When Kruger Reminded Me That Patience is Just Suffering with a Time Limit
This week’s write-up comes to you from a cold, rainy, and frankly miserable Pretoria — the kind of weather that makes you think fondly of 40°C and mosquitoes with PhDs in blood extraction.
Last week, I decided it was time for a bit of Kruger. An unofficial trip this time — no guests, no schedules, no radios and game viewers. Just me, my dad, and the kind of plan that could only have been hatched by people who clearly haven’t learned from experience. We set off on Monday morning and arrived around midday, which, by Kruger standards, is the equivalent of walking into a bar just as the good whisky runs out.
We booked three days at Pretorius Kop, which, to the uninitiated, is where the hyenas laugh louder than the guests after a few beers. The plan was simple: find wild dogs. Stay inside the park, get that precious extra hour before the day drivers flood in — because that hour is gold. It’s the difference between seeing Africa raw and seeing Africa through someone’s iPad while they shout “Bongi, reverse!”
The first day was pure bliss. Just happy to be there. We visited the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial, took in the scenery, and enjoyed that sacred Kruger silence — the kind that usually only lasts until someone decides to announce their sighting on the radio in my normal life.
Then came tragedy. Upon unpacking, I realised I’d committed a fatal error. I’d packed the portable grinder, the steel French press, even the fancy travel mugs — but not the coffee beans. Instant coffee. The drink of despair. I drank it, of course, because survival instincts kick in before pride, but each sip tasted like broken dreams.
Anyway, caffeine or not, Kruger delivered. Great hyena sightings, buffalo by the herd, and even a dwarf mongoose or two trying to look important. But the real reason we came — the wild dogs — showed up not once, but twice. Two separate, private sightings before 5 a.m. on the H1-1. That extra hour inside the gates? Worth every cent.
The photos came out beautifully, but it was the moment that stuck. Three wild dogs, ears like radar, eyes locked forward — and somehow more in tune with each other than most people in a marriage. I wrote a little piece about them later, about loyalty and the pack, but in the moment, it was just… pure Africa.
As if that wasn’t enough, we stumbled upon the Napi males — three lions that looked like they’d stepped straight out of a shampoo commercial and into a fistfight. Proper males. Scars, pride, attitude. One had a gash in his head that looked alarming, but thankfully wasn’t anthrax. I did ask him, but he didn’t answer. Typical cat.
We drove down to Lower Sabie one afternoon and got lost in that hypnotic rhythm only Kruger can give you — mopane, river, sky, repeat. Then came the mythical creature. The unicorn of Kruger. A Verreaux’s eagle-owl… on the ground… in daylight. I briefly considered calling SANParks to report a glitch in the matrix.
But then came the leopard saga. You can’t go to Kruger and not chase a leopard. It’s a rule. Every afternoon, I searched the koppies around Pretorius Kop to no avail. Eventually, we went south toward Malelane, and after seeing everything but a leopard, we finally found one. In a tree, naturally. He made us wait three hours before showing himself. My dad, saint that he is, sat through it all while I kept him entertained with humour so dry it could’ve cured biltong.
And then — the last morning. Bags packed, hearts full, plans made. We were supposed to head out Numbi Gate and be in Johannesburg before lunch. But you see, “supposed to” doesn’t exist in Kruger. So, against the plan (and probably better judgement), I aimed for Malelane instead.
Three kilometres from Afsaal, the bush erupted in one last masterpiece — the Transport Dam Male, head-on, confident, and absolutely glorious. A leopard to end it all. The kind of sighting that resets your soul and ruins you for a week in city life all over again.
These few days were pure joy — the kind you can’t plan or buy. Working in this industry, it’s easy to forget what it’s like to just be a guest. But sharing it with my dad? Priceless. Kruger gave us lions, dogs, buffalo, and memories that will probably last longer than my next set of tyres.
And then… the internet happened.
After posting the trip video, a self-proclaimed “bush purist” decided to remind me that apparently, “city folk” using Latest Sightings are the downfall of humanity. You know the type — the ones who think the Kruger belongs to them personally, as if the elephants signed over the title deeds.
Now, I could have argued. I could have written an essay about professionalism, patience, and how not to confuse gatekeeping with conservation. But honestly? It’s not worth the Wi-Fi. Because if the sight of other people enjoying nature makes you angry, then I genuinely feel sorry for you. What a small, dim little world that must be.
And on that terrible bombshell, it’s time to end. See you in the next one.
Epilogue:
Three wild dogs. Ears like radar, eyes locked on the horizon — the kind of focus you only get when your next meal depends on it.
There’s beauty in their brutality. They live by a code even humans could learn from: no one gets left behind. When one’s injured, the pack waits. When one eats, they all eat. Africa’s most successful hunters — and ironically, that’s also their downfall. Too good for their own good. Too driven, too effective, and too often, too close to the fences that confine them.
Maybe that’s the lesson: find your pack. The few who’ll stay through the chaos, defend you when you’re down, and celebrate like maniacs when you win. Because in the end, it’s not about how far you run — it’s who keeps running beside you.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 