Whenever the usually hospitable breeze has a mood swing and suddenly turns on us camping-type earthlings in a tantrum, we find ourselves in a predicament. The most extreme of consequences, when caught unawares by this type of natural hissy-fit, could well include the now unhappy campers, being sandwiched tightly between their mattresses and the tent canvas.

The poles had bent, as they do, and allowed the simple home structure to lie down comfortably on its contents. Those poles can't be blamed though. Most would have reacted in the same manner when confronted by this emotional outburst of the winds. They submitted.

The fragility of the human form becomes clearer than ever, at this point as those sandwiched inhabitants realise how small and insignificant they are, trying to play on the same playground as the big kid; Great Outdoors. There is no fighting for dominance or control in this situation. They know who is in charge. The only instinct they have to rely on is the most basic one: Survival.

The male's protective impulses ignite and he is spurred into action.

"Stay inside!"

He dramatically commands, and the female willingly obeys. He bravely exits the former site of refuge and meets the elements awaiting him. She lays in her prostrate position, performing her important function of weighting down the tent, while he circles it on the outside in an act of inspection.

It's as expected: "The poles have bent."

She is granted permission to leave the semi suffocating tent and bare footedly emerges into the wind. It's not as bad as it seemed from the inside. Her flickering hair whips her face and the low mumble of the irritated gust hums in the background of their chosen scene. And yet, it is warm, and fresh and pleasant out there. The two human components of this natural setting are the only ones of their kind there. The expanses of white, dry sand which encircles them, spreads further than vision will allow. This bigness and openness places this reality into context.

They dot the whiteness. Four dots exactly - a girl, a boy, a tent and a Land Rover.

Their toes revel in the sensation of the grainy sand of the Makgadikgadi Pans in Botswana. It is dry season and thus, this landscape is boasting only a few intermittent bodies of water upon its golden face. The people had selected their specifically positioned rest site in order to ensure a spectacular view of the largest of these.

The blinking, blue pan water could easily be mistaken for a seaside bay. The sand, the saltiness and the hue all hint at this. However, standing beside that water is a totally different experience to your garden-variety beach.

It is quiet there. The type of quiet that makes your ears ring in the initial moments of listening. It is calm there too. The wind bosses the water into tickling at the shore. And that soft movement is enough to sooth even the most weary. The squawks of numerous seagull cries are substituted by the far off cracklings of the flamingos which populate this space. They are out of sight this morning, but their presence is made undoubtedly obvious by their chattering.

A sizeable white form appears on blue; a solitary pelican. Not rare to this place, but rare indeed to the eyes of those two campers. They leave the impressive bird to continue his search for breakfast, unpressured, and concentrate on their task at hand. The duo, whilst standing on the tent material to prevent its escape, simultaneously release those skewed poles from their positions. There is no real damage to the steel rods and they will secure that temporary home perfectly, in less volatile conditions, in the days to follow.

In minutes the space is cleared of any sign of sleep-over and it cannot be proved that those members of humanity were there at all. And that's exactly how it should be, given the tiny degree of importance their type held in the hierarchy of Nature's playground politics.