Leading the e-charge: How African safaris are going electric

It’s an amusing scene watching guide Marcel Meier shuffling on all fours around an acacia bush in his bike helmet. Next, he kicks up the Namib Desert grit with his heel to demonstrate how the rarest of beasts “marked its territory here after it pooped.”

I observe from the premium seat of my bike saddle with equal bouts of excitement and trepidation, as the 39-year-old continues to trace the tracks of one of Earth’s last wild-roaming black rhinos. Meier, who has experienced zero animal-human conflict in his 12 years of guiding, deduces these wind-eroded older tracks indicate any chance of us meeting has long passed.

Namibia holds more than 90 percent of the world’s wild-roaming black rhinos—thought to be around 2,000 in total. Meier says keeping this figure suitably vague is part of the protection strategy. Although wildlife sightings from a jeep in the country’s national parks and game reserves are more likely, I feel content submerged in the country’s vast and remote northwest on a mountain bike safari with H+I Adventures, where wildlife is more scarce, but found freely roaming.

Riding bikes along animal tracks might not be the standard way to safari, but unconventional is exactly what travelers will be looking for in 2025, according to this global study from Booking.com. And nothing says immersive, off-track and sustainable (also desirables on the 2025 travel wish list) more than two wheels crunching over calcium-rich hyena poo, while unique desert-adapted lions potentially snooze in the distant heat mirage. Later, Meier explains these feline predators are tracked so we can check their whereabouts if needed. “Heat stroke is by far the biggest threat,” he says.

Having experienced the noisy (open) jeep jostle in South Africa’s “most celebrated safari destination”—or that’s what Google’s AI travel advice had gushed—I wasn’t in a hurry to repeat it. Kruger National Park is the place of bucketlist dreams where ‘ticking off’ the ‘big five’ (so-called as they were the most difficult to hunt on foot)—lion, elephant, rhino, leopard and buffalo—attracts two million visitors per year. Although it begs the question: Why keep pushing the long-gone colonial game-hunting rhetoric when most of our 10 passengers (including myself) couldn’t even correctly name them?

For the last three days, we camp our way through the wildest regions of Damaraland, a large slab of desert sandwiched between the boundaries of Etosha National Park, one of Africa’s largest and oldest conservation areas, and the desolate Skeleton Coast, where species that have developed unique survival tactics live in the Namib Desert’s harshest environs.

For a park the size of the state of New Jersey, I was surprised how jammed Kruger was and questions have been raised around its sustainability. Again, while AI will assist nowadays in how to ‘beat the crowds’, back then, I was plunged peak-season in a full throttle bounce to observe a pride of five lions slumbering for several minutes, before the ranger’s radio crackled to signal that the next diesel engine was incoming.

A particularly memorable moment was when a young male lion rose slowly from the rock ledge and threw what I like to imagine was a disapproving squint in our direction. Then, he flopped back down with a ‘give me a break’ sigh. I’m convinced a middle claw would have followed, had we not rattled off for sundowner apéritifs, farting carbon dioxide in our dusty wake.

In stark contrast, on this 11-day mountain bike journey, our group of 10—some on electric and others, like me, on regular mountain bikes— rolls almost silently along. We are shuttled to various riding locations, where, with Marcel’s knowhow, we pedal an average of 20 miles (35 kilometers) per day through areas so remote any wildlife sightings are exclusive by default.

As each day closes in, literally out of nowhere, our accommodation emerges. One night, we stay in (ensuite) climate-controlled domes built into the slope overlooking the Rostock Mountain range. Another lodge has a plunge pool overlooking a vast horizon-bending hardpacked plain, where it’s easy to see why location scouts chose the Namib Desert for Mad Max Fury Road. Wild camping is H+I style Adventures style, with post-ride cold beers, hot showers and fresh bread for breakfast baked in ground oven.

