A conversation with Vikki Jackson

The thing about hyenas is they are smarter than you. Most people who go on safari are quietly hoping for a leopard moment, or maybe a cheetah on a kill, and instead they get a hyena and feel mildly disappointed. Vikki finds this very funny. She'll tell you, at some length, why the hyena is the one to watch.

We sat down with our other co-founder to talk about moving to South Africa with her family at the end of 1994 and never quite getting round to leaving, what makes a good safari brief from a guest, and why she has strong opinions about cushions.

Vikki, you moved out from the UK at the end of 1994 with the whole family. How did that happen?

It wasn't a holiday and it wasn't a midlife crisis. It was a proper move. Pack the house, get on a plane, start over. The four of us came out together at the end of '94 and built a life here.

The interesting bit is what happened next. One by one, the rest of the family ended up back in the UK. I'm the one who stayed. I commute now, which is a strange word for it, but it's accurate. I keep a foot in both places. South Africa is home in the way that matters. The UK is family.

I get asked sometimes whether I regret it. I don't. Anyone who has stood on a Lowveld road at five in the morning watching the sun come up over an acacia and felt the air do that thing it does will understand why.

You and Sian are very different planners. How would you describe the difference?

Sian is the architect. She'll think about flow and pacing and the emotional arc of a trip. She'll know that day four should be quieter so day five can land properly. She's very good at this. It's why people who travel with us feel held.

I am the operator. I am the one who notices the connection in Joburg has changed by twenty minutes, that the new lodge manager at camp two is meant to be wonderful but the menu has gone slightly off, that the guide we wanted in Sabi Sand is on leave that week and we need a different one. Someone has to read the email at midnight. That's me.

You said you have opinions about cushions.

Strong ones. The number of lodges that are otherwise excellent and then put a stiff scatter cushion on a wing-back chair, or use a fabric that's basically furniture upholstery on a sofa you're meant to flop into after a six-hour game drive. We notice. The good lodges get the textiles right. There are about four people in southern Africa I trust on this and one of them isn't even a designer. She's a guide's wife who used to run a guesthouse.

It sounds trivial. It isn't. The lodges that get the small things right are the ones that get the big things right. There's a correlation.

What's a question travellers should ask but don't?

How many other guests are at the camp. People assume luxury equals private. It doesn't always. There are very expensive lodges with thirty rooms and there are smaller, less famous places with eight rooms and a much better feel. Ask the question. We'll tell you.

The other one nobody asks. What's the road like. Some of the best camps in Africa are at the end of a four-hour transfer on a track that will rearrange your spinal column. If you're seventy-five and have a bad back, this is information you want before, not during.

You always recommend the hyena. Why.

Because they survive. Because they are loyal to their family in a way most cats aren't. Because they're matriarchal. Because they have a laugh like a five-year-old who's been told a rude joke. Because everyone at the lodge is staring at the leopard and missing the clan of hyenas working the riverbed in the half-dark, doing something far more interesting.

Lions get the marketing budget. Hyenas do the work.

What kind of brief from a guest makes your day?

Specific is good. Specific and slightly weird is better. We had a couple last year who wanted four nights in a place where they could read books and not see another vehicle, and four nights somewhere their adult son could fish. We could do that. The trips that don't quite fit the brochure are the trips we like.

We also get a lot of guests who say "we want it to be like that one Conde Nast article." We can talk about that too, but usually we end up somewhere different and better. The famous places are famous for a reason. They're also booked twelve months out and full of other people who read the same article.

What are you watching this season?

The water levels in the Linyanti. The rebuild at one of the Kruger lodges that we had off our list for a year and may be putting back on. A new chef at a place I won't name yet because the food was fine in March and could be excellent by June. Two guides we've been trying to book for the right family.

I also keep half an eye on what's happening at the airports, which is unglamorous but matters. The transit at Joburg has improved. Maun is fine. Nairobi has a new wing. These things move trips up or down our list.

What do you want every guest to come home with?

A story they tell at a dinner party that doesn't sound like a brochure. Something they noticed that wasn't on any itinerary. The smell of the bush at five in the morning. A photograph that's slightly out of focus because the light moved before they could think.

Also, ideally, a piece of advice they will give to a friend that includes our name. We're a small business. Word of mouth is how we grow.

Vikki is the person who makes sure the trip actually works. The flights connect. The lodges remember the dietary note from the original email. The guide is the right one. She is also the person who'll tell you, six minutes into a first call, that you should be looking at Zambia instead of Tanzania this year because the camps you'd actually like are in South Luangwa.

If you've got a trip in your head and you don't know where to begin, that's the call worth making.