My grass hut is the kind a Bushman lottery winner would build. Approximately twice the size of a standard hut (though I still have to stoop to enter), it comes complete with upmarket fittings and an en suite outdoor bathroom.

There are eight guest huts in Gudigwa Camp, each bearing the name of a Bushman clan. This one is called ‡Xoakatsu (“‡” is pronounced, unpronounceably, as a topof- the-mouth click) after a clan renowned for its enormous appetites. Hence their name: “People who defecate like elephants.”

Appropriately, an elephant has recently made an abundant deposit close to the sandy path leading to my not-so-humble abode — a reminder that I need to be alert while wandering around camp. Wildlife is relatively sparse here, but there are regular sightings of elephant and hyena, and lions are often heard at night.

Gudigwa lies in dry mopane woodland on the northernmost edge of Botswana’s Okavango Delta. The area has been the tramping ground of the nomadic San Bushmen for around 40,000 years. In the last 25 years, the strictures of the modern world have forced them to become increasingly sedentary, and they have switched from hunter-gathering to raising cattle.

Land ownership was once an alien concept to the Bushmen, but now, under the stewardship of a community trust, they collectively control a significant tract of this part of north- ern Botswana. In 1999, a workshop was convened in conjunction with Conservation International to come up with income-generating ideas. A game farm and a hunting lodge were considered, but finally it was decided to establish a cultural village and luxury camp to tap into Botswana’s booming tourist industry and to revitalize the tribe’s precious heritage.

“Our culture was dying,” says Zero, one of the camp guides. “Now we have a reason to keep it.” We are sitting on carved wooden stools, basking in the golden hour before sunset. Around us, men and women dressed in springbok skins are chatting in front of several domed grass huts.

This mock-up village is the focal point of Gudigwa Camp. The real village of Gudigwa lies three miles away; a settlement of simple brick houses with corrugated iron roofs. There, the people wear dusty T-shirts and jeans; here, they are able to temporarily slough their ill-fitting modern lives and revert to tradition.

The desperate plight of Botswana’s Bushmen has made world headlines. To the south of us, in the Kalahari Desert, around 2,000 Bushmen have been forcibly relocated to a bleak village they call “place of death” in order to make way for a diamond mine. As with the indigenous peoples of North America and Australia, once corralled into artificial settlements they often slide into alcoholism and drug-abuse.

After an excellent ostrich stew supper, eaten against the backdrop of traditional dancing around the blazing campfire, I retreat to my cozy hut, well insulated against the chill of the night. Ominous sounds punctuate the darkness, yet I feel an underlying sense of well-being. For me, this is a homecoming twice over. Firstly, I lived in Botswana for three happy years in my teens, and I love coming back. Secondly, and more profoundly, the latest anthropological research suggests that southern Africa may be the true cradle of mankind. We were all Bushmen once. Spending time in this remote place stirs deep, genetic memories.

Prior to flying in by light aircraft to the airstrip at Gudigwa, I had spent several days hopping between the fabulous safari camps of the Okavango Delta. The delta is a geographic oddity. The Okavango River meanders into Botswana from Angola, and at the end of its journey it doesn’t find the sea, but rather the Kalahari. The river fans out into an extensive tangle of water and islands covering an area almost the size of New Jersey, an exuberant show of optimism before dissolving beneath the desert scrub.

Amid this vast green and blue oasis, wildlife is abundant. Botswana has pursued a deliberate policy of high qu ality, low volume tourism, so the safari lodges here are decidedly swanky. Kwetsani Camp is typical, consisting of just five luxury chalets on stilts, connected to the main lodge by a raised wooden walkway.

My time at Kwetsani revolved around game-viewing excursions and excellent meals. The early morning game drives proved to be especially productive. Setting off by open-topped 4×4 at dawn across the water-fringed plains, we saw herds of elephant and buffalo, several species of antelope, hyenas and lions. Buzzing from the excitement of our wildlife encounters, we returned to camp for brunch and a midday siesta before heading out again late in the afternoon.

One of my excursions was by mokoro, a dugout canoe. Steered by an expert local guide, we followed the channels made by hippos. A pair of otters playfully splashed alongside for a while. A sitatunga — a swampadapted antelope — watched us from the reeds. A crocodile slipped into the water ahead of us, vanishing from view.

From Kwetsani, I flew to Chitabe, a tented camp located on a beautiful sandy island scattered with tall palm trees. Again the routine was constructed around game drives and meals. Breakfasts were particular fun, for we had to compete for the toast with a snatch-and-grab gang of vervet monkeys.

On my first game drive at Chitabe, we ended up in the middle of a large elephant herd. The ranger stilled the engine and we sat in silence as the huge animals ambled past us. We could hear the low rumbling sounds by which they communicate with each other. That night, I heard the same sounds again, as the elephants browsed on the trees surrounding my tent.

Back at Gudigwa, I get my wakeup call at 5 a.m. The staff bring buckets of hot water for my sink and shower, and I wash under the early morning stars. The full moon has set, and sunrise is still an hour away; the sky shimmers. At daybreak, I set off walking with a Bushman tracker. His name — a cacophony of assorted clicks — is beyond my Western tongue, but fortunately he also answers to Patrick.

“We will read the daily news,” he tells me as we follow a path through long grass between termite hills and mopane trees. Time and again he stops and crouches to interpret indistinct marks in the dust. “This news is a jackal,” he says. “This news is a hyena. This news tells us an aardvark went from one place to another place. All of this is very important news.”

Government restrictions mean that the Bushmen are not permitted to act upon the news they read in the earth each morning. Most of their traditional hunting practices have been outlawed. Without tourism, their ancient tracking skills would be entirely redundant.

By mid-morning, it is time for me to start my long journey home. Patrick comes to the airstrip to watch me depart. At a safe distance from the plane — which he eyes warily — he says goodbye. “Tell people about Gudigwa Camp.”

Of course I will. We both know good news when we find it.

The easiest way to get to the Okavango Delta (http://www.okavango-delta.net) is by scheduled flight from Johannesburg, South Africa, to the tourist gateway town of Maun in central Botswana, on the eastern edge of the delta. From there, access to the many safari lodges is by light aircraft. Gudigwa Camp (http://www.gudigwa.com) is from $270 per person per night. Kwetsani Camp and Chitabe Camp are both operated by southern Africa’s leading safari company,Wilderness Safaris(http://www.wilderness-safaris.com). Itineraries are best arranged with the help of a travel agency or tour operator; an online form on the Wilderness Safaris Web site will help put you in touch with a recommended company.