It sounds like a dinosaur, but it’s actually a tiny bird that, admittedly, has a slightly broader beak—though still small—in relation to its head size.
The following theory is considered confirmed by many, but renowned ornithologists such as Ian Sinclair wish to question it based on their own observations and research, or at least leave it as theoretical for now:
P6 and P7—now you know, right? They’re the reason. I can clearly picture them because I’ve encountered them before… Ornithologists, of course, assume that every ordinary person should understand that the primary feathers—the flight feathers or hand wings—are numbered P1 to P10. The “P” surely comes from the English word “Primary”… I think.
With over 1,000 vibrations per second, the male African Broadbill takes flight, performing a loop, sometimes small, sometimes large, occasionally with a hop at the front, or a little run-up, and sometimes even a small bow beforehand. As mentioned, two of its feathers create a remarkably loud, piercing whirr that echoes beautifully through the nearly pristine forests of Africa.
It was still quite dark when we first heard it, and my heart raced. The African Broadbill boasts an impressive name, although this tiny, truly minuscule bird is exceptionally difficult to spot in the undergrowth. If a wren sat still, I don’t think anyone would notice it either.
Chéni and Travis, the owners of Caprivi River Lodge, led the way with their cameras, and we followed. As we adjusted to the light, thoughts of ISO settings, grain, and image noise raced through my mind. Even when the sun rose, the shade persisted.
The call of the African Broadbill changes everything! You forget the world around you and are simply left in awe. Since the African Broadbill requires a bit of a stage, it often perches on open branches in the underbrush. As it performs its courtship flight—only the male participates in this display—showing off a white puff of feathers on its back, it becomes visible. Spotting such a bird is like finding a precious gem in the sand. A sense of joy and excitement sweeps through the group, and everyone knows—this is special, truly special!
After the fourth sighting—yes, you have to keep going back and forth, climbing over sticks, larger branches, trunks, and scratching bushes, adjusting your glasses, wiping sweat away… adjusting your glasses again, removing your hat because the bush knocked it off—we finally saw her: the lady of the house. She sat serenely, watching the spