29/05/2026
Enjoy a write up from Margot Solomon on her RoofPod adventures….
The growing pains of a budding Overlander…
As many of you know, I’m travelling through Southern Africa with my lifelong friend of more than 50 years, Peter Spencer. Peter Spencer Peter launched himself into this adventure with the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy chasing a tennis ball, despite having approximately the same camping experience as a suburban goldfish.
To his credit, he has embraced Overlander life magnificently. Washing dishes? Done. Pitching camp every afternoon? No complaints. Handwashing clothes? Enthusiastic. Peeling vegetables? Almost professional. He has taken to the simple life with admirable gusto, and I’ve been quietly proud watching him settle into the rhythm of the road.
But then came the wildlife camps.
Now understand, I sleep comfortably elevated in my Roofpod roof tent while Peter, as the honoured guest, occupies the ground-level pop-up tent. Already the hippo footprints INSIDE one fenced campsite had tested his courage somewhat. Peter spent that entire night lying perfectly still, listening to every twig snap and leaf rustle like a man awaiting his final summons.
But the true test came when we camped in two unfenced national parks where wildlife could, theoretically, wander through camp at any moment.
The first night was unforgettable.
We enjoyed dinner around the fire, laughed ourselves silly, and eventually turned in. The next morning, around 6:30, I asked Peter how he’d slept.
He looked pale. Disturbed. Like a man who had stared death in the face and lost several years off his life expectancy.
“I hardly slept,” he confessed.
Apparently, sometime in the middle of the night, he woke to the sound of breathing just outside his tent. Not casual breathing. Deep, deliberate, lion breathing.
In Peter’s mind, there was no doubt whatsoever: a magnificent black-maned male lion had entered camp and selected him as the evening’s main course.
Frozen solid inside his sleeping bag, drenched in cold sweat, he began typing me a WhatsApp message for help, but wisely chose not to send it in case the notification sound enraged the lion further and sped up the eating process.
For nearly an hour he lay there, paralysed with terror, listening to the beast breathe steadily nearby.
Then, in a rare flash of midnight clarity, Peter realised something odd. The breathing never moved closer. Never moved away. It remained at exactly the same distance.
At last the horrifying truth dawned on him.
The “well-maned lion” was in fact the gentleman in the neighbouring rooftop tent snoring like a diesel tractor with sinus problems.
Relief flooded over him. The snoring suddenly became soothing. Comforting even. Within minutes Peter drifted peacefully asleep to the gentle soundtrack of somebody else’s blocked nasal passages.
Naturally, over coffee the next morning, we laughed until tears rolled down our faces. Though not before Peter carefully inspected the raked sand around camp for paw prints, just to be absolutely certain.
At the next wild camp in Nkasa Rupara near the Botswana border, Peter decided enough personal growth had occurred for one trip and politely accepted my offer of the Roofpod penthouse suite while I bravely took the ground tent myself.
Needless to say, that night was completely silent. No lions. No hippos. No murderous wildlife invasions whatsoever. Peter slept like royalty high above the earth while I survived untouched below.
I suspect his confidence is growing slowly. Very slowly.
For now, though, we are back in a secure campsite with night guards, where Peter can once again sleep without drafting emergency WhatsApps to imaginary lions.
Lala salama, my friend. Thank you for sharing this ridiculous and wonderful journey with me.
Our different campsite set ups along the journey. Peter usually in the silver ground tent and myself in the The RoofPod.
23/05/2026
15/05/2026
30/04/2026
22/04/2026