Though we couldn't yet see them, we could hear their chants: deep, throaty grunts that rumbled out from the bush and across the beach. "Your friends have a special farewell for you," Samira, the lodge manager, explained. Then, through the trees, we saw them: Kandokera, Luca, Emmanuel and Weri, standing in a circle, chanting and singing, while in the middle Ngobere jumped impossibly high, over and over again, his red shuka unravelling slightly at the shoulder, beaded necklaces jiggling around his neck, his sime (sword) bouncing about his waist. A traditional Masai dance, performed just for us. My husband, Christian, squeezed my hand, and I swallowed hard, aware of a lump in my throat.
One by one they moved into the middle, leaping into the air to show their strength and stamina as warriors. It was hypnotic. The chanting grew louder. Before I knew it, I was jumping with Kandokera, and I didn't care if I looked silly or couldn't jump nearly as high.
When friends ask me about the highlight of our Tanzanian safari, I don't say the pride of lions we saw on one early-evening game drive, or the herd of elusive greater kudu grazing yards from our truck. I tell them about this dance, performed by five brothers whose job had simply been to lead us from our suite to the restaurant and back again each night but who, through their broken English and our broken Swahili, had become our friends.
This is the beauty of the Saadani Safari Lodge: it is as much about the people, the locals, as it is the wildlife.
Located four hours' drive north of the Tanzanian capital, Dar es Salaam, the lodge is made up of 15 tented cottages tucked among screw palms on the Indian Ocean, in the middle of the Saadani National Park – the only East African reserve on the coast. While this alone makes it unique, what really sets it apart is its sense of place, which so many safari camps lack. Instead of being in the middle of the bush and miles from civilisation – where the only chance of meeting the locals is by going on a "village tour" – at the Saadani Safari Lodge you live with the locals.
Within minutes of arriving we were darting around our suite like excited children, gawping at our ginormous carved wooden four-poster bed, the beautiful swathes of linen, the elegant handmade furniture, and pointing out the flecks of colour in the sea. It wasn't until we padded down to the white sandy beach (via our private deck with pool for two) that we saw the flecks were actually fishermen, dozens of them, standing waist-deep in the sea, long nets submerged between them.
They were from Saadani village, less than a mile away. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, they head to this beach hopeful for whatever the ocean will surrender to them. This, we soon learnt, is invariably prawns: the fat, juicy, foot-long prawns for which this region is famous.
Over the following days, one of our favourite things to do was to stroll along the beach – lined with palm and casuarina trees – and watch the fishermen pull in their catch. One afternoon we were almost late for our game drive because we got carried away talking to one of the regulars, a young chap who always wore a thick beanie despite the sweltering 30C heat; on seeing us, he would delve into his bucket to retrieve his most impressive prawn, which he'd dangle high in the air, grinning.
It wasn't until we got talking to Samira one evening in the elevated library (with views over the beach and sink-into chairs) that we realised just how lucky we were to be experiencing all this.
Ten years ago, Saadani was among the most inaccessible game reserves in East Africa and poaching was rife. But in the late 1990s conservationists began to take notice, and in 2005 it was upgraded to national park status. There was a clampdown on poachers, access was improved via a new road, the area doubled in size to 1,000 sq km, and the Saadani Safari Lodge was established.
When national parks are proclaimed, communities are often resettled outside the park in an endeavour to control human/wildlife conflict. But at Saadani the wildlife and the village, which is one of the oldest settlements in Tanzania (dating from the sixth century), manage to co-exist. As does the lodge, which is the only safari camp inside the park and is considered part of the community (not only are most of the workers local, but the lodge has helped fund several projects in the village, including renovating the school and constructing a water windmill).
Of course, it's not all peace and harmony: the villagers often wake to find that a lion has sauntered into their backyards and helped itself to a chicken or a goat. We were assured, however, that game rarely ventured into the camp, and if a predator did, our Masai friends, with their sime and their clubs, would … well, I needn't spell it out.
Vervet monkeys are another matter (the bartenders keep slingshots behind the bar to ward them off), and elephants have been seen lumbering in the surf, although they didn't oblige for us.
During the dry season (June to October), if you head up to the lodge's tree-house, which overlooks a waterhole, you can spot reedbuck, baboon, giraffe and buffalo. But, if you visit during the wet season, as we did, you need to head out into the bush for game viewing.
