The open-backed Land Cruiser jerked and juddered awkwardly over the uneven terrain, throwing us around in the back. I winced, holding on tightly to the metal bar at the side of the safari vehicle, the only means of safety in a vehicle void of seat-belts.
I was in the lead vehicle in a convoy of three. The 4x4 kicked up clouds of suffocating orange dust behind it as it made its way down the narrow dirt track which led from our campsite towards the cultural village of Chiawa.
Savannah opened up around us, a vast expanse of long grass disturbed only by the occasional shrub or tree.
I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of life, noting tall structures of varying shapes and sizes made of sand, pinnacles in an otherwise flat savannah.
“Those are termite mounds.” Our guide called to us as we passed an unusually large one. it glowed yellow as the afternoon sun hit it.
It was the afternoon after our morning trek through the bush. After polishing off some lunch whilst watching the gentle river gurgle past our tents, we had bundled into 4x4s, ready to begin our drive to Chiawa village.
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