A game drive is a bit weird when you think about it. It's a bunch of people who've never met, who live on opposite sides of the planet, getting up before the sun and piling on to a vehicle with no roof, often in the freezing cold of a pre-dawn winter morning, sitting cheek by jowl with all sorts, co-existing in a space you couldn't swing a cat in (note: we do not condone the swinging of any feline or other creature in a confined space or, indeed any space). This is why...

It's funny how a shared, if not warped sense of adventure brings people together who would otherwise have little in common, often forming friendships that last far longer than the safari does. Add in a guide with all the experience and personality needed to make every game drive spectacular, even when you're not seeing anything the endless wildlife documentaries say will be jumping up and down at every turn in the road, and you have a recipe for magic. Or disaster!

The gathering and managing of random egos, personalities, sensibilities and sensitivities, often in pairs, is a feat of mind-boggling proportions and kudos to the guides able to cope with everything that transpires as a result. In fact, we'd go as far as to say that finding and commenting on wildlife and wild animal behaviour is the easiest part of what a guide does on a game drive. Keeping a mixed bag of humans happy is without a doubt the biggest challenge.

Sometimes you're blessed to accidentally discover a tribe of like-minded people with slightly strange accents who laugh at all of your jokes and seem to "get" you and yours. Occasionally you have to silently raise eyebrows (or perform a mental rolling of eyes) and take deep breaths. And rarely, thank goodness, you end up with people you feel the need to escape from, or commit to the nearest asylum. It's that box of chocolates that Forrest Gump so eloquently eulogised about, because you don't know what you're getting until you're in the middle of the African wilderness surrounded by elephants. Or lions. Or both. 

When the mega fauna arrive, colours tend to show themselves. There's the gushers who get all teary eyed and moist around the edges at the enormity of it all, there's the strong, silent types who ask serious questions and nod sagely at the guide's wisdom-filled responses, there's the keen photographers who travel with half a ton of lenses bigger than your safari bag, the gorgeous young couple with a great iPhone and an insatiable desire for selfies and the earnest 40-somethings into recycling, reusing and repurposing who just want to save the world and everything in it. 

There's also the attention seekers, usually one half of a couple who causes the other party to constantly dig them in the ribs in an effort to shut them up. They make crass jokes, provide commentary on everything, and often use the phrase "when we were in xxx" a lot. The xxx largely stands for anywhere you can think of on Planet Earth on the understanding that they've been there, done that and have several XL T-shirts. Nothing fazes them, until the night drive... Then every moth or other hapless insect attracting to the spotlight elicits squeals and shrieks. Evidently, they don't have bugs in xxx. 

Another interesting social experiment that game drives seem to excel at is pecking order, or to be more specific, seat hierarchy. Often accompanied by varying degrees of passive aggressive behaviour the jostling for perceived prime real estate can be entertaining. Most common or garden open safari vehicles (OSVs as we call them in the trade) have nine seats in the back arranged in three rows of three seats. And a single seat up front next to the guide. The hot property tends to be the front row of three seats directly behind the guide, with property value decreasing as it gets to towards the rear (usually very bouncy but the highest position by far). 

Some OSV's have roofs on them which can make the rear feel rather hemmed in as you're closer to the canvas ceiling. Others are completely open to the elements. It's down to which lodge or camp you're at and where in Africa that lodge or camp is. But that's a whole other story. 

The bun fight for the best seats in the house is as real as the race for pool loungers in the Costa Del Sol. And generally, once you've gotten your seat you keep it for the duration of your stay, although swapping is encouraged. 

Next up comes the issue of space, especially when vehicles are full. Those keen photographers with the truck load of lenses tend to want an empty seat next to them to park cameras on rather than having to rummage around at their own feet while bouncing around. And to be fair, when their lens is longer than the vehicle it's nice to have somewhere to rest it.

The thing to remember is that when you get on a game drive in the wee small hours, it's cooler than when you'll get off it some four hours later. And when you get on it in the heat of the afternoon it's warmer than it invariably will be when you return after dark all those hours later. This is especially true in the Southern African winter (June to August inclusive) when you will need to have a whole new wardrobe for each extreme. 

This requires the use of a day pack or similar bag in which to pack said additional wardrobe items. And a day pack or similar bag takes up room at your feet, even though during the course of the game drive it may either be empty or full, depending on what time it is and what season. If you thought real estate for bums was in high demand, wait till you have to wrangle space for day packs, camera bags or anything other than yourself.

Of course, some fabulous lodges and camps have an answer for all of this. They restrict their vehicles to a maximum of six passengers - two people on each of the three rows. This gives more than enough space for the kitchen sink, should it be required. 

Navigating the etiquette and niceties of game drives may seem like a minefield with the potential to start a war, but somehow we humans manage it more often than not and make it work for everyone, irrespective of personality disorders, character traits and occasional mental health issues. We're adaptable, and Africa tends to bring out the best in us, acting as the common thread that binds us together.

Of course, none of it matters, because by the second sundowner (and the third G&T) everyone is best friends, swapping emails, phone numbers, and sharing advice on the best places they've been on safari. Back at the lodge separate tables become conjoined and chatter and laughter over a shared meal seals the deal. BFFs forever. Who cares where you sit as long as your new bestie is on the vehicle? That, dear friends, is the essence of safari. 

Text: Sharon Gilbert-Rivett