I wasn’t expecting the Serengeti to be such a sausage fest.

From willy-willies to dik-diks to actual sausage trees, these endless plains of Africa were lush with male members.

But of all my wild encounters with giraffes and zebras and gazelles and cheetahs and elephants and ostriches and warthogs and wildebeests and hippos and every damn creature you can think of, there was one male member of the animal kingdom that was markedly absent: The Lion King.

 

His female counterpart, however, was always around. You could find her meticulously mothering the cubs, gracefully napping in the bush and savagely hunting for the pride.

But The King was nowhere in sight. Probably philandering with other felines.

As they do.

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And then there was Tuk Tuk Tom.

After three days in the Serengeti, I arrived back at camp to a very unusual sight. Parked up on the grass was a zebra painted tuk tuk with a sleeping hut built on top. I saw a figure laying in the hut and thought to myself, “Now, that guy has the right idea!”

Turns out, the carpenter behind the contraption was Tom from England. He had been traveling through Africa for the last 8 months on his motorbike, having his existential, Ewen McGregor-style life journey, and he was planning to take his newly customized tuk on the next leg of his trip.

I decided to introduce myself.

After all, my tour group consisted of couples and single ladies, so an opportunity to say hi to a cute boy traveling alone was not to be missed.

The next thing I knew, I was having a beer with Tuk Tuk Tom and deliberating whether or not I should jump on the back of his motorbike to hitch a 400-mile ride to the next stop on my African itinerary.

The next morning, I took him up on his offer.

After signing a waiver stating that if I died whilst gallivanting with a stranger in Africa, the tour company shall not be held responsible, and then waving goodbye to everyone as Tom and I moterbiked on out of the campsite (essentially playing out the greatest cliche of my life!)…we were finally on our way.

The first 5 hours were exhilarating! Here I was, zipping through the tiny villages and gorgeous landscape of Tanzania on the back of a motorbike with a cute British boy (pretty good going for having only been in Africa for 5 days!).

What an adventure! Everyone surely must be jealous of my alternative mode of transportation as they trudged along in the big yellow tour bus!

But then…

My back started to ache, my legs started to cramp, I couldn’t feel my ass anymore, my eyes started to burn…and it started to rain. Like, soak to the bone and everything you own, rain.

When we finally stopped for the night, had a hot shower, enjoyed some masala tea and inhaled a delicious curry, I was feeling much better. And, after a few hours of solid life chat, I realized Tom was much more than just my dashing driver.

34 hours later, I rejoined my group on the ferry to Zanzibar, dodging questions about my two-day escapade and trying to conceal the smile on my face.

“It was fun,” I said, casually. “I’m glad I went.”

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And then I had a meltdown in Malawi.

That is to say, after 42 hours on a bus with my 23 loud and smelly travel companions (spending 12 of those hours puking in the Tanzanian/Malawian bush), I had reached my physical and emotional limit.

So, when we finally got to our destination at Lake Malawi, I immediately upgraded to a single room where I could spread out, chill out, and meltdown in peace.

Which is exactly what I did.

 

Good thing Lake Malawi is one of the most peaceful places on the planet, and for the next three days I rested, rode horses, and recovered just in time for another 2 days barreling through the total length of Zambia to get to the next stop on our route.

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I was on a houseboat in Zimbabwe the day my ex got married. 

As the boat slowly floated past bathing hippos and towards the sunset in the distance, I allowed myself a very brief moment to mourn.

And then I remembered I had a bottle of rum.

So, I smiled at the sky, thanked the universe for my blessings, grabbed the bottle and followed the music to the upper deck where I proceeded to dance and sing and get joyfully tipsy with my new friends; acutely aware of the far distance from the shore and the forward motion of the boat.

 

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And then I fell in love with a rhino ranger named Ian.

Dressed in a full Top Gun onesie with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Ian proceeded to debrief our group about the game drive he would take us on the next morning.

With fiery passion, he explained all things rhino conservation in Africa and I found myself grabbing for an imaginary checkbook to give all my money to Ian and the rhinos.

The next morning, I was geared up with my safari chic attire, lipgloss and sass. And, when Ian offered up the front seat next to him in the jeep, I nearly broke my camera as I threw down my bag to claim the coveted spot.

