African Outfitter is an independent international bimonthly publication promoting
fair hunting and ethical business practices within the hunting industry.
From a hunting perspective, the preservation of biodiversity on the
African continent is the first and foremost priority. The emphasis
is however also on the sustainable utilisation of wildlife.

Herman Jonker

In search of a looser shirt...

It's not claustrophobia, I think.

Claustrophobia, as I understand it, is what you experience when a girl you've been seeing on and off tells you, "we have to talk".

It's also the panic that strikes when you find yourself swept up in a seething mass of ants in a shopping mall, breathing second-hand air. When there's not a single natural leaf around, not an animal to be seen, no sky, not even a fly.

But I don't think the uncomfortable tightness I feel in my chest when I come up against a game fence is claustrophobia. It's probably just my shirt shrinking.

These wire walls that we knit across the landscape serve a noble purpose. They provide a haven for nature in an uncaring world, keeping animals from humanity's hungry harm. You only have to compare what's inside with what's left outside to appreciate their value. And, ungainly and foreign as they may be, they're nevertheless a great help to the game rancher. They give him custody over his animals, making them easier to find, manage and deal with.

The only problem is that for anything with a wild urge to wander, fences represent the bars of prison. If too close, they condemn an animal to captivity, leaving it no more in control of its destiny than the slaves of old. Also, for the hunter with a longing for the wild outdoors, they serve as a limit to his dreams. Even if he does not see the fences, even if the hunting is better inside them, the mere knowing that he's confined cools the expedition fever that comes with unbounded wilderness.

For centuries wilderness has given men goose bumps. Wild, wide open country, free and natural, with only the unexpected as a certainty. Limitless land under a big sky, heaven for the hunter. Blessed indeed are those whose boot prints lie in such places, for they have truly wandered free.

Men still get goose bumps when they venture into the wilderness these days. Thing is, these can now be from frustration because there's so little game to be seen. Or from fear of being held up by AK-wielding bandidos, or from coming upon a buck savagely torn apart by a pack of dogs from a nearby village. What now passes for wilderness is not a kingdom of nature anymore, it's also a place to catch the spillover from human overpopulation.

Responsible game ranchers know that when they confine animals behind boundaries they have to manage them. The land can support only so many, beyond that number ecological disaster lurks. But man himself has been trying to evade being managed by arrogantly jumping the queue in the food chain. In doing so he has increased his own number to such an extent and with such disregard for the natural processes that underpin his throne, that his own boundary fences are bulging.

Everywhere you go you seem to trip over your brother. So where do you turn when your neighbourhood is full, when the freeway is choked, when even in the bush your shirt gets too tight?

There is a place that sounds just right, a country with a mere 455 inhabitants. But unfortunately there's not a thing to hunt unless you wish to address the pigeons that are painting the great domes of the Vatican white. Besides, the place is only 0.44 km? in extent, leaving it with a population density of 1 034 people per km?.

That is a scary number compared to El Salvador where, if you should care to count the hombres and their folk, you'll find 300 in a similar sized area. Even India – busy India – holds only 310 people in every square kilometre of her silken lap whilst in the Netherlands 383 Dutchmen try to keep their cheese and tulips dry on 1km x 1km.

But Barbados, where I thought of taking up my retirement in a beach chair, holding a bottomless Margarita in one hand and the bottom of Marita in the other, is populated to the extent of 623 souls per km?. Way over my level of civil tolerance, unfortunately.

Even more so, and quite incomprehensible to me, is Singapore. No less than 5 886 human beings are packed into each square kilometre there, leaving each person with a mere 170 sq. m. Crazy – imagine living in a playpen of 13m by 13m. You can't even spit a melon pip in such a tiny spot, let alone shoot!

Against this seething background the Republic of South Africa seems a pretty private place with a population density of only 35 thieves per km?. Even roomier is its rugged neighbour, Namibia, where you're likely to find more animals per km? than the mere 2.2 people. And topping even that is Mongolia with only 1.5 inhabitants on a square kay! Now that sounds like a good place to me. Only thing is, with an illiteracy rate of nearly 50% among women, one's chances of getting a flirty SMS from a dishy Mongol maid are slim.

Utopia, I have decided, has to be the Sahrawi Democratic Arab Republic where on every square km of land only one lonely Arab squats in the sand.

That is where I would wish to settle. There I can browse through the souks of El Aaiun and select the finest blocks of salt and the most aromatic goat's milk cheese, without being elbowed in the ribs. There, between Mauritania and the deep blue sea, I can relax by my campfire of camel dung and ponder the meaning of life without being rudely interrupted. There I shall wander far and wide unhindered and stalk a meal in the desert when I'm hungry.

That is where happiness lies, I'm sure. In a place where there's space. Where a man can fart without offending and where every animal's journey has a free and happy ending.

And where – should you ever need one – you'll be searching in vain for a fencing contractor, because there's no such thing.