Most nights at Londolozi settle into a familiar rhythm of a distant whoop of a hyena, the low chorus of frogs and crickets, and the hush of everything else in the bush as darkness sets in. And then, without warning, the silence is pierced by a sound that is anything but subtle. A sharp, startling screech slices through the night air, echoing between the trees and often prompting first-time guests to ask, “What on earth was that?”

More often than not, the answer is a bushbaby.

Just as I was falling asleep a few nights ago, I heard some rustling outside my window. When I got up to investigate, I shone my torch around and all seemed quiet. Just as I turned to go back inside, I caught sight of this thick-tailed bushbaby peeping at me from behind the branch. I’ve never had the chance to photograph one, so I quickly grabbed my camera. He was very relaxed and even quite inquisitive, which made for a great sighting.

Bushbabies, or galagos as they are scientifically known, are some of the most charismatic yet often unseen nocturnal residents of Londolozi. Here in the reserve, we most commonly encounter the Thick-tailed Bushbaby (Otolemur crassicaudatus), the largest of the galago species, with its oversized eyes, powerful hind legs and unmistakable voice. Occasionally, the smaller Southern Lesser Galago (Galago moholi) is also present, though it is the thick-tailed bushbaby that tends to make itself known, audibly, at least.

Despite their name, bushbabies are not monkeys. They belong to a much older and more primitive group of primates known as prosimians, which also includes lemurs and lorises. These animals represent an early branch of primate evolution, and their features reflect this ancient lineage. Large forward-facing eyes adapted for night vision, strong grasping hands, and an exceptional sense of hearing all make them perfectly suited to a nocturnal lifestyle. Adding to this toolkit are long, sensitive whiskers around their faces and eyes, which help them detect nearby objects and protect their eyes while moving and foraging in complete darkness. They are also able to rotate their heads almost 180 degrees, much like a bird, allowing them to look back over their shoulders without moving their bodies, an invaluable adaptation when navigating the treetops at night.

Finding bushbabies during the day is a challenge. As strictly nocturnal animals, they spend daylight hours hidden away in tree hollows, dense foliage, or tangled creepers, sleeping curled into tight balls. On night drives, however, they reveal themselves more readily. A careful sweep of the spotlight may catch the tell-tale shine of their eyes reflecting back, often high in the canopy. Once seen, they are impossible to forget.

Bushbabies are remarkable acrobats. Their elongated ankle bones enable them to make explosive jumps, allowing them to leap horizontally up to four metres and vertically almost two metres with ease. Watching one move through the trees is like witnessing an extreme elastic rebound — pause, launch, land — repeated in quick succession. When they land, they can grip securely with their feet alone, keeping their hands free to grasp prey or steady themselves as they move. This agility serves them well as they forage for food, which consists mainly of insects, but also includes fruit, tree gums, and occasionally small vertebrates.

I’ve been lucky enough to have a front-row seat to bushbaby life. A family has taken up residence above my room in the village, and over recent weeks, I’ve noticed new young ones in the area. Unlike monkeys, a bushbaby mother does not carry her young clinging to her body. Instead, she transports them by gripping the scruff of the neck, much like a small carnivore, carefully moving them between safe resting spots. It’s a fascinating behaviour to witness, especially when paired with the young ones’ early, tentative attempts at moving through the trees themselves. They are endlessly entertaining to watch.

That said, their nightly vocal performances are far less endearing at two in the morning. Their loud, piercing calls, used to communicate territory and maintain contact, can sound alarmingly like a distressed infant and a sound that is anything but soothing when you’re trying to sleep. What many people don’t realise is that bushbabies have a surprisingly complex vocal repertoire, with a vocabulary of around 25 different sounds, each used for specific purposes such as alarm, contact, mating, and territorial defence.

A lesser bush baby momentarily freezes, allowing us to snap one picture before it jumps off.

Guests may also have had their own bushbaby encounters without even realising how special they are. Those staying at Tree Camp might be lucky enough to spot the resident bushbaby moving methodically from lantern to lantern in the evening, taking full advantage of the insects drawn to the light. Others may notice shadowy figures watching quietly from above during a boma dinner, their large eyes fixed on the activity below, curious but cautious observers of our dinner parties.

Bushbabies may not command the same attention as lions or leopards, but they are very much part of daily life at Londolozi. Once you know what to look — and listen — for, you’ll start to notice them everywhere: leaping across the canopy, calling through the night, or sitting just above camp, watching it all unfold.