The Rewards of Habituation: The Ngungwe Young Female – Londolozi Blog

For a while, we thought she might be gone.

The Ngungwe Young Female hadn’t been seen for months, and each quiet morning made the absence feel heavier. Young leopards can disappear for many reasons, and with her naturally skittish nature, it was easy to imagine the worst. But then, slowly, she began to show herself again, and over the last few weeks, something has shifted. A turning point, perhaps.

A few afternoons ago, we headed into the north, not expecting much beyond the usual quiet beauty of that part of the reserve. Instead, we looked up into a huge jackalberry and found a leopard draped effortlessly, as only leopards can do. At first glance and based on her relaxed demeanour, we called her the Loloyiso Female (the Makomsava Female’s cub from 2022) – similar age, size and colour. But the spot pattern told the truth soon enough. It was the Ngungwe Young Female, calm enough to let us sit with her. A small moment, but for a cub that once melted away at the crunch of a tyre, it felt significant.

We left her in the tree and continued on with our drive. From an open crest about an hour later, we could see it: a grey sheet of rain sweeping in from the south. The wind lifted, and through the shimmer of the oncoming rain, the Ngungwe Female crossing the road ahead of us, slipping into the combretum thickets with purpose.

With the wind in her favour and the rain masking her sound, she moved quickly, pausing only long enough to scan for any hint of movement. This is the time predators make the most of. Impala lambing season. Distracted mothers. Short bursts of life in long grass.

As the heavens opened, her pace quickened. Then, in one sudden surge, she vanished into a clump of bushes and reappeared with a duiker pinned beneath her. It was over almost as soon as it began. Efficient. Instinctive. Wild. In the downpour, she dragged the kill to a large marula tree nearby and up into the canopy for safety.

By now, we were soaked through: our shirts plastered to our skin, the seats puddled beneath us. But not one of us cared. There’s a particular kind of contentment that only the bush can offer, and it usually shows up when you least expect it.

The next morning, the reward for the previous day’s patience was waiting. Mother and cub together at the kill. The young female was more settled than we’d ever seen her. Feeding. Resting. Watching us. Allowing us in.

Moments like this are what habituation is all about. Not forcing trust, but earning it. Giving these animals the space to decide, in their own time, that we are simply part of the landscape. And if the last few weeks are anything to go by, the Ngungwe Young Female is beginning to make that choice.

With a bit of luck — and a lot more quiet hours spent with her — we may soon have another relaxed leopard moving through the mix. Another story weaves itself into the tapestry of this place.

And perhaps, in a few years, we’ll look back on these early sightings as the first steps in a long, shared journey.