The magnetism of this man had me glued to his side the whole day! A person so passionate he makes you reassess your purpose in life.

We spent the day crouching down 10 feet away from mama and baby rhinos, climbing caves to discuss ancient bushmen paintings, and soaking in the stunning surroundings of Matobo National park and the glorious Zimbabwean bush.

This was a day of magical, mystical, otherworldly proportions. A day that will forever be filed in my best days memory bank.

 

And, Ian? Well, he will forever be filed in my sexy, middle-aged man crush bank…

A girl can dream.

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If you haven’t found God yet, go to Victoria Falls. 

That is all.

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And just as I was really hitting my traveling stride, I had to say goodbye to my new, fabulous, tour group friends.

After 33 days of exploring some of the most beautiful places on earth together, and bonding over things like…

• Bush pees
• Sharing Maasai blankets because, yes, Africa gets cold in the winter
• Pitching tents in the pitch dark
• 16-hour bus rides, 3 days in a row
• Spiritual moments interrupted by loud, Cockney accents
• All kinds of bodily malfunctions

…we had finally become a little family.

 

Oh, but my African adventure wasn’t over yet.

With 2 more weeks left on the agenda, I was gearing up for Part II:

Namibia → Cape Town

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Who drives 918.6 miles to pick someone up at the airport?

Tuk Tuk Tom does.

But this time his chariot of choice was a tiny gold Toyota Etios – one of those weird models that don’t ever make it to America.

But, it was perfect.

And, for the next 11 days, Tom and I traversed the great deserts of Namibia, visiting smelly seal colonies, climbing unforgiving sand dunes, camping under magnificent African skies and hiking around the various canyons and rocks that define Namibia’s dramatic landscape.

 

Most of our time, however, was spent in the car.

We passed the time by taking naps (me), drinking wine (me), sharing life stories and blasting power ballads (I didn’t realize how much Tom loved Celine Dion, but I sure wasn’t complaining!).

Tom even taught me how to drive a stick shift!

Uh oh.

Now, I was doing just fine for the first 20 minutes. We were the only people on the road, not a lot of gear changes, and I was feeling confident.

And then I hit some gravel and we spun out of control. 

As Tom yelled to, “keep the car straight!”, I overcompensated, and several 180 degree spins later, we skid to an abrupt stop.

Tom was calm as a cucumber – I think he even laughed. I, on the other hand, had seen my life pass before me and was sure I was dead.

Luckily, we were fine, and for the next couple of hours, Tom and I picked pebbles out of the rims of the car, with tent pegs, in the middle of the Namib desert.

Not a soul in sight.

And then I laughed at how random and fortunate my life was at that exact moment.

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I nearly lost my shit when we crossed the border to South Africa. 

Cape Town was on top of my “cities I want to visit” list for years, and it had been the catalyst to my amazing African journey. Now, it was only a stone’s throw away.

With a bag of biltong and a bottle of Pinotage between my legs, Toto’s Africa on full blast, and the sun-soaked South African wineries out the window, just beyond Tom’s man bun, I started to have a happy panic attack.

It happens sometimes – when life hands me a bunch of amazing things all at once.

That was one of those times.

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After several more magical days of wine tasting and Cape Town exploring, my time with Tom was over and my African adventure was coming to an end.

 

Sitting in my sweet little studio in Camps Bay, I reflected on the summer I had just experienced…

10 countries, 2 months, and more miles clocked than the circumference of the earth!

At 31, I had managed to pull off another backpacking adventure for the books! (Shout out to the splendors of single life and summers off!)

Africa was epic.

With its storybook narrative – adventure! romance! memorable characters! –  it reminded me of why I’ll always keep exploring.

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I did finally see The Lion King at the end of that first safari.

He was sitting very far away, alone, with his enormous golden mane framing his (possibly post-coitus) contemplative face.

That’s how I’ll remember Africa.

Wild and graceful. Golden and free.

I will see you again soon, Mother Africa, you gorgeous Queen.

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Oh, yeah. And as for Tuk Tuk Tom?

Well, let’s just say I haven’t completely put the lid on my African box. That sounds dirty. But, you know what I mean. Wait, do you know what I mean? Do I even know what I mean?

I guess it means stay tuned…