You can set your watch by them. Somewhere between the last kettle boiled and the guides nodding off, our camp welcomes a delegation of 1–3 hyenas. They arrive not with handshakes and polite conversation, but with teeth, slobber, and an unshakable belief that everything in our kitchen was, in fact, left out just for them.

The first culprit was swiftly christened Kunaka kwekuravira — loosely translated as “Niceness Off-Flavour.” A fitting name, given that his taste runs less towards wildebeest haunch and more towards cooler boxes, truck fittings, and the occasional saucepan. One unfortunate cooler now bears a perfectly round bite mark as proof of his late-night product testing.

And, without fail, it all happens just as the whole camp is tucked into their beds under the stars. A peaceful night, the soft chorus of cicadas… and then bang! The clatter of pots being flung across camp as though Gordon Ramsay himself had lost his temper. By the time anyone scrambles out of bed with a headlamp, the culprits are already galloping off — one of them proudly clanking with a pot lid swinging from its jaws.

Of course, this is Africa. One doesn’t order the wildlife about; they simply turn up, sign themselves into the register, and get on with whatever mischief seems appropriate. Some guests pay extra for night drives to see hyena. We, on the other hand, seem to have them auditioning for permanent residency.

Bush lesson of the week? Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a hyena… or the comedic timing of a saucepan crashing precisely when you’ve just drifted off to sleep under a canopy of stars.