The place is thick with bird life. Nighttime, and I write by the glow of lantern light as the forest beyond swells with a chorus of croaks, peeps and chirps. A bird coos a dreamy note, over and over. Ground-dwelling cicadas emerge from holes, crackling the steamy air with their shrill buzz. Green moths as big as my hand slap against the glass lantern.
Fireflies dance over the river.
At dawn I visit the camp outhouse but halt at the sight of swarms of bats swirling around the door, slipping silently into the toilet hole. I find an alternate site for my morning ritual. During breakfast we compare notes from the previous night. Several in the group heard limbs snapping as elephants moved through the bush next to camp. The Germans saw green glowworms by their tent.