Lloyds camp and altruism in wild animals
On an evening game drive, we passed by the much-frequented Savuti Pan before returning to our camp for the night. The Savuti water pan always drew big bull elephants from afar — often walking three to four days to reach the sweet water maintained in the dry marsh by a pump.
During the dry season, there were no matriarch herds with their offspring; the uncertainty of water and the long treks were too much for the little ones. Only the huge, approximately five-ton bulls frequented this waterhole at this time of year — a spectacular sight, as sometimes sixty+ bulls would gently shove each other until all had their fill. A spellbinding spectacle one could watch for hours – a majestic dance of giants.
On this particular evening, there were about thirty bulls, many standing like sentinels in a line. An active pack of hunting dogs was eying them — strange, as these bulls were surely not on their menu. On closer inspection, we discovered a very small, trembling zebra foal, alone, in the middle of the circle of massive elephants. Ah — this was what the dogs were after.
The elephants would not let the dogs through, and eventually, the dogs gave up and retreated; they had many mouths and young ones to feed – they needed a reliable meal twice a day, so they weren’t going to wait for a gap in the impenetrable grey fortress.
In the distance, we spotted a small herd of zebras, and one lingered close. Could this be the mother? But how would she get her foal out of the mud surrounding the pan? It was heartbreaking. My guests were visibly affected. This was raw, unfiltered nature – a moment where we witness both the beauty and the brutality of the wild.
After a little while, Lloyd arrived in his rickety old dark green Landrover — windshield down, doors off, no roof, just a chassis on wheels – as long as it rumbled along, all was good. Lloyd, I believe, was the first to build a safari camp on the fringes of the Savuti marsh — it was aptly and simply called “Lloyd’s Camp.”
Lloyd, a true bush soul, through and through – born in Botswana and with a deep understanding of its culture, spoke the local Setswana language fluently. As a boy, he accompanied his father on hunting trips, tracking crocodiles through the winding channels of the Okavango Delta. Upon leaving school, he started following in his father’s footsteps as a crocodile hunter, but somewhere along the way, the family shifted into photographic safaris. Lloyd transformed from hunter to conservationist. He wasn’t afraid of the wild – it was his home, and he had a deep love for it. And the wild seemed to sense that. He would cover himself in a rug and crawl out to the young lion cubs, teasing them with a stick just like you would a house kitten. I saw photographs of these encounters – although they were not displayed at camp – it was the bush’s best-kept open secret.
I stayed at the lodge a few times with clients, and it was always a fascinating experience. The lodge wasn’t luxurious, yet it had everything clients needed: large tents and good food. I remember one morning a young lad hurried around, hushed, telling guests to stay in their tents – the lions had moved into camp. The whole pride, more than 15 animals, was literally lounging between the lounge-tent and the kitchen.
The lions were king and Lloyd’s philosophy was clear: the animals were there first, and humans were treading on their territory. So we went on our morning drive without breakfast. But what an experience for the guests – they loved every bit of it.
A safari on an empty stomach, the lodge’s charmingly mismatched furniture, a bit like a second-hand shop, and lions sleeping literally next to your bed – it was definitely the highlight of the safari!
Lloyd often invited zoology researchers and filmmakers to the lodge for dinner. Sitting at the same table with the luminaries of the wild was a special treat for the safari guests, even if they didn’t understand a word of the conversations. But it didn’t matter, they would sit in awe, glowing with content. Everyone was part of the same show. No VIPs, no celebrities, just the same down-to-earth respect for people and animals alike.
The guests loved it. And I did too.
So, back to the waterhole where the big bulls were guarding the foal… Lloyd drove over to us and called out to me, “Hey, let’s get that little zebra out of there!” It didn’t take me a second to jump out of my vehicle, instruct my group to stay put – absolutely do NOT leave the vehicle – and leap onto the back of the Landy.
We headed straight for the grey sentinels. But oh gosh, there was someone else in the vehicle – a lady, wide-eyed and pushing herself back into her seat as if trying to desperately avoid the encounter looming ahead. “I am anxious,” she exclaimed in a shaky voice… surely not a native English speaker – an American or someone from the UK would have shouted, “Shhiii… I’m freaking scared!”
We should have left her with my waiting group. Too late now!
I placed my hand gently, yet firmly, on her shoulder and told her to stay calm and not leave the vehicle.
In a flash, we were at the pan, surrounded by these 5+ ton animals. I glanced up briefly at them – they looked confused, perhaps surprised by our audacity to barge into their circle. One younger bull stood with his head high, swaying slightly from side to side, uncertain of what to do. Later, my watching guests confirmed that he had taken a few steps toward us, but when we didn’t react, he paused, then slowly backed off. There was no time to worry about them. Lloyd and I jumped into knee-deep mud, grabbed the zebra, and carried it onto the deck of our vehicle. Lloyd quickly jumped into the driver’s seat while I clutched the baby – we zoomed away as fast as we had entered the gathering.
My heart sank as I noticed how weak this foal was. Growing up on a farm, I knew the strength of newborn calves – and this baby was seriously fragile. But if we could get it to its mother, there was still hope. As we approached the lone zebra, however, it kept moving away – obviously. Eventually, we had no choice but to offload the little one and hope for the best. Darkness was falling – there was nothing more we could do. Nature would have to take its course.
Back at camp, our group was late. Guests were already expected for dinner, but I needed a shower first – plastered in thick heavy mud and reeking of elephant dung. What an adventure!
An adventure that crossed the boundaries of accepted scientific thought. The general consensus is that we humans should not interfere with nature. A watching zoologist would not have intervened. Marine biologist Nan Hauser (mentioned in the intro) was very careful in how she recounted her encounter with the whale – cautious not to be labelled a ‘whale hugger’. Even though the whale seemed to hug her, such an interpretation would have been condemned as utterly unacceptable by the scientific establishment – met with the kind of disgusted outrage reserved for something blatantly unprofessional.
Yet… have we forgotten that we are nature?
We are not outside of it, looking at it – like watching a TV. We are conscious beings – part of the same living awareness that flows through all beings: animals, plants, water, and the Earth Gaia herself … and beyond.
And by the way, we humans have been interfering all along – tearing into the earth for crude oil and precious minerals, flattening forests that have stood for millions of years, all for material gain and profit, all for what we call progress, but at the cost of life itself. We have scarred the very skin of the planet that sustains us, taking beyond measure, driven solely by the profit of a few, forgetting that we are not separate from nature – we are nature itself.
When we reconnect with the natural world, we reconnect with a greater source – a quiet wisdom that grounds us, guides us, and offers a deep sense of peace.
Encountering wildlife in a way where the wild beings recognise and accept your presence is a gift. In those moments, joy rises from a place beyond words – moments where the veil between human and animal becomes thin, and something sacred is shared.
And if one needs proof of these profound encounters, Lloyd’s stories in his book Embers of a Campfire (written by Lloyd L.E. Wilmot) speak beautifully to this truth.
Back at camp, I learned that the lady reluctantly accompanying us was from Austria and had booked the wrong kind of safari. She was on a rough-and-rugged camping safari – a fantastic adventure, but far too rustic for her taste. She had been offloaded at Lloyd’s Camp, where she felt safer. Kind as he was, Lloyd had offered to take her on a little drive to the nearby pan – but she certainly hadn’t expected this kind of raw adventure. After surviving her fear, I’m sure it became a story she will tell over and over and over again.
