Growing up in rural Texas, we had animals. Dogs, cats, snakes, frogs, turtles, ferrets, bunnies, chickens, ducks, and lizards including “Spike”, our six-foot Iguana that roamed freely about the house, thrashing you with his whip-like tail if the mood struck. These animals were friends, even family. It’s why I’ve regarded animals as the perfect living creature--better than humans. They don’t judge, and in nature exist purely on instinct, fighting daily for survival. I’m certainly not capable of that. When time came for my long-awaited African safari, I anticipated experiences further cementing my love for animals. However, I discovered a new creature worthy of the same admiration: humans. Stay with me… I chose 10 days in Zambia at a variety of camps providing different experiences. First, a mid-range locale, followed by a rustic, secluded bushcamp, both in the South Luangwa National Park (SLNP). I finished my time with an up-market camp in the Lower Zambezi. During that inaugural safari drive in the SLNP, I cried at my first elephant encounter. Big. Fat. Elephant. Tears. My heart flutters as I reminisce. Again, tears flowed when a tower of giraffes sauntered yards away through the mopane trees. The striking image of their graceful forms in a background of tall elephant grass, blue sky, and grazing impala was pure magic. I did, however, not cry when encountering a lion pride on my first night drive. Instead, I held my breath, trying not to move in hopes that the beast mere yards away wouldn’t sense the rattled nerves of the 130-pound defenseless creature that flew halfway around the world to see him. My dog can sense my nerves and I know this fellow can, too. Surely he would capitalize on it. He did not. Safari-goers learn that generally the animals are laughably disinterested in the vehicles that roam about in observance of their day-to-day. At last count, I saw over 100 different animals, mostly comprised of a variety of birds. All were spectacular and did not disappoint. However, as the days progressed, I found myself less interested in the animals and more interested in the humans. Not so much my fellow safari-goers, but rather the staff at camps, including guides, cooks, and every Zambian in between. Traveling for hours on end with the same guide, I started to feel a connection which led to deeper conversation. Guides I spoke in depth with were one of the few among their many siblings still living. They would tell me this so matter-of-factly, bordering on nonchalant. It’s a topic I did not press, yet it left an impression. I’ve since educated myself with the fact that Zambian mortality rates are exceedingly high. Pre-trip, I researched the animals I would see yet ignorantly forgot to research the people showing me said animals. Hearing stories from Aaron, our armed guard during a full-day drive deep in the heart of the SLNP, about his past involvement on anti-poaching missions was a pinnacle. Aaron trekked for days tracking poachers, his team resting each night in the wild. I cannot determine which is scarier: sleeping among armed poachers or hungry lions. You’d think that someone with this lifestyle would be bold and full of machismo. But, Aaron was soft-spoken. His warm, gentle smile a striking contradiction to the same gun-toting character I experienced back home. The cooks at our bushcamp were friendly and genuine. They whip up mean meals in tiny makeshift thatch kitchens under flashlights. We had Pavlova for dessert one night. PAVLOVA! I’ve never encountered harder working people, and they do it amiably while battling forces of nature. One night a hyena stole the cast iron pot they cook porridge in. It was found down the road some distance and brought back for in time for breakfast. My experience with the Zambian people was this: they are the realest humans I’ve met. I know it's tourism and they’re paid to be nice. So are many others I’ve met in my travels, yet none had such a beautiful attitude. On the last day, I cried once more. It wasn’t because I would miss the elephants. It was because I would miss the humans.