When I awoke, I turned on the in-seat entertainment system and selected the program that showed the approximate location of the airplane.  I was delighted to see that we were only 50 miles or so off of the African coast, having crossed the Atlantic Ocean while I was asleep.  With about three hours to go in the flight, I decided to try to watch a movie to pass the time, so I selected Shooter from the entertainment system and settled for the duration.

The movie was not bad, and it wasn't long before they served us breakfast.  By the time the movie ended and the breakfast trays had been picked up, we were less than an hour away from landing in Johannesburg.  The landing itself, when it finally happened, was soft and easy, and a cheer arose from the seats around me as we taxied to a stop.  I got my carry-on bag down from the overhead bin and was soon standing on the tarmac under a clear African sky.

The passport line moved quickly, and going through customs was even easier.  While on the plane I had been asked to fill out a declaration form that asked if I was bringing any kind of restricted items into Africa.  The only question I answered "yes" to was the one about firearms, and the customs agent hardly gave the form a second look when I handed it to him at the gate. 

As I stepped through the doors leading out of the immigration area, I immediately saw a man holding a placard with my name on it.  I walked over and introduced myself.  The man was the RiflePermits.com representative, and he was there to help me get my rifle into the country.  He would, he said, take me over to the South African Police (SAPS) Office to pick up my weapon, but first he wanted to introduce me to Hannes. 

We walked over to a group of people who were laughing and joking together, and I quickly recognized Hannes from some video I had seen on the Limcroma web site.  We shook hands and he told me to go ahead and get my rifle and we could get underway.  The RiflePermits representative walked me over to the police station, but so far only one gun case was sitting in the waiting area.  The man, Henry, asked me if I had signed for the rifle back in the baggage area, and I answered no; no one had told me to do that.

Henry said that I would need to go back into the baggage claim center and sign for my gun before it would be delivered to the police station.  After talking to the guard stationed outside of the baggage doors, I walked back in and saw a group of hunters standing together beside a small desk.  I walked over and asked if this was where we were supposed to sign for our guns.  I was told that I was in the right place, and before long a group of baggage attendants began ferrying gun cases over to the desk area.

While I was waiting for mine, Steve Huettner from Accurate Reloading recognized me from a picture I had sent him, and he walked up to say hello.  We exchanged apologies for missing each other back at Dulles, but unfortunately there was so much going on with trying to get our guns signed for that we didn't get time to talk much more than that.  Steve did tell me that one of the guys in his party had been denied entrance into South Africa because he had not had the requisite two blank pages in his passport. 

I shook my head in disbelief, then asked Steve how long the fellow had been planning his trip.  "A whole year," Steve answered.  I could barely imagine how I would feel if something like that had happened to me, particularly on this, my first safari.  Before we got a chance to talk about it any more, I saw my gun case being wheeled up to the check-in desk. 

I handed my passport to the attendant at the desk, and she quickly wrote down that I had brought a weapon into the country, then told me I could head back over to the police office, where my gun would soon be delivered.  Henry was waiting outside of the customs are, and together we walked back to the SAPS office. 

After a short wait, I saw an attendant bring my gun case into the office.  I pointed it out to Henry, who got the attention of the nearest police officer, and we moved to the front of the line.  The officer asked me to open my case and show him my rifle, and he compared the serial number on the barrel to the one that was written on the permit request form that Henry had given him.  The numbers matched, of course, so I was told that I was free to go.  I quickly paid Henry the requisite $90, adding in a $10 tip for his services.

Hannes was waiting for us outside the SAPS office, so he and I thanked Henry for his help, then said goodbye to him.  Hannes suggested that our first order of business should be exchanging dollars for rands.  I asked him how much money I should change, and his recommendation was to get about $250 worth of rands.  The rands would come in handy, he said, when we went souvenir shopping toward the end of my safari. 

The attendant gave me about 1600 rand, and I paused for a moment to look at the bills.  Each denomination was decorated with a different African big game animal, and I decided immediately that I'd have to save a few to take home to Micki so that she could scrapbook them for me.  The bills with the elephant and the cape buffalo were particularly pretty, so I knew that I would be holding back some of those.

After we had taken care of the currency exchange, I told Hannes that I wanted to rent a cell phone so that I could call home on a regular basis when we were in camp.  We walked over to a cell phone vendor from a company called MTN.  Hannes said that I should get good reception in camp with that provider, so after signing a few sheets of paper I had my cell phone.  The attendant asked me to make a quick test call with it to make sure I knew how to get international dialing to work, so I called Micki, hoping to tell her that I was safe in South Africa.  She had already left for church, so I left a message telling her that I had arrived and would call back later that day.  Or night.  Or whatever time it was; I hadn't yet figured out the time difference.

With the phone in my possession, I had everything I needed from the airport and was ready to go.  Hannes led the way, taking us out of the terminal and onto African soil.  I noted the cool temperature and was glad for it.  As we walked to the parking area, I took note of the various signs around the airport, appreciating the fact that everything was written in English.   Hannes was parked quite closely to the airport exit, and we quickly found his truck and loaded my gear into it.

Getting underway, I asked him how long of a drive we had ahead of us.  He told me it would take about four hours to get to the camp, and probably a bit longer if I wanted to stop for supper.  I was up for that, so he told me that we'd find a good restaurant an hour or so away from the camp.

As we drove, we talked a bit about the upcoming safari, but mostly I just took the time to get my first look at Africa.  The sun was already low in the sky, but for the first hour or so I was able to see some of the country.  When got to a town named Brits, Hannes suggested that we stop at the Dros Restaurant for a nice steak dinner.  I was agreeable, so we parked the truck in a spot by the window where we could keep an eye on my gear, then went in to eat.

