Travel+Leisure India & South Asia – August 2019

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From top: The dining area at Shoebill Island Camp,

an African Parks–run lodge in the Bangweulu Wetlands;

a juvenile elephant, as seen on a walking safari in

South Luangwa National Park.

he said. “Twenty-six years later, I’m still around.” Derek is

passionate about the power of tourism—and community

involvement—to protect wildlife. “Local children must see the

park and be amazed by it—because protecting is going to be

up to them.”

Because South Luangwa is popular with visitors, it is one of

the few parks in Zambia that pays its way. Park fees generate

close to 24 crore rupees for the government each year. “Not

much of that comes back into the park,” Derek observed. But

Shenton Safaris gives a percentage of its profits to local

schools. “We also fund park rangers and work to mitigate

conflict between villagers and elephants.” Humans and

animals have found an easy cohabitation—a testament to

Carr’s vision.

“LET’S SEE WHAT the morning has for us!” said Sylvester, as

we rolled into the bush after breakfast. The neighbours

were everywhere. Flocks of Lilian’s lovebirds, little green

parrots with red-and-orange heads, whirred through the

bushes like jewelled sparks. Six lionesses dozed under an

ebony tree. In the branches skulked a large and angry leopard

whose impala kill the lionesses had eaten.

“This is Lumabe,” said Sylvester. “He had to be darted

twice when he outgrew his collars, so he doesn’t like us.”

Lumabe rumbled at us disparagingly. I had never been

growled at by a leopard before, and found the experience

unsettling. We went down to the river, where Rod pointed

out pied and malachite kingfishers, bee-eaters, and a

martial eagle: “The lion of the sky!” he exclaimed.

On the banks of the Luangwa, the words

of the poet Langston Hughes came to me.

“I’ve known rivers ancient as the world

and older than the flow of human blood in

human veins....” The river is a world in

ripeness, never still, never silent. As we

stood watching, half a dozen elephants, led

by a matriarch, came down to drink,

standing on their reflections and keeping

their calves close. The water was silvery

brown, low and indolent, the bends

humped with pods of hippopotamuses like

large blue slugs. Nearby were crocodiles as

long as cars, waiting months for a meal.

The Shentons have built blinds on the

riverbanks and near the watering holes

from which guests can watch wildlife

unnoticed. One is beside the Luangwa,

where later that afternoon, as night fell, we

witnessed a sudden eruption of panic along

the bank. Impalas fled, pursued by lions.

Close by, there was a cry and a thump; from

behind a bush came a single lioness, a young

impala limp in her jaws. She hurried into

cover and tore into her victim, bolting down

the entrails, her face masked in blood.

The urgency with which she ate and

the wary way she kept raising her head

spoke of the layered ferocity of life in the

IT FELT LIKE I WAS ENTERING

A DRAMA IN WHICH HUMANS

HAD DECENT PARTS, BUT NOT

NECESSARILY LEAD ROLES.