'Stop!’ The cruiser judders to a halt. Long braids swaying, Shiluva turns back to see what in particular has captured our attention.
Click. Eland moving into the shade of a rocky ridge, baobabs sprouting from basalt rocks, sculptures against the sky. Click, click. To the right, a bull elephant rubbing against the trunk of a nyala tree. Baboons foraging in the shadows. Click, click. It’s late September, the hot air perfumed by woolly caper bushes, thorny branches in full floral display. From a copse of bush willows, the call of a black-headed oriel, mellifluous as a flute.
‘This really is the Garden of Eden, isn’t it?’ some idiot says. It might even have been me.
Shiluva, not the only one who has heard this before, laughs. ‘All good to go?’ She starts to ascend the ridge, then stops as a
