Freedom Mupanedemo
On the lush green precincts of the frothing Chobe River, a shiny duiker darts into stunted shrubbery.
A bachelor impala bull, probably nursing scars from being violently vanquished from his family herd by a dominant rival, stubbornly makes way for our high-rider Land Cruiser, ears upright, flicking forwards and backwards, tail tucked between spindly legs.
To our right, a herd of elephants continues to forage, ignoring the groaning of our diesel engine.
A bull the size of a Jojo tank stands at the edge of the track, mulishly extending his three-metre trunk across the road, minding his own business.
The back of his broad ears streams with shiny liquid down his cheeks.
“He must be on musth,” commented one of our group members, whom I later learnt was from Singapore.
The bull’s refusal to yield in his ‘conquered’ territory forced our driver to a screeching halt.
The fleeing duiker’s strides seemed to trigger panic in a family of mongooses, which scurried across in front of our stationary vehicle.
On the river island bordering Botswana and Namibia, a huge buffalo bull bellowed authoritatively, as if to remind an unperturbed pod of hippos closing in on him that they were stepping into an uncomfortable zone.
Long, elegant necks of giraffes protruded above the riverine vegetation, just a stone’s throw from where we waited patiently for the bull elephant—on his own volition of time—to finally give us way.
“Here we don’t provoke them; we wait patiently for them to move. We are in their territory,” explained our soft-spoken Motswana tour guide, taking us through this theatre of jungle life.
This is Chobe National Park, a gem of wildlife sanctuary, both terrestrial and aquatic.
Its elephant population seems infinite; everywhere you look, a different herd appears.
Young ones playfully swish their tails under their mothers’ armpits. In fact, upon entering the park gates, the pungent smell of elephant dung greets you, wafting through the air.
Antelopes roam freely, while baboons squabble across the savanna grasslands.
It feels as though all wildlife from the three neighbouring countries—Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Namibia—has ancestral roots in Chobe.
Every species is here. Even the most elusive, the king of the jungle, the lion—we encountered a pride.
What boggles the mind is that Chobe, pristine as it is, cannot compare in sheer size to Hwange National Park, just a short distance south.
Isn’t it elegant? What might be drawing so much wildlife into a smaller Chobe is a mystery only nature can answer.
Is it the silent waters of the Chobe River? Don’t we have our own mighty Zambezi where wildlife can frolic and quench their thirst? Or is it something to do with ancestral instincts?
Do not misunderstand me—I am not saying Zimbabwe lacks wildlife. We have plenty.
As a tourism and travel writer, I have visited every corner of Zimbabwe, and we boast a variety of species, with an insurmountable herd of elephants in Hwange National Park. I have also experienced Kruger National Park.
But what I witnessed in Chobe was extraordinary. Perhaps I visited at the right time, when all species seemed to gather to celebrate the 1st of January 2026 with their ancestral roots.
Even our guide admitted that tourists had not seen a pride of lions for some time, until New Year’s Day, when we had the rare chance to encounter them up close —prime and wild.
Do you love wildlife? Do you yearn for an encounter with diverse species in their natural state, up close and personal? Then Chobe.
CHOBE!
