Whispers of the Borderlands: Into Linyanti

A hidden corner of Botswana where silence runs deep and the wild surprises even the seasoned. Another story of a luxury safari in Botswana.

After a few unforgettable days in the Okavango Delta, I thought I understood the pace of the wild—the early mornings, the golden light, the brush with predators just beyond reach. But Linyanti felt differentHere, tucked away in the borderlands of Botswana, nature moved quieter, older, and somehow closer. At DumaTau Camp, with its elegant, design-forward spaces nestled effortlessly into the landscape, I found a new chapter of wildness.

This stretch of wilderness, near the intersection of Botswana, Namibia, Zambia, and Angola, is a place where herds of elephants cross ancient channels, ignoring borders that only humans believe in. They follow the matriarch—the oldest, the wisest—who remembers where water flows and where danger waits. Upon landing at the airstrip, the arrival routine was familiar by now: Land. Transfer to camp. Safety briefing. (And here, the briefing was especially serious: never walk alone at night. In Linyanti, nature’s laws are very much alive.)

After a quick check-in with work—because even here, some things are unavoidable—I readied myself for the first game drive with my guide, Speedy, a man whose name perfectly matched his sharp instincts. In my mind, the list of wildlife encounters was still incomplete. I had photographed elephants, wildebeests, lionesses, giraffes, and countless birds, but I was still missing the elusive ones, leopards, hyenas, male lions, and African wild dogs.

Linyanti would change that. It began with a low, visceral sound—almost a vibration more than a noise. Speedy caught it instantly: a growl deep in the bush. “Leopard,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. What followed was an incredible demonstration of skill: true tracking.

Wilderness guides are not just trained experts; they are locals, people who grew up with the land, who read the dust and the wind the way others read books. Nothing about their knowledge feels rehearsed. It feels lived.

And so, thanks to Speedy’s intuition, we witnessed something I never expected, leopards mating.

Seeing one leopard is rare.

Seeing two is extraordinary.

Seeing them mate? A moment few travelers ever experience.

But Linyanti wasn’t finished with me yet.

A few days later, through more expert tracking, we found my first male lion—a massive, solitary figure on the move, calling out to his pride, patrolling the edges of his territory. His deep, resonant roars rolled across the land like a living force, claiming space, issuing warnings no map could capture.

Back at camp, DumaTau felt both luxurious and rooted.

While Vumbura Plains was lush and organic, DumaTau leaned into elegant, thoughtful design without ever feeling out of place. It was a seamless blend: polished but wild at heart. As extraordinary as the sightings were, it was the people and the food that made DumaTau unforgettable.

The warmth of the staff, the effortless conversations by the fire, the meals that felt crafted with soul—these were the moments that made even the quiet hours between game drives feel like part of the adventure.

But like all journeys, mine had to move forward. It was time to say goodbye to Speedy—a tracker, a guide, and now a friend—and head toward my next destination: Victoria Falls and Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe. What I didn’t know was that the wild had one more story waiting for me. In Zimbabwe, I would finally see the African Wild Dogs, creatures I had long hoped to find.

But nature writes its stories with honesty, not kindness.

The sighting was brutal—a pack of wild dogs taking down a baby elephant.

It was raw, heartbreaking, and unforgettable—a reminder that the wild is not a place of staged beauty, but a realm of real, unfiltered life.