The outline of several thousand antelopes gave definition to a flat horizon. Shadows merged to eclipse the landscape as hooves charged across plains typically flooded for six months of the year. Seeing any species in large numbers is an impressive spectacle. But while vehicles were on the verge of outnumbering wildebeest in the Serengeti, 2500km away I sat alone, surrounded by one of the largest populations of waterbuck on the African continent.
Those distinctive white-ringed derrières weren’t our only target that July morning. Setting off long before the sun had risen, we drove through curtains of mist hanging from a sleepy sky. Bees clung tightly to their nests for warmth and dew drops glistened like jewels on spiders’ webs. Nyala slinked through sand forests, sable drifted through the miombo woodland and fish eagles called from riverbanks.
As impressive as the variety of species was the mosaic of ecosystems: grasslands that glowed pink at sunset; chartreuse swamps shaded by woozy palms; and forests of fever trees as yellow as the sun. Here were the savannahs of the Mara, the wetlands of the Okavango Delta and the subtly shifting hues of vegetation in the Congo Basin all rolled into one.
Wild times
Set in the beating heart of Mozambique, at the southern end of Africa’s Great Rift Valley, Gorongosa has long been celebrated for its remarkable biodiversity — one factor leading to the former hunting concession being declared a national park in 1960.
In a National Geographic article published in 1964, journalist Volkmar Wentzel, who spent eight months travelling through the former Portuguese colony, wrote: “I visited a world as pure as the first dawn.” Five years later, a young South African ecologist named Ken Tinley conducted the first aerial survey of the 4000sq km park as part of his thesis, estimating 14,000 buffalo, 5500 wildebeest, 3500 waterbuck, 3000 zebra, 3000 hippo and 2200 elephant. Separately, he reported a population of 200 lion.
Early documentary footage of the park shows prides using the spiral staircase of an abandoned building to scan for prey. Screened in international cinemas, a promotional video flagged the appropriately named ‘Lion House’ as an attraction, alongside a swimming pool and a restaurant staffed by waiters in crisp white blazers. Hollywood stars John Wayne and Gregory Peck visited, along with wealthy Europeans in silk headscarves riding in VW buses.
At its peak in the 1970s, Gorongosa attracted 20,000 tourists a year to what could have been the Serengeti of the south. But while a safari industry blossomed in neighbouring countries, it ground to an abrupt halt in Mozambique, with the escalation of civil war.
Several decades on, the park has found fame for different reasons. Filmmakers come to make documentaries about species reintroductions and habitat restoration. A battlefield has become a beacon of hope and an example of what can happen if a nation and its wildlife is given the opportunity to heal.
Already familiar with Gorongosa’s tragic past and legendary vision, I wanted to see if one of Africa’s most ambitious conservation projects had matured into a success.
Out of the ashes
Following a plot line that plays out like a Shakespearean tragedy, the park was decimated by decades of civil war and conflict. Dense forests and high plateaus provided hideouts for rebel forces. Army generals fed their soldiers from a larder of easily available protein. By 1992, an estimated 90-99 per cent of animals had been lost. A place of violence, however, became a place of reconciliation after a peace accord was signed here that same year.
When American tech billionaire turned human rights philanthropist Greg Carr visited the park in 2004, very little remained. “Where tourists once wandered, burned-out vehicles lay among grass that was higher than my head,” he wrote at the time. But he recognised the park’s potential.
“My first impressions were that the ecosystem was intact: rivers flowing, lakes, grasslands, forests,” he told me from his home in Idaho when we spoke over the phone. “It was just missing wildlife.”
The signing of a joint partnership with the Mozambican government, which runs until 2043, was the point at which the park’s fortunes began to change. Wildlife numbers are continuing to recover. The last game count in 2024 recorded 1958 buffalo, 873 elephant and more than 65,000 waterbuck.
Supported by donors (including Carr), the Gorongosa Restoration Project (GRP) also benefits from thriving forestry and agricultural businesses. Additionally, Carr believes tourism will play a vital role in helping the park become self-sustaining within the next 15 years.
There are two higher-end lodges managed by Gorongosa Safaris, along with a larger, more affordable property operated by Montebelo Hotels & Resorts — in an area twice the size of the Maasai Mara National Reserve. I was staying at the latest addition, Chicari Camp, which opened in July 2025. Ten expedition-style tents backed by woodland fan either side of an open-air lounge area overlooking a pan brimming with birdlife. All have hot running water provided by a donkey boiler and the right amount of frills to constitute comfort while remaining honest to the beauty of the bush.
Science is golden
Facts and figures illustrate Gorongosa’s success on paper. But I wanted to see the results with my own eyes. Could game drives deliver thrills to match the Mara and spectacles surpassing the Serengeti?
It didn’t take long to convince me. Not far from camp, a pack of wild dogs lazed in the drowsy afternoon heat. Revived by a setting sun and a drop in temperature, they flexed into action — leaping, licking, sprinting and sparring as they prepared for an evening hunt.
