Everything is a matter of perspective

Yesterday afternoon, we board a boat on the Chobe River with guests we already met during the morning jeep tour. The boat has about ten seats and seems relatively small compared to the other six boats that are departing with us.

Immediately, the experiences from the morning come up. Some say that compared to the various other safaris they've taken, that was real ‘mass tourism’.

And yes: My impression of the morning's ‘drive game’ with 50 to 100 jeeps, radio contact, and the collective chase for the recently spotted lions was indeed similar.

As we quietly steer the boat to the spots where our guide suspects or has spotted animals, I ponder about it. Also about supply and demand. If we all want to go on safaris – some of us not just one – then we are ultimately creating the demand that is responded to with corresponding offers. Complaining about the many other tourists while sitting right among them is, at the very least, a small contradiction. 🤔

On the Chobe River, everything is calmer and slower. We have much more time to actually observe the animals, watch their movements, and perceive their behavior. We only continue once everyone has taken their shots – or can no longer handle the proximity of the crocodile. 🫣

And so some of the most beautiful films and photos are created.

Our local guide knows the wildlife impressively well and tells us that he has been in this profession for over ten years and still enjoys it. When we land again after the tour, he thanks us for supporting tourism in Botswana and thereby securing his livelihood.

The statement sticks with us.

Of course, he doesn't answer the question of how much tourism nature and animals can withstand. But he adds another perspective to it. All those boats, jeeps, and lodges indeed involve people and their jobs.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether tourism is good or bad. But rather how much of it a place can bear – and how we want to travel when we are part of it ourselves.

The gentleman who brings us dinner with a beaming smile last night tells us that often an owl flies under the high, open roof of the lodge in the evening. Apparently, the cats sometimes benefit from her catch.

We have already discovered two of them. One had just finished her dinner parallel to us – poor mouse. 🐭🤷‍♀️

One of the cats is missing the tip of an ear. My sympathy is immediately aroused: “Oh, poor thing…” – and already in my mind, I create notions of ‘abandonment’ and neglect.

Then we learn that she is actually the favorite cat of our waiter. And the missing ear tip? Not the result of a hard life, but rather the vet's mark that the cat has been spayed.

I am impressed – and feel a little shy about my hasty story of the neglected African cat. 🙈

Another lesson learned: Not everything that looks like neglect to us is actually neglect.

And while I’m writing this entry, we suddenly hear a noise and look up in search of the tornado.

But it’s just a rolling suitcase behind us. 😂

Africa changes us… 😉