The Cry of the Kalahari

The morning is clear and transparent, filled with freshness, sharply revealing the curves of Johannesburg's contours that were invisible just yesterday. Today we are flying to Botswana and then to the Kalahari. The car is ready. Gray — our driver — is hurrying us, explaining the urgency by the possibility of hitting traffic and being late for the flight. We say goodbye to Shelly and Charlie — the owners of the guesthouse where we spent, or rather, flew through, two amazing days. Their hospitality and warmth were so genuine that we cannot leave simply by saying the customary "goodbye." Shelly and Charlie are also upset. But they are used to it. That’s their job. And today, other guests will arrive.
Gray's concerns were not unfounded: we barely made it to the flight, getting stuck in a traffic jam that we had to navigate around on parallel roads.
Tambo Airport in Johannesburg is huge, both in area and in volume of service. Every 30 seconds, a plane takes off or lands here.
Check-in, passport control — everything is very quick, without queues or fuss. Our plane is small, with about fifty seats.
Almost all the passengers are Americans and Brits. And we, five Kyrgyz — Olga Gubaeva, Larisa Dudashvili, Svetlana Poluektova, Viktor Kadyrov, and I — the author of this chronicle.
The flight duration is just over an hour. Outside the window, the ocean of warm blue skies and fantastically beautiful white clouds. Looking out the window, I watch with interest how their "architecture" changes, how white spheres transform into minarets and towers, islands and lines.
But then, through the white-blue space, the city of Maun appeared. It is considered the second largest settlement in Botswana after Gaborone — the capital of the country.
Everything happened quickly from there. We were met by representatives of the tour operator in Botswana, and we are boarding again.
The airport in Maun is small — only two or three international flights. However, there are many small colorful planes that, like dragonflies, buzzed in the air, landing and taking off in different directions. They transport tourists to camps, or as they are called here, lodges, scattered across the expanses of Botswana and its national parks. One of these planes is prepared for us. It has five seats, and there are five of us.
Quickly gaining altitude, our "butterfly," swaying on the air waves, headed south. Somewhere there, in the very heart of the Kalahari, is our first refuge, "Tau Pan."
"Tau Pan" is located on a slight elevation amidst tall grasses and acacias. Eight houses, resembling the shapes of elephants, lined up in a row, peeked their roofs out from the gray-green bush. This is what they call the overgrown shrub areas here. Each house is a comfortable dwelling with all the amenities of civilization, porches for relaxation and contemplation. The magnificent nature of the savannah and enchanting views of the Kalahari open right from the rooms. Besides the residential houses, there is a restaurant, a large terrace with a fire pit, comfortable loungers, a bar, and a swimming pool. In short, the "Tau Pan" camp is a little paradise created in the very center of the Kalahari. During the day, the heat reigns in the desert. Therefore, safaris are offered early in the morning and in the evening when nature and its inhabitants are most active.
After unpacking our things and not yet having the chance to enjoy the comforts of the camp, we set off on a safari. The unusual nature surrounds us, creating a good mood. The main goal of the safari is to observe the animals.