Don’t be that camper that nobody wants to have as their neighbour
Camping in Southern Africa comes with an unwritten code of courtesy. Here is some practical advice to ensure you remain the neighbour everyone appreciates.
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Mariana Balt
There is an unspoken social contract in every Southern African campsite. It hovers gently between the braai smoke and the call of a distant jackal. You may not see it pinned to the ablutions noticeboard at Satara in the Kruger National Park, yet it exists.
It reads, in essence, do not become the story everyone tells later.
Let us begin with sound. The bush does not require your playlist. At Storms River Mouth in Tsitsikamma, the ocean already provides percussion. In the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, lions occasionally contribute bass notes after dark. Introducing amplified dance music at 22:47 rarely improves the composition. Quiet hours are not a suggestion dreamt up by humourless officials. They protect the magic that people travelled hundreds of kilometres to enjoy.
Lighting comes next. Modern camping gear can illuminate half of the Northern Cape. A headlamp is sensible. A floodlight bright enough to guide aircraft over the R355 between Calvinia and Ceres is unnecessary. In places like the Karoo, the night sky performs generously. Allow it to do so. Soft lighting preserves both atmosphere and goodwill.
Now to the sacred art of the braai. Few rituals are more beloved. Few are more capable of conflict. Lighting a smoky inferno directly beside your neighbour’s washing line at Addo Elephant National Park will not earn admiration.
Dry wood, moderate flames, and awareness of wind direction demonstrate refinement. Offering a friendly greeting while tending the coals helps too. Camp friendships have begun over far less.
Space is another subtle indicator of character. Campsites at places such as Kosi Bay or Cape Vidal are demarcated for good reason. Parking diagonally across two stands may feel adventurous, yet it suggests a flexible relationship with boundaries. Keeping within your allocated area shows consideration and ensures emergency access remains clear.
Waste tells its own story. Vervet monkeys along the KwaZulu-Natal coast are intelligent opportunists. Leaving rubbish loosely tied invites chaos. In arid regions like the Richtersveld, food scraps attract jackals. Ethical camping means securing refuse, minimising packaging, and leaving no trace. Wildlife should not adjust its behaviour to accommodate our leftovers.
Water deserves reverence. After a dusty drive along the N7 towards the Cederberg, a long shower may seem irresistible. Many camps, however, rely on a limited supply. A swift rinse honours both environment and fellow travellers. Conservation is not an abstract principle. It is a daily habit.
Children and pets, delightful though they are, benefit from gentle guidance. Teaching youngsters not to sprint through occupied stands builds awareness early. Keeping dogs on leads where required protects small wildlife and prevents tension. Courtesy creates a calmer atmosphere for all.
Departure provides a final opportunity for distinction. Packing up at sunrise along the Garden Route, perhaps before continuing towards Plettenberg Bay on the N2, need not involve slamming doors and theatrical engine revving. Quiet efficiency leaves a gracious impression. Sweep your stand, extinguish coals thoroughly, and ensure nothing remains but faint tyre marks and good memories.
Camping across Southern Africa offers something rare. It blends proximity to nature with proximity to strangers who briefly become neighbours. The goal is not perfection. It is participation in a shared experience. Keep noise low, light soft, fires controlled, and footprints light upon the earth.
Follow these gentle principles, and you will never be that camper. You may even become the one others hope to park beside next time.
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Mariana Balt
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