The Monday Media Diet with Michael Lorentz

On Sophy Roberts, The Lives of Spiders, and Zakouma

Michael Lorentz (ML) is a friend of WITI, as well as a longstanding conservationist and one of Africa’s best guides. You should take a trip with him sometime. -Colin (CJN)

Tell us about yourself

I was born on the southern tip of Africa, and from a young age, I felt an undeniable pull toward the wild. I was one of those kids with eyes glued wide to a butterfly, a beetle, or a bird. Animals and wild-open spaces were my early obsessions. I guess I was lucky to be born with a naturalist’s heart. That passion has guided most of my life, sometimes wisely, sometimes recklessly, often both!

As a child, I flirted with the usual wilderness-adjacent dreams: wildlife vet, National Geographic photographer, elephant behaviorist. But the course was truly set when, at 14, I went on a walking safari in Kruger National Park, guided by a phenomenal trail ranger named Andrew Hofmeyr. Something in that experience resonated deeply, and the idea of becoming a safari guide took root. Which was just as well—my passion for the classroom never quite matched my passion for the outdoors, so my chances of becoming a vet or researcher were… limited.

I began guiding in 1985 in South Africa’s Timbavati Game Reserve, where I was fortunate to learn from some true greats—my mentor Bruce Meeser, and a legendary lion tracker named Jack Matabula. They taught me that guiding isn’t just about spotting animals. It’s about reading silence, hearing stories carried on the wind, and noticing the tiny details that make up the mosaic of wilderness.

A year later, I moved to Botswana and spent the next 15 years in the Okavango Delta: guiding, building camps, managing lodges, riding elephants, making plenty of mistakes, and learning as I went. That time laid the foundation for a life shaped by wild places and by the hard truths of what it takes to protect them in a rapidly changing world.

In 2000, I launched Passage to Africa and began designing and guiding safaris across some of the most remote and remarkable landscapes on the continent. Those years took me to places I could never have imagined as a boy with his nose in the dust—but even more than that, they’ve introduced me to extraordinary people. I’ve had the privilege of guiding some of the most curious, generous, and thoughtful travelers you could hope to meet. Many have become close friends. All have shaped the journey.

Today, I’m proud to be part of the team at Safarious—a group of people who care not just about exceptional travel, but about doing it with integrity. I still guide whenever I can; it’s what keeps me connected. And I’ve recently co-founded Inyambo, a Rwanda-focused Destination Management Company that’s deeply rooted in local partnership and purpose.

My work sits at the intersection of travel, conservation, and philanthropy. Collaborating with organizations like African Parks, Big Life, the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund, and Natural Capital allows me to stay connected to efforts that are genuinely making a difference.

Photography, for me, is a kind of bridge—linking the outer world of nature with the inner world of creativity. Every time I lift a camera, I slow down. I start paying better attention. Whether it’s the flick of a leopard’s tail, or the blue light of dusk, photography helps me see the wild with fresh eyes.

One day, I hope to publish a book about this journey: how photography has shaped the way I move through wild places, and how wild places continue to shape the way I see.

The wild is beautiful and fierce, gentle and unforgiving—and in that complexity lies its truth. Stand in front of it long enough, and you begin to see that same wildness in yourself. It teaches you. It humbles you.

After all this time, the wonder hasn’t worn off. If anything, it’s deepened.

Describe your media diet.

It’s more campfire than classroom. I read what pulls me in - politics, science, conservation, culture - anything that helps me make sense of the chaos or feel slightly less behind.

When I’m not on safari, mornings usually start with a scan of The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and The Telegraph. I like to mix my outrage with a little balance. If I’ve been off the grid, I catch up on The Atlantic or The Economist. Preferably with a good coffee!

Nature Briefing and Mongabay are staples. They keep me grounded in conservation and ecology, surfacing stories that often don’t make headlines but absolutely should. For a broader view, I dip into the FT, and when I’m in the mood to wander, The Times or The Knowledge are reliable companions for a well-placed rabbit hole.

I keep telling myself I’ll get into podcasts (as does my wife, Kate). I haven’t. To my own detriment, I can be stubborn!

Travel mags like YOLO Journal and Condé Nast Traveller still have a place, mostly for the kind of writing that lingers and the kind of photography that makes you want to pack a bag and disappear for a bit.

It’s a bit of a patchwork, but it keeps me curious and hopefully, reasonably informed.

What’s the last great book you read?

Can I choose two?

One is A Training School for Elephants by Sophy Roberts. On one level, it’s a meticulously researched and deeply moving exploration of our fractured relationship with animals - elephants in particular. On another, it’s a quiet dismantling of colonial legacy and human folly. It’s about power, memory, and the quiet violence we carry into the wild, even when we mean well. But more than anything, it’s a journey: evocative, meandering, full of shadow and light.

As someone who’s spent much of my life walking in the company of elephants, I’m always cautious about how they’re portrayed - too often romanticized or simplified. But Sophy writes with depth, restraint, and an unflinching eye. She captures not only the complexity of elephants, but the tangled human histories that surround them. She weaves science, travel, history, and feeling with remarkable subtlety. There’s heartache in these pages, and tenderness too. It’s the kind of book that lingers long after you’ve put it down.

