Throughout Botswana, park rules dictate a strictly enforced sunset curfew. But as my second grade teacher put it succinctly, “Paul thinks rules are for others.” So it was nearly midnight, with a lightning storm crackling in from across the border with Zambia, that I parked myself in a foul-smelling water hole and waited.
The pride crept in silently, stopping to drink from the meager, fetid pond during their evening hunt, waiting for the rains to return.
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