Wildlife Beyond the Lens

Where the Cheetahs Kill Before the Guests Arrive and the Lions Wait for Dusty Drama

Usually, it takes a few days in the bush for enough memorable nonsense to pile up before one can justify writing home about it.

But then again, that’s not how things work when you’re with Shefari Safaris. Especially not when Debbie Fendick is involved. Somehow, she doesn’t just plan safaris—she conjures them. Case in point: yesterday. Possibly the most ridiculous day I’ve had in the guiding industry to date. Not because of a once-in-a-lifetime sighting (though we’ll get there), but because of the sheer orchestration of chaos, coincidence, and cosmic comic timing that unfolded.

Debbie Fendick

It started like any other Shefari mission: make magic. And ideally, find cats. That’s kind of the unofficial job description. I love working for Shefari Safaris for exactly that reason—Debbie gets it. More importantly, she gets me.

But this wasn’t a normal Shefari departure. There was no Kwa Maritane launch pad, no familiar faces I’ve come to associate with our usual safaris. We were picking up guests at Bakubung gate for a 15:30 drive, which meant we were there just after 14:00. Because if you’re not thirty minutes early, you’re already late.

Vehicle? Prepped in record time.
Guests? Not there yet.
Us? Casually hanging out at the gate, swapping bush banter with a few other guides while a gang of Garden Gremlinus maximus—the ever-dramatic banded mongooses—scurried around, pretending to be busy.

Then came the first sign.

A grey go-away bird screeched its obnoxious warning cry. No one took it seriously. Too much background noise. Too many distractions.

Then a vervet monkey let loose a panicked alarm, and we all went very still. Because that sound doesn’t lie.

“Oh wow, leopard,” I thought.
Debbie guessed cheetah—maybe the sub-adults from Tale had shifted from their morning spot.

Then came the impala stampede.

One particularly frazzled individual decided to try its luck crossing the road again—because nothing says “great survival instinct” like running in a circle while being hunted. Right on cue, two cheetahs exploded into the open like awkward teenagers trying their first takedown. Flailing. Fumbling. But determined.

And here’s the best part: not a single one of us had the sense to grab a camera.

We just stood there. Gawking. Like city folk seeing a cow for the first time, completely unprepared to actually document the miracle.

Eventually, Debbie and I jumped into a vehicle and went to check if the chaos had paid off. Sure enough, with Rain’s superior genetics and Tale’s impeccable guidance coursing through them, the young cheetahs had nailed it. Kill confirmed.

And we were alone.

Twenty minutes later, our guests arrived—right on schedule to catch two cheetahs feeding on an impala. Imagine stepping into a safari and immediately seeing that. Set the bar. Then try to top it.

The dacia sandriders

Challenge accepted.

The rest of the drive? Lovely. An elephant loitering around Lengau Dam on the road like he had nowhere else to be. Rhinos. Giraffes. Zebras. All the usual suspects posing for their portfolios.

And then the sun started flirting with the horizon.

Just as the light turned golden and the air turned cinematic, the radio crackled: Lions. On the road. Don’t be silly—get here.

We went on a mission.

Now, if you’ve ever driven in the Pilanesberg at the speed limit, you’ll know it’s not a gentle experience. The roads are less “gravel” and more “Mars surface simulator.” The dust cloud alone could terraform a planet. But we powered through, determined not to miss a thing.

Naturally, we got there just in time to not see the lions on the road. They were meandering into the long grass like they’d just clocked off from a shift.

Demoralising? Absolutely.

But then Tatum—Debbie’s daughter and tracker, and apparently psychic—suggested we move to another road. She had a feeling. And boy, was she right.

Moments later, redemption arrived in the form of lions strolling casually between our two vehicles, right past mine. Then, a few meters down the road, one of them tried their luck on an unsuspecting warthog right in front of Debbie’s vehicle.

Peak safari.

Once the adrenaline wore off and I remembered to speak again, I turned to my guests and apologised for the bumpy road and the impromptu sandblasting we’d all just endured.

They laughed.

Even smirked and said they’ve had far worse days in their own job.

It was only then that I realised… I’d just guided Dakar Rally champions. You know—the crew and drivers of The Dacia Sandriders. The actual world champions of driving fast through inhospitable terrain. And I was worried about a little dust.

Naturally, I played it cool.

Internally, however, my V6-driving car-obsessed brain short-circuited just a little.

So yes. That was day one.

And to Debbie—thank you. There’s never a dull moment. Somehow, you keep outdoing not only the guests’ expectations but mine as well. The Pilanesberg simply wouldn’t be the same without you in it.

But enough with the emotions and the suspicious dust in my eye. This was only day one.

Plenty more madness to come.