Birds are very much like the people you know

An uncommon, and easily overlooked resident. Let's face it — that's how I felt during most of my teenage years.

Me, and probably every other misunderstood youth. And then I found it in print. Somebody finally got it!

But these wise words didn't come from a Psych 101 text or a Malcolm Gladwell tome. Nope, it was the Sasol Larger Illustrated Guide to Birds of Southern Africa, describing the black-bellied korhaan.

The bird in question stirred awkward memories of an equally awkward adolescence. A period generally marked by perplexity. But I digress. More to the point, the source of the description has supplied continued captivation whenever I travel in the bush with friends.

Everybody always has a bird guide on safari — Roberts, Sappi — but, beyond trying to identify the colours (light on the belly, with a buffy wash), it can get tricky trying to separate your snipes from your moorhens. We try, we really do. But honestly, unless you're with Serious Birders, aren't we all just trying to see a cheetah kill something?

That's when I discovered the alternative truths of a good bird book — and being with appropriate companions. On a game drive, there's always a lull after early coffee and the first-dawn excitement of a hungover elephant bullying his way back from a bit of rumpy-pumpy at the waterhole.

Too early for G&Ts, and your car is out there anyway. If you're with Serious Birders, like my friends Erika and Francois, you'll focus the binocs and get settled in. If you're with game delinquents, like Zandi and Liz and Chenka and me, you'll start getting silly. Especially when you're in a 4x4 in South Luangwa, Zambia. That's when I first cracked open the bird book.

You see, beyond the very practical information about feathers and family habitats,
I discovered there's a lot of very personal stuff. Honestly, have you never read a bird book and thought about yourself? Or your friends?

Thinly distributed throughout — it's how Chenka said he felt as a Zambian living in London. Male makes a whining sound — "That's Hugh!" we all chorused. Highly gregarious — "Well, when I've had a few," admitted Zandi. When flushed, it gives a short shhik — "That's private," said Liz.

We were entranced. It did, admittedly, irritate the Serious Birders, who were intent on finding a rare Pel's fishing owl. A huge, round-headed appearance, we quoted helpfully. "Like Jacky!" we chortled. By then you couldn't stop us.

When I hit the Kgalagadi with a different group of friends, the Sasol guide was still with me. And oh boy, did it get it right.

Seldom calls — "Jeesh, does he even know about Whatsapp?" moaned Sally. Builds huge communal nests — "So glad I bought that big place in Obs," said Nodi smugly. Arcs and wheels high over the waves — "Like Kelly Slater," sighed Bridget. Usually solitary — "Oh God, that's my destiny," said Sally.

But wait, there's more. In Kruger, Etosha, Kafue, the bird populations got broader. And then we added the mammal books.

Powerful legs covered with dark fur, favours melons. When frightened, bleats. Sounded like Melanie, though in this case it was an aardvark. Emerge at dusk — well yes, banana bats, but often millennials.

A strong, sensitive upper lip — Denzel Washington, also my friend Ray. And Burchell's zebras. Unique, rare, well-equipped for self defence —Cyril R? And the pangolin.

I think you get it. For me, the bush will never quite be the same. For my friends, I think neither. All you need is the right book.

• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photograph of yourself for publication with the column.