Up until a few years ago, the unmarked route, which involves riding a mix of animal trails, jeep tracks and—in parts—through sandy ephemeral river beds, would only be tackled by very fit cyclists. However, pedal-assisted e-bikes have completely changed that. Specifically, e-biking is among the fastest growing travel trends of 2024 according to the Adventure Travel Trade Association. And bike adventure operators globally are reporting the demand has risen significantly in the past two years, with around 70 percent of participants choosing e-bikes over regular ones.

Apart from a handful of sections that can be walked if preferred, the terrain—being predominantly undulating and gravelly, but not too rocky—means this ‘novice plus’-rated trip is doable for anyone with basic off-road bike handling skills, which are achievable with a few lessons from an accredited coach.

Some moderate regular training is recommended, if not required, to sit in the saddle for several hours a day. Also, pedal-assisted means exactly that: It’s by no means a matter of just pulling on a throttle and taking off. Albeit somewhat easier, e-bikers will still be spinning feet to work up a sizeable appetite for oryx ‘braai’ (barbeque) under the stars.

Despite the desert-adapted lions successfully hunting giraffes, the giraffe population in northwestern Namibia has steadily increased—currently at 450, according to the Giraffe Conservation Foundation (GCF). We slow down to watch one gracefully browsing leaves from tree to tree before it glides its longwinded neck in our direction. Curiosity, it seems, causes the giraffe to pull back its longwinded neck and miss a chew or two before it carries on regardless. The large antelopes—kudu and oryx—couldn’t care less as they go about their regular bolting business or steadfast surveillance.

Getting an average of just two millimeters of rainfall a year means the Namib Desert is one of the driest places on Earth. It stretches 1,200 miles (2,000 kilometers) from southern Angola through Namibia and into the northern reaches of South Africa. Dating back at least 55 million years, it’s also thought to be the world’s oldest desert. By comparison, at an estimated 4.6 million years old, the Sahara is a mere infant.

WWF experts have joined trips and advised on responsible wildlife watching. Surprisingly, some wildlife conservationists are of the opinion that, because animals in popular safari locations are semi-habituated to diesel vehicles, who are used to the noise, shape, smells, it’s better to stick with them.

For the last three days, we camp our way through the wildest regions of Damaraland, a large slab of desert sandwiched between the boundaries of Etosha National Park, one of Africa’s largest and oldest conservation areas, and the desolate Skeleton Coast, where species that have developed unique survival tactics live in the Namib Desert’s harshest environs. For example, antelopes can go weeks without water by foraging for hydrating tuber succulents. Rhino and zebra have become deft climbers, scaling mountainous ledges to catch a cool breeze from the Atlantic Coast 30 miles (50 kilometers) away.

It’s the cold Atlantic Ocean current which cools air and prevents the little moisture there is from rising. The result is minimal rain keeping the land arid and skies generally clear. So a smattering of cloud cover is a rarity we welcome. Daytime temperatures, normally higher in September, stay mostly in the pleasant high 20s (Celsius) Nevertheless, scorching red sunsets still sear low scrub into a blackened silhouette before a nighttime chill sneaks in and the down jackets come out. Our campfire roars alongside the baboons and whatever else is surveying us from the vast plains beyond our camp.

While the rhino eludes us—for now—we gag squeals when we see a rare herd wild-roaming desert elephants sauntering through the dry sandy bed of the ephemeral Huab River – one of only five according to researchers. Elephants, which are known for their intelligence, have learned to survive in the harsh Namib Desert by changing behavior and developing distinctive characteristics that help them find food and water. Bigger baggier feet along with longer legs and trunks help them cover greater distances in the sand and dig wells in dry riverbeds. I may be imagining it, but I feel a palpable happiness vibing from this matriarchal herd. Namibia is one of only two areas on the planet where you can find them (the other is Mali).

