I had great hopes for this book, and it is packed full of juicy anecdotes, some funny, some touching, and some making one doubt the sanity and humanity of those in authority.
But, while Peter Allison obviously experienced all his stories, and the descriptions are resonant with my own memories of fifteen years in or near the bush, somehow the book comes across as being too much about him and his frailties, and not enough about the majesty and mystery and intensity that is Africa.
If one reads the No 1 Ladies Detective Agency books by Alexander McCall Smith, one can almost feel the heat, taste the dust and hear the characters talking over the background thrum of the insects; you are there. But not quite so with our safari guide, and I still can't put my finger on what is missing. The flavour is genuine enough, and most people who have never been to Africa will be very happy to read this book, however, like an insipid curry, the bite is missing.
Who am I to criticise? I grew up in Central Africa, close to the bush. We lived with the mosquitoes, flies, and spiders of all sizes, snakes, warthogs, jackals, hyenas, and the occasional antelope and their predators; and the maximum-noise walk (to frighten them away) in the dark down the garden path to the PK to answer a call of nature was fraught with danger in the mind of this child. One always knew when a neighbour fulfilled a similar summons, the stamping walk and the clatter and slam of toilet seats and lids vigorously knocking loose undesirable extras was unmistakeable.
Yes, this is a good book, and it brought back lots of memories, but I think it could have been so much better, hence only four stars.
For a much more authentic flavour of African wildlife with full bite and then some, although admittedly very dated, and these days possibly not quite politically correct, may I suggest you try reading
Jock of the Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick, preferably a version with the superb original illustrations.