"We are here for meat," Hannes told the waitress when she came take our order.  "I will have the rump steak, man sized.  He must be very tender, with a thin strip of fat along the edge.  He must be cooked to a nice medium, and I want mushroom sauce on the side."  It sounded good to me, so I ordered the same, asking for mine to be medium-rare instead. 

We talked more about the safari as we waited for the food to arrive.  I asked questions about what our days would be like, who my professional hunter would be, and general details about the daily operation of the camp.  Hannes answered all of my questions cheerfully and showed his own love of hunting as he described some of the places I would be visiting. 

Our steaks soon arrived, and mine was as tender as it was delicious.  The mushroom sauce was particularly good, and I only wished I could take some home with me.  We didn't spend a lot of time with the meal; it was getting late and we both were anxious to get to the camp.  When the check arrived I tried to pay it, but Hannes would not hear of it.  He bought our meal, and we got back on the road.

We traveled for another hour or so before finally turning off of the paved road.  We had, Hannes told me, about 45 minutes further to go.  I started looking for wildlife, and it wasn't long before it paid off.  A strange looking animal crossed the road in front of our truck, causing Hannes to have to slam on breaks and let it pass.  It was an aardvark, and it never even looked at us as it moseyed across the dirt road just inches away from our front bumper.  "Don't want to hit one of those," said Hannes.  "They're solid muscle; does worse damage to the vehicle than just about any antelope would."

When the aardvark was out of the way, we continued on.  We saw a couple of porcupines on the side of the road, and once I got a brief look at a steenbok as it stood on the side of the road and watched us pass.  He was the last animal we saw that night.

It was very late when we arrived at the main gate for Limcroma.  A young man named Zwei was there at the gate to meet us, and Hannes told me that this was my professional hunter for the week.  We shook hands and made arrangements to meet at 7:00 in the morning to sight in my rifle, then Zwei headed home while Hannes gave me a brief tour of the camp.

My first view of the camp: looking at the lodge from the door of my chalet.

He took me first to my chalet, and I was appropriately impressed with the simple beauty of it.  It was extremely clean and neat, with African masks on the wall and stone tile on the floors.  There was a desk to use for keeping my journal, a couch, a couple of twin beds, and a very nice bathroom.  I dropped off my gear, then told Hannes I'd like to rest for a few minutes and call home before we looked at the rest of the camp.

He understood, so I gave Micki a quick call to let her know that I was safe in camp.  It was good to hear her voice, and the cell phone reception seemed to be working fine.  I told her that I'd call back the next night, and we said our goodbyes.  Walking back over to the main lodge, I met up with Hannes so that he could complete the tour.  He showed me where to go for breakfast, and where the refrigerator for drinks was. 

I was impressed by the bottled water that was available in the cooler; each bottle had it's own "Limcroma Safaris" label.  A nice touch, I thought to myself.  Hannes asked if I needed anything else tonight, or possibly a wake-up call in the morning.  I told him that all was well, no need to call for me.  Having seen everything, we bid each other good night and I headed back across camp to my chalet. 

A view of my bedroom in the chalet.

Since it was fresh on my mind, I decided to go ahead and set my alarm clock for 6:00am so that I'd have plenty of time to get washed up before breakfast.  Not immediately seeing a clock, I started looking in the drawers and closets for one.  Surprisingly, there was not one to be found.  Ok, I thought.  What do I do now?  Hannes has gone home, so it's too late to change my mind on the wake-up call.

It finally occurred to me that my rental phone might possibly have an alarm feature, so I dug it out of my bags and started going through the menu.  Although there were several applications available on the phone, I did not at first find any kind of alarm clock program.  Finally, though, I found that I could go into the datebook program, create an entry, and have the phone beep five minutes before the entry's scheduled start time.  With a great sense of relief, I programmed the phone for 6:00am, then began to unpack my bags and stow my clothes in the closet.

When this was done, I decided that I needed to get my camera batteries charging.  I dug my power converters out of my carry-on bag and plugged one of them in.  My Energizer AA quick-charger was in my carry-on too, along with several sets of batteries.  I plugged it in to the converter, only to jerk my hand back as a loud POP emitted from the transformer, along with the acrid smell of burnt circuits.  Oh no, I thought.  This can not happen. 

I tried again, this time being ready to jump away at the first spark, but nothing happened at all.  I tried putting a couple of batteries in the charger, but they just sat there, dead.  The charging light didn't come on.  The fan didn't come on.  I was, I realized, about to go on safari a hundred miles in the bush with no batteries for my digital camera.  And, I realized, I had made a major mistake in my planning.  Every battery I brought was a brand new AA rechargeable... which, of course, are completely empty when first taken out of the package.

I was again feeling a bit sick to my stomach.  Of all of the equipment to leave home, or to break, or to be stuck without, my camera was second only to my rifle in importance.  Well, certainly batteries must be universal in size.  I'll just ask around in camp tomorrow morning to see if I can borrow some.  It can't be that bad.  It helped when I checked the remote control for the ceiling fan in the room and found a standard set of AAA batteries ensconced within.  Not the right size for my camera, but at least nothing out of the ordinary.

It was, therefore, with great hesitation that I decided to try again with the power converters.  My video camera would also need charging, but before I did that I grabbed my electric razor out of my overnight kit, got the power cord, and plugged it into the adapter.  This time everything worked fine.  Relieved now, I plugged in the video camera and saw that it was soon charging perfectly.  I'm not sure why the transformer on the AA charger exploded, but at least I'd get some video of the trip.

With all of that excitement behind me, I checked the time on my cell phone and saw that it was almost 11:00pm.  Time for bed.  Just before I fell asleep I heard the laughing bark of jackals in the bush beyond my window and couldn't help but smile.  I was in Africa!