If you’re not quite convinced by the wildlife view from handlebar level, but seek a quieter experience, the good news is that other shushed safari electric options are popping up across Africa. Last year saw Natural Habitat Adventures launch its first fully electric, off-grid, solar-charged safari vehicle in Botswana, and new converted electric vehicles will be introduced on their Kenya and Tanzania soon. Their chief sustainability officer Dr Court Whelan says the near-silent approach has been a big hit with guests, who feel more deeply immersed in the sights, sounds and smells of the savannah. Plus, guides can explain more when they don’t have a noisy motor to compete with.

Whelan explains how the converted former diesel-powered Land Cruiser has enough battery power to support a 100-kilometer game drive for several hours. Large batteries used in electric vehicles are not manufactured without costs to the environment—however, when powered back at camp by 100 percent renewable (solar) energy, CO2 emissions are reduced by around 73 percent over a battery’s lifetime, compared to those charged by an on-grid source.

The electric Land Cruiser project was developed in collaboration with the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), who have a 20-year conservation relationship with Natural Habitat Adventures. Over that period, the company and its guests have donated around USD$46 million to support WWF conservation efforts.

Whelan explains WWF experts have joined trips and advised on responsible wildlife watching. Surprisingly, some wildlife conservationists are of the opinion that, because animals in popular safari locations are semi-habituated to diesel vehicles, who are used to the noise, shape, smells, it’s better to stick with them. “But it’s no reason to steer clear of [electric vehicles],” Whelan argues. “For the first couple weeks, rangers noticed that animals did have a different, curious reaction to the vehicle. However, they quickly got used to it. Wildlife is very adaptable and as long as you’re not zooming here and there recklessly.”

Also making waves in the silent safari game is Botswana’s Chobe Game lodge, which has been running solar-powered boats for a decade with energy sourced from its dedicated solar field. Green Safaris offers a similar hushed safari experience in Zambia through electric boats, bikes and game drive vehicles. Zambia’s grid-independent Tongabezi Lodge recently launched the first ever electric dhow, a handcrafted wooden boat for cruising the Zambezi 20 kilometers upstream from Victoria Falls. Back on two wheels, a specialist field guide from The Africa Experience takes riders on ancient elephant migration trails through Botswana’s Central Tuli Game Reserve. And further north in the Okavango Delta, where 50,000 zebra and wildebeest migrate through from January to June, Natural Selection offers a five-day camp-to-camp mountain biking experience.

Compared to traditional 4×4 vehicles, e-vehicle technology is still a long way off from coping with the distances, terrain and water crossings of the Namibian terrain, explains Meier. We board a conventional 4×4 for the final day of our Namibian safari adventure to explore Etosha National Park, where, due to the abundant wildlife, bikes are not allowed.

Etosha, which occupies an area larger than Slovenia, is home to 114 mammal species and more than 400 recorded birds. Its most striking feature is a 75-mile (120-kilometer) long, nutrient-rich salt pan that its website claims can be seen from space. Plants are so sparse on this stark bleached plain that the teeming wildlife looks almost hallucinatory. This is the place of David Attenborough documentaries, where layers of precious species—elephant, giraffe, zebra, wildebeest, impala—peter out to specs on the horizon.

It’s also where we see a lioness dipped behind the crusted edge of a waterhole depression, waiting for springbok to get too close. It’s where a male lion is unceremoniously dethroned when it is shooed away by an elephant. It’s where two jackals tumble in an explosive playfighting ball of dust. And it’s where we finally see a black rhino, mooching through a rare swathe of low scrub, gently grazing, with her baby in tow.

I’m completely lost in the moment until mum is distracted by the familiar four-wheel-drive jostle forming behind us. Our time is up and our jeep abruptly wretches into life. Bumping away, tender sit bones take my mind back to the bike: Despite Etosha’s remarkable chock-a-block diversity, nothing compares with rolling in nature on two wheels alongside even the most common antelope. And if seeing desert elephants plodding freely was the only wildlife event in the whole 10 days, it would’ve been enough. The emotion of the moment is forever etched in my memory, along with their remarkable resilience and survival story.

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