What elevated the experience, however, was its exclusivity. There were no revving motors jostling for prime front-row positions, no radio chatter or symphony of mobile ringtones heralding the masses. We were alone — and that in itself is a luxury rarer than many of the animal species struggling to survive in the wild. Solitude affords more time to focus on behaviour and watch stories unfold, without feeling any pressure to move on.
In Gorongosa, the mechanics of game driving have been carefully thought out: there is no option to self-drive (all guests have to ride in a park vehicle) and GRP has been granted the autonomy to build roads depending on needs.
Ten keystone species, including wild dogs, have been successfully reintroduced to the park. One of the recent rewilding endeavours focuses on perhaps the most highly trafficked animal in the world. In 2019, the team launched a Pangolin Project to rehabilitate and release animals intercepted from poachers or compromised because of land burns. Now it’s possible for guests staying more than five nights to shadow veterinarian Mércia Angela during daily feeding walks, presenting one of the most intimate, in-depth and rewarding opportunities to observe these highly endangered enigmatic creatures.
When I caught up with Angela in the bush, playful juvenile pangolin Ivan was already snuffling for ants in the hollows of a fallen tree trunk. Furiously sniffing for food, he scuttled at a surprising speed in the undergrowth and amused us all by rolling on his back like a baby inviting a belly rub.
“It’s hard not to become attached,” confessed 32-year-old Angela, who has nurtured and helped release 106 pangolins to date. “When babies come in, they are bottle-fed 8-10 times per night. Feeding them milk is such a nice connection.”
Once the animals reach a healthy weight of around 6kg, they are released into the wild and monitored for another six months. “We’ve been bitten many times,” complained Angela, shaking ants from her shoes. “We’ve become like pangolins.”
Along with being a nature attraction, Gorongosa’s cherished landscapes also function as a giant open-air science laboratory. Of an estimated 75,000 species — higher than any other national park — 8000 have been recorded, including 200 new to science.
More than 70 institutions have conducted studies here since 2015. Current investigations include a Paleo-Primate Project in partnership with the University of Oxford, monitoring the behaviour of baboons to determine how broken savannah woodlands and seasonal wetlands could have led to an early bipedal human ancestor.
On a visit to the park’s Chitengo nerve centre, scientific director Marc Stalman (who sadly passed away several weeks later) introduced me to some of the 12 Mozambican Master’s students currently in residence.
“You want nationals to be proud of their heritage,” he told me. “It’s that human development that sets us apart. If you have a park for rich tourists and scientists in a sea of poverty it doesn’t work.”
His thoughts echoed a sentiment emphasised by Greg Carr as being fundamental to the success of Gorongosa. This was always intended as a park for people, focussing on community-led conservation. Working across conservation and agroforestry, the park now employs 1600 people and 98 per cent of staff are Mozambican.
“There are 450 national parks on the continent,” Carr told me. “They could all be human development engines and protect biodiversity at the same time. We need to expand our definition of ‘what is a national park?’ A national park can lift the larger landscape in which it resides.”
The art of the possible
Driving through surrounding villages in the buffer zone, I made a long but eye-opening journey to one of the greatest defining features of the park: a refuge for rebels during the conflict years, mist-swathed Mount Gorongosa is a vital water source for the region.
A simple community-run camp allows guests to explore a misty high plateau of forest and waterfalls, where green-headed orioles flit through the canopy, pygmy chameleons disappear in the undergrowth and spiritual healers communicate with their ancestors. Coffee plantations cascade from the mountain slopes, providing the fruits for one of GRP’s biggest financial success stories.
Along with healthcare and employment, education is critical. Back at the park one afternoon, I took a small boat across the Pungwe River to learn more about the Girls Clubs — an initiative to empower young women and extend futures beyond marriage and motherhood. In a playground, preschool children squealed and giggled as they climbed a ladder into an elephant’s mouth and slid from its bottom. Connections between people, wildlife and the park were already being made in these youngsters.
During my brief stay at Gorongosa, I glimpsed what Carr — who spends seven months of the year here — had recognised all those years ago when he wrote in a guest book: “This is a spectacular park and it could become one of the best in Africa with some assistance.”
Once again populated by wildlife, it now thrives with an additional element: people. Humans have an alarming capacity to selfishly destroy and pillage resources. But they have the power to save and protect, too. On the plains, in the woodlands, in the science labs and the school classrooms — there’s an electrifying frisson of excitement fuelled by a shared belief that Gorongosa has the potential to be something truly great. Anyone who spends time here can’t resist wanting to play their part.
“People come here for the landscapes, the wildlife and the biodiversity,” mused Doug Flynn, CEO of Gorongosa Safaris, as we stood on the banks of Lake Urema. Pelicans flocked above us in an arrowhead and hippos bellowed as water and sky shone silver like the moon.
“What is more remarkable is that they leave with a feeling of what is possible: what is possible if we value and protect remarkable places like Gorongosa; what is possible if we keep girls in school; what is possible if we give people and nature a second chance.”
The author was hosted by Gorongosa Safaris and she travelled with specialist tour operator Bonamy Private Travel.
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