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Our tour group sat under the Serengeti night sky eating a simple dinner out of metal containers. Bottles of Tusker followed, the warm beer filling our bellies with contentment. Velvet swathes of endless sky were punctuated by a myriad of pinprick stars which smiled upon the group as we recounted the days' adventures. The gentle moonlight beamed upon our camp as bottles clinked in camaraderie. Laughter danced around us as we lazed wearily in uncomfortable camping chairs, our feet dusty with remnants of the open road. The African night hummed and buzzed around us, her ancient lands casting spells upon all who visited. The magnitude of the silence was captivating. Africa's breath had drawn me into her all-encompassing power with her wise, all-knowing Spirit. I was home, at least for a moment. Our guide, a feisty, sarong-wearing Africcaan told us stories of inquisitive campside lions as the embers of our campfire began to edge towards slumber. As the bottles of Tusker worked their magic, our storyteller Marcel had instructed us to visit the not quite 5 star facilities in pairs or groups. The facilities, a row of delightful long-drops, were camouflaged by the African bush. Our torchlight sought out the piercing orange eyes of Africa's predatory Kings and Queens as we made tentative steps towards the bush. A sudden rustle ahead made a group of us stop in our tracks. Four bare bottoms were suddenly in full view of the campsite as we abandoned our trip to the powder room. How I love that Africa leaves no room for improper dignity, or airs and graces. The cool African night teased us as we wrapped ourselves ever tighter in Kathmandu fleeces. The darkness prevented any kind of doing. All we could do was surrender to the present moment, a moment that would soon be pierced by a cacophony of raucous singing. Armed with her torch, a feisty and salt of the earth young woman called Donna eloped into the bush with her partner. It was her turn to test out the facilities when, all of a sudden, came the sound of shrieking and running footsteps. Donna had had an unfortunate encounter ... with a bat. This apparently curious bat had flown up the long-drop as she teetered in squat pose scaring her into near-oblivian. The camp burst into rendition after rendition of Meatloaf's 'Bat Out Of Hell' around the campfire which continued until the glowing embers had given up the ghost and we crawled into our haphazard tents. We laughed until our sides ached. Donna, too, had found the bat out of hell the source of much hilarity. Africa teaches you to expect the unexpected and on this night, this daredevil bat was most definitely unexpected. The ensuing campfire sing-a-long will remain etched on my memory for all time as an evening that was nothing short of pure magic. Sometimes it's the smallest things that create the biggest impact.