Black Thorn Tented Camp — Where the Bush Breathes and the Fire Talks

It began with canvas and quiet. Two simple safari tents facing each other beneath the thorn trees, joined by a modest kitchen where fires crackled and coffee brewed long before sunrise. Nothing fancy—just honest, earthy bushveld camping. But even then, there was something about this spot. You could feel it in the hush of dusk, in the soft stir of grass under passing hooves, in the low call of a far-off lion as the stars blinked to life above Dinokeng.

The Name: Black Thorn

We named it after the Swarthaak—the Black Thorn. A tree that can grow tall and elegant or hunker down into thick, defiant thickets. Its blossoms carry a sweet scent on the wind, and when its wood is oiled, it turns pitch-black—bold and beautiful, just like the bush it grows in. It felt right. This camp, too, would be shaped by time, by weather, by wildness.

A New Chapter

After nearly eight years of stories shared and stars counted, we knew it was time to give Black Thorn a new chapter. The old tents came down gently, as if bowing out with gratitude. Then came the sound of hammers and the smell of sawdust. Rodney, Vusi, KK, and Timothy built a new frame from scratch, timber rising between the trees. A clean IBR roof went up, sloped to invite morning light and shelter evening fires. Elzabé set to work on the canvas—each seam and curve stitched with care, not just to shelter, but to hold space for something meaningful.

Elzabé’s Touch: Art Inspired by the Wild

Inside the tents, she added her own signature: oil paintings born of quiet observation and deep affection for the creatures who share our bush. In one, a mother giraffe leans down, her long neck curving toward her calf. Their foreheads meet in a soft, breathy nuzzle—so close you can almost hear the gentle rustle of ears. It’s not just a painting. It’s a moment. In the second tent, a leopard moves low through grass painted gold by late-afternoon sun. Its muscles ripple, eyes locked forward, every inch alive with stillness and suspense. That frozen breath before the pounce.

The Heart of Black Thorn: New Tents & Cozy Comforts

Now, two new tented rooms stand on either side of a shaded, open-plan kitchen and braai area. The scent of woodsmoke drifts between them most evenings, blending with the tang of sizzling boerewors or the sweet warmth of a just-opened bottle of red. Underfoot, rubber matting cushions bare feet. Overhead, dappled sunlight dances through branches. A small JoJo splash pool sits off to the side—its water cool and quiet, perfect for easing into after a long day in the heat.

A Tranquil Escape for Four

The camp sleeps four comfortably—two single beds in each tent—and shares a simple shower-only ablution nearby. The kitchenette is fully equipped, from cast iron pots to that one old wooden spoon that just feels right in the hand. At dawn, guests often rise with the birds, the air thick with the smell of dew on dust and the song of laughing doves. Some sit silently with a mug of steaming coffee, watching giraffes browse beyond the fence. Others whisper excitedly about the hyena calls they heard the night before.

A Rustic, Soulful Experience

The main ablution block is just a short stroll through the bush, a rustic delight with rocket water boilers hissing and steaming into the open air. The shower offers a view, framed by thorn branches and sky. Some guests choose to close the curtain. Others leave it open, eyes scanning the horizon for movement—was that a kudu? Or just the wind? One guest swears she heard a lion grunt mid-shampoo. She laughed. Then she listened. Then she moved very, very quietly.

The Stories That Live Here

This place holds stories.
A pride of lions once wandered past the fence in the soft light of dawn, so close their paws left prints just metres from the tents. A young couple shared their engagement here, rings exchanged beside the fire with jackals calling in the distance. Children have gasped at the shimmer of fireflies, and old friends have sat for hours in silence, saying everything without speaking a word.

Black Thorn Is Waiting

Black Thorn Tented Bush Camp isn’t a resort. It’s not curated wilderness or glossy brochure Africa. It’s raw and real. It’s the sound of cicadas at midday and the flicker of flames on canvas walls at night. It’s laughter over shared meals, and silence when a giraffe suddenly appears just beyond the trees.

Black Thorn is waiting—its canvas quietly breathing, the brushstrokes of wild moments on the walls, the bush ever close. Come write your own chapter under these stars.

Stay tuned for our next blog post:  "Bush Neighbours, Tales from Inside the Fence"—where the smallest residents of Thorn Tree Bush Camp take center stage, from bush babies to golden orb spiders, pearl-spotted owlets, rock monitors, and more!