We went on three drives during our stay. We would meet David, our guide, at the bar, built around a cluster of Mikadi trees on the beachfront, at 4pm for a swift cup of Kilimanjaro tea and a slice of cake, before setting off either by ourselves or with other guests. On leaving the camp, we'd pass schoolchildren cycling home, who would wave at us enthusiastically, or women carrying large bundles on their heads.
Within a mile or so, we'd have our first sighting: the odd reedbuck, antelope or waterbuck grazing by the road. Sometimes they would bolt, but mostly they would stare at us inquisitively, before resuming munching on the leaves, giving us prime photo opportunities.
As we headed deeper into the bush, the landscape would open out and we'd move our eyes to the horizon. David would wrestle the truck over deep ruts ("an African massage", he called it), at the same time spotting wildebeest through his binoculars over half a mile away, swatting tsetse flies and reeling off facts about this species and that.
Because of the park's history as a hunting ground, the animals are shyer than in the long-established Selous in the south. But, in the past couple of years, they have become less timid of people.
As we pulled up to a herd of zebra, giraffe and wildebeest grazing 20m from the road, completely unperturbed by us, I couldn't help thinking that the guidebooks I'd brought (quote: "game is rare" and "don't come expecting a wealth of photo-ops") could do with a serious rewrite. We took almost 800 photographs over our three drives. And we never saw another truck.
It was the final game drive that left us spellbound. We were on a sundowner safari-for-two, ready to share a glass of wine with the sunset deep in the bush.
After a fantastic two-hour drive – we'd seen a herd of greater kudu and a quirky-looking secretary bird – we were heading towards the sundowner spot when David spied a long tail hanging down from the branches of an acacia tree. A young lioness. We went closer. At the base of the tree, we could see a fluffy mane in the tall grass. Her brother. And, yawning next to him, showing off an impressive set of canines, the mother. Screw the wine. We pulled even closer, turned off the engine, and watched as the young female crept along the branch, the setting sun throwing red and orange rays across her skin. It was the best sundowner we could have had.
I'm not sure if it was the effort of steadying the camera over the rough terrain or the adrenaline, but we were always ravenous by the time we arrived back at the lodge after a drive. All meals are served in the open-fronted restaurant, a grass-roofed building, made of local muninga wood, on stilts with great views of the beach and the pool. But once the food arrived we barely noticed the view. Those jumbo prawns were the freshest we'd ever tasted, and served every way imaginable – grilled, as a curry, in a toasted sarnie, on top of stuffed tomatoes. Then there were the desserts – lip-smacking chocolate torte, apple crumble with mango puree, banana lassi – the list goes on. And on.
On our third morning we found ourselves speeding across the sea in a motorboat towards the mouth of the Wami River – flanked by mangroves, it is prime croc and hippo territory. We passed children fishing on the bank, men building dhows from the mangrove wood, and a kaleidoscope of kingfishers – bright flashes of blue and orange flitting through the trees. One by one David reeled off the names.
Then, up ahead, we saw them: two pairs of ears sticking out of the water, twitching. Up went the binoculars. Yes, an adult and a baby hippo. As if on cue, they slowly rose out of the water: huge lumbering bodies, followed by five others. It was breathtaking.
We saw a further three pods up the river. Though primarily vegetarian, male hippos can be very aggressive towards humans. Fortunately these ones seemed more concerned with cooling off in the water (they have no sweat glands and the mercury was hitting 33C) than with us. We weren't so lucky with the crocs. No, they didn't eat any of us – we just didn't see any, apart from the tail end of one as it slithered into the river.
On our final morning, there was one place left to visit: Saadani village. We set off at the crack of dawn, with David leading the way, past the acacia wood and the crumbling walls of a fort built by Arab slave traders, used in the 19th century as a holding cell for slaves before they were shipped to Zanzibar.
A sad relic of those turbulent times, it seemed at odds with the sight that greeted us as we entered the village: women pondering over the morning's vegetable market; two elderly gentlemen sitting peacefully in front of their mud houses; children darting with no care or reason down the street.
All too soon, the walk, and our stay, was over, and Samira was hurrying towards us, the sound of chanting just audible over the lapping waves.
All that was left to do was to jump like we'd never jumped before, take one last look at that beautiful beach, and say: "Tutaonana tena, rafiki." See you again, friends.
■ Rainbow Tours (020 7226 1004; rainbowtours.co.uk) offers five nights at Saadani Safari Lodge from £1,690, including flights from the UK, transfers, all meals, park fees and one activity each day.