The other is The Code Breaker by Walter Isaacson. It’s a fascinating look at Jennifer Doudna and the race to understand - and ultimately shape - the code of life through CRISPR. I found it compelling not just because of the science (which is astonishing), but because of the questions it raises about where curiosity and discovery intersect with ethics. As someone who’s spent a life trying to understand nature by being out in it, I’m impressed by people who try to understand it at the molecular level. It’s a reminder that we’re still just scratching the surface of what’s possible—and that we need to tread carefully.

What are you reading now?

The Lives of Spiders by Ximena Nelson. It takes you deep into the natural history of spiders—one of the most misunderstood and underappreciated groups of animals out there.

It always saddens me that so many people have such fear or aversion to spiders and insects. They’re endlessly fascinating and have so much to teach us about the ecosystems we depend on. My favorite group is the Salticidae, better known as jumping spiders. Here’s a fun fact: there are over 6,500 species of salticids—that’s more than all mammal species on the planet combined. If that doesn’t put things in perspective, I don’t know what will.

What’s your reading strategy when you pick up a print copy of your favorite publication?

The reality of living in Africa is that I rarely get my hands on a print copy of my favorite newspapers or magazines. International publications are hard to come by unless you’re passing through a major airport—and even then, the selection is often limited. Most of my reading happens digitally these days. It’s practical, of course, but I do miss the physicality of print: the feel of the paper, the slower rhythm it naturally encourages.

When I do find a physical copy, I tend to hopscotch through the pages, stopping wherever something grabs my attention. I like to meander. There’s a Swahili slang phrase—to munga-munga—that we sometimes use on game drives. It means to wander without a fixed purpose or destination. Maybe that’s my reading strategy: no agenda, no pressure, just letting curiosity set the course. It’s a small pleasure, and one I appreciate all the more for its rarity.

Who should everyone be reading that they’re not?

I’m not sure there’s a single name—but I do think we’d all benefit from reading more broadly and occasionally stepping well outside our usual terrain. The world’s gotten louder and more polarized, and it’s easy to fall into the comfort of a filter bubble where your news, views, and sense of reality just echo back at you.

Reading is a little like tracking—it’s about paying attention, following signs that don’t immediately make sense, and resisting the urge to assume you already know where the story goes.

So instead of naming one person, I’d say this: read beyond your bias. Find voices that unsettle you a little, that force you to sit with discomfort. It’s not always comfortable, but it’s nearly always instructive. And sometimes, it even expands the map.

What is the best non-famous app you love on your phone?

I’m not much of an app person, to be honest. I download them with good intentions and then forget they exist. But the ones I do come back to—reliably—are wildlife reference apps. Bird calls, insect guides, plant ID tools… they suit the nature nerd in me and are surprisingly handy when you're standing in the middle of nowhere wondering what that sound was.

Plane or train?

Plane. I’ve come to appreciate long flights—they’re one of the few places left where I can focus. No signal, no interruptions, just a to-do list, a laptop, and a decent stretch of uninterrupted time (which, yes, is how this interview’s getting done).

Trains have their charm, but for me, they feel a bit too passive - you’re watching the world slide by, but you can’t step off and walk into it. I prefer travel that allows for spontaneity and detours. Planes get me to wild, remote places where the real journey begins. Trains, lovely as they are, follow a fixed agenda.

What is one place everyone should visit?

Africa. Though really, that’s like saying “the ocean” as there are so many Africa’s, and it would take several lifetimes to know them all. But everyone should come at least once. The continent gets under your skin in a way that’s hard to explain but impossible to shake. It resonates at a very deep level.

If I had to pick a handful of places that I would always want to go back to:

• The Mahale Mountains in Tanzania – chimps, forests, and the vastness of Lake Tanganyika

• Zakouma and Ennedi in Chad – wild, raw, off the radar, everything in abundance.

• Odzala in the Republic of Congo – for forest elephants and an explosion of life

• The gorillas of Rwanda – humbling, always

• The Serengeti – obvious, yes, but for good reason

• The Okavango Delta – a peek into the garden of Eden

• The Skeleton Coast – where desert meets ocean and life survives

• The rock-hewn churches of Tigray, Ethiopia

• Cape Town and its surrounds – where nature and culture combine

• Madagascar – technically African, totally its own planet

Tell us the story of a rabbit hole you fell deep into.

Can I rather tell you about the crab hole I once fell into during a rather late night in Jamaica? Literal hole, actual crab, far too much rum. But perhaps that’s another story.

In the more metaphorical sense, I do fall down the odd rabbit hole now and then, though not too deeply. One I keep circling back to is AI. It fascinates me, truly. The pace, the potential, the ethical unknowns. It feels like we’re all caught in this moment where something seismic is happening, and no one’s quite steering the ship.

I find myself reading about large language models, alignment problems, existential risk, or whether artificial consciousness is even a meaningful concept. Then I’ll close the tab and go sit outside and listen to the lions’ roar, trying to figure out how to hold wonder and wariness in the same breath.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my life in wild places, watching slow systems evolve over millennia, that the speed of this moment feels so disorienting. But I’m trying to pay attention. Curiously. Cautiously. Possibly with one foot still in the crab hole. (ML)