Africa is not for the faint of heart. My younger self had romantic visions of coasting through Africa on safari, with zebras and giraffes grazing along the way. As a lifelong equestrian, when I learned I could do it via horseback in the ultimate adventure, I became obsessed. What I find in Africa upon touching down in Johannesburg is fear, vulnerability, adrenaline and the ultimate thrill. 

After easy, breezy days of riding among zebras and giraffes and glamping in lush South Africa, we make our way to Botswana. If South Africa is a soft landing in Africa, Botswana is real Africa.

We rise at dawn and start the day with a three hour ride from our bush camp to the main lodge. Our horses are feeling spry and we race along the trails alongside the wildlife. A safari transport is at the main lodge to meet us. We climb aboard and begin the long drive to the border. A five hour drive through South African townships, small villages, and winding mountain roads with monkeys along the way. 

We arrive at the border for passport control on the South African side. We pass through tall iron gates and down a muddy road to a cable car structure. Climbing the cold, steel stairs to the platform, we are asked to sign a release. We step aboard and cross the crocodile infested Limpopo River. The cable car creaks and rasps to the other side, where we are met by passport control on the Botswana side. They insist on searching our bags. 

Finally, we are on our way once again, a safari Land Cruiser delivers us to the main lodge. We mount our assigned horses and set out into the Botswana bush. It would be another two hours on horseback to camp. 

Riding through the trees, we get our first glimpse of elephants. I cry. The sight of them in their natural world overwhelms me and the tears quietly fall. They are commanding and knowing, yet the epitome of zen. 

We move on and make our way towards camp. Upon our arrival, we are met with champagne and cool towels. We are horse girls in the African bush, but we can still be fancy. 

We are told to scan for eyes at dusk before leaving our tents for dinner. Leaving dinner, we are chaperoned back to our tents by a guide. Then told not to leave our tents until morning. In the darkness of night, I hear the roars of lions and trumpets of elephants. 

The moments that occur the next morning still follow and haunt me. It all happens so fast. As danger often does. It’s in the quiet hours, late at night, these flashes in time come back to me. Often I wake with a start, while the rest of the house sleeps on in the darkness. 

I go out to my patio and gaze at the stars in the silence of the clear night and I remember Africa… 

We are riding in the first rays of morning light of the Botswana bush. It’s early. The bush is still waking up. Trekking along the outskirts of the plains, our horses are alert and watching. We come upon a majestic herd of elephants, quietly brunching. They are all ages and sizes. It is astounding just being in their presence. There are three younger bulls, teenagers really, watching us intently. 

Our presence is not appreciated. My heart pounds. The elephants hear it. From 50 feet away. They feel the fear. They smell the anxiety. I’ve endangered the mission… 

A trumpet sounds. So infinitely loud, my head spins. Dizzying and deafening, an elephant bull sounds the alarm. His trumpet fills the air. He charges. Straight for us. 

In a split second, my horse spins and gallops full speed in the opposite direction. My horse fleeing danger before I even realize – we are in serious danger. I hang on in a daze, not really even sure what is happening. My little gray Irish Sport Horse gallops across the plains, jumping bushes, weaving through trees, the other girls in the group split up, scattering in different directions. I hang on as if my life depends on it. Because my life depends on it. 

I hear nothing, like a flash of silence, in the chaos that is inevitably horses galloping to outrun charging elephants. Then suddenly, it’s loud again. As loud as an old dusty, western… and we’re doing some serious cowgirl riding. My horse races on, I ride low and hang on tight. In a haze. Blinded by adrenaline. 

Elephants sounding their trumpets… The snap of bull whips in the distance… Yelling… Confusion… Our brave guides putting themselves in harm’s way to divert attention away from us. Sheer madness in these moments. 

I do some of my best riding in these moments, I’ve been training for this my entire life… although I didn’t know it. These moments stay with me, tattooed into my brain. Adrenaline pulsing through me like fire. 

Our horses finally come to a halt in a quiet spot with tall bushes and short trees. We are safe hiding here. For now. But now we are three. We are a rider down. Lost in the bedlam. We have her horse, creatures of the herd, he took flight with his mates when danger came calling, but lost his rider. 

The British polo player in our group is gone. She lost a stirrup and fell in the chaos. The guides herd the elephants away from her crumpled body. They save her life. 

Knocked out upon hitting the ground, she comes to and tries to stand. But her legs will not work. Just collapse beneath her. 

Once she’s able to shake it off and stand, she runs to hide behind a Mashatu tree. She’s able to catch her breath. She’s alive.

They appear in the distance. She is safe. She is riding our guide’s horse. He is walking them on foot. She is lucky to be alive. We all are. 

We outran charging elephants on an equestrian safari in Botswana… It doesn’t seem real. We outran angry elephants and lived to tell the tale. My life is a movie, and I am the main character.

The Morning After