sky full of stars, to understand the stories behind the sightings and to appreciate the extraordinary, magical world unfolding around them.

Watching people experience Africa like this was a light-bulb moment. I realised that what I'd spent my childhood falling in love with was something I wanted to share. Africa has a remarkable ability to slow us down, awaken our curiosity and remind us what it feels like to be completely absorbed in the moment. It sounds cliché, but I firmly believe it can change the way we see the world, and I wanted to help more people experience that for themselves.

That is where Masana Africa began.

Masana means "first light" in Xitsonga. For me, it captures all my memories of those crisp early mornings in the bush, at the time of day that makes Africa so special: the bird calls, the lions roaring in the distance, and the bush waking up to the first light of the day.

If you're thinking of visiting Africa and need some help navigating the abundance of options, get in touch.

We are genuinely passionate about Africa, and all we want is for our clients to have experiences as authentic as ours. We would love to help you discover it. Not just to see Africa, but to feel it, understand it and leave with stories of your own.

If you've yet to experience Africa, I envy you a little. You have so much to look forward to.

Welcome to Masana Africa. Let's go somewhere wild.

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