Anecdotes from the Delta – a collection of observations by Nthopang Xani

In the wild, everything, from the ephemeral to the everlasting, is part of one great story made up of many smaller ones. A sensorial symphony. An amalgamation of motion and miracles that looks different in every light, leaving us yearning to know and see more.

As a guide at Singita Okavango Delta, Nthopang Xani has a lifetime of observations to share. Here, he reflects on recent moments in the Delta across different times of day, his fondness for all the region’s diverse wildlife on full display.

That morning, I was crossing a bridge, and the river lay open and clear beneath me. No mist, just calm water and the slow stir of life waking up. Not far from where I stood, a deep sound rose, “hohoohoo hooww”. Hippos, grumbling after a night of grazing, let the world know the river still belonged to them. It was a sound that came from the belly of the earth – raw, old, and full of weight.

Then, from above, cutting through the stillness, came the cry of the African fish eagle, “kwoyoo kwoyo kwoo”. Sharp and soaring, like a message written above. It felt like a conversation between earth and sky.The hippos, speaking for the ground and water, the eagle, answering for the wind and clouds. And there I was, caught between them, witnessing their greeting, just for a moment.

In the afternoon heat, the bush stirred with silent whispers – and then came the runners. We found them just as the light began to lean: four wild dogs, painted like brushstrokes of shadow and sun, trotting through the open floodplain with purpose written in every step. Their ears flicked like radar dishes, their noses low, reading messages we could not smell. But we could feel that something was about to happen. The way they moved, restless and alert through the grasses, was like watching the wind take shape.

They were a living, breathing rhythm of wild purpose. And we followed quietly, holding our breath with every turn they took. And in those moments, we were not just observers – we were part of the chase, part of their world, even if only for a short time.

There was no kill. No blood. Just the raw beauty of movement. Of instinct. Of the untamed law that rules when the pack is in motion. When they finally disappeared into the brush, the silence they left behind felt louder than any sound. The bush had spoken in paws and patterns, dust and direction. And we had listened.

Afternoon in soft golden light, a pack of wild dogs filled the floodplain with life and laughter. They moved between water and land, some splashing through the shallows while others chased one another along the edge, their reflections rippling beneath them like shadows of joy.

It was a moment of play, yet it carried deep meaning. For wild dogs, such interaction strengthens the bond that keeps the pack alive, a silent promise of loyalty and teamwork. Their playful energy spoke of unity, of trust built through motion and touch.

As the sun dropped lower, its amber light caught the spray of water and turned every splash into gold. For a brief moment, the land seemed to pause and listen to the quiet music of wild hearts at peace, the painted wolves dancing with the light of the afternoon.

The air was heavy with the scent of dust and wild sage when she emerged from the shadows: a lone lioness, her tawny coat catching the last light of the day. Each step was steady, yet there was an urgency in her pace, a quiet tension in her eyes.

Her head lifted, and a low, rumbling call rolled across the savannah, not a roar, but a mother’s voice, deep and searching. She paused, ears pricking for a reply. Silence. Only the whisper of grass in the wind.

Again, she called, a sound that seemed to carry her heart with it. Somewhere out there, her cubs were hidden, waiting for the safety of her return. She moved on, weaving between the bushes, nose low, catching scents only she could read, every track and shadow holding a clue.

The fading light painted the sky in gold and fire, but she did not stop. This was a mother’s journey, guided by love, instinct, and the fierce promise to find her young before the night’s hunters awoke.

Read more of Tops' words in the current volume of the Singita magazine.