Thief in the Night at Audi Camp

I’m not sure what woke me. Some sound that differed from John’s snoring, or the thumps and cheers of the drunken overland tour group at the far end of camp, or the donkeys and roosters that created an occasional rising cacophony in the darkness. Maybe the multiple mended slashes of the tent screens we’d looked over in the afternoon when we’d arrived and rented the cabin tents put me on alert. Two AM on my little travel clock, and some sound behind the tent, a scuffle, caught my attention.

Sitting up, I was glad we’d not closed the flaps and I could see out through the netting. In the shadow of our tent, on the wall, a tall figure was reaching a leg down toward the ground. Once down, he turned toward our tent, walking crouched and stepping softly, just like someone “sneaking” in a game or in the movies.

Because putting up and taking down the camper and tent on the rented Land Rover we’d named Grover took a fair amount of time and we needed the vehicle to run to the various campsite concessionaires and the Wildlife offices in Maun, we’d opted to rent two of the cabin tents at Audi Camp. This way we could come and go, and the girls would have a place to hang out if they did not want to spend the day touring offices.

Audi Camp is a hang-out for bush pilots who are trying to get gigs working in the Okavango Delta region. They bring their own tents, and Audi Camp offers some really nice ablutions, or restrooms and bathing facilities, as well as some really comfortable lounging areas that become their living room of sorts. After dinner, John had discovered them drinking in one of these, celebrating the new job one had landed in Senegal.

Having lost a very close friend several years ago who had been a pilot for Hawaiian Airlines, pilots and their stories are like a magnet for John. He’d come back by camp and picked up the bottle of vodka, returning hours later in a state that can only be brought on by the excitement of travel stories, a large helping of nostalgia, and far too many drinks. As the shadow of a man dropped over the security fence, John would likely not be much help.

So, as the tall, thin, crouching man came up to our window, I growled “Get out of here!” Thankfully, he turned and adept as a cat, climbed back over the fence. Wondering where the two security guards were, I went for a little walk around camp. I passed them, sitting together, taking a break in the communal kitchen area. Other than the sounds of the drinking game still played loudly by the overlanders, nobody else was about.

The following day, I mentioned it at the front desk, ans she asked me to tell the manager. He seemed concerned and oddly surprised that the fence was scaled so easily. True, no fat, old duffer is going to scale it, but a 7 foot fence with some metal jaggy things that leave enough room in between for a solid hand hold are not much for a young man. Clearly not for this thin one with a narrow head and no hair. I will say the security guards were all over our campsite in the darkness for the rest of our stay.

The pilots told us later the thieves visit nightly. The biggest target is anything left outside, like clothing left hanging to dry. Fortunately, the people here in Botswana are generally very non-violent and avoid conflict. Personal safety is not a risk so much as losing one’s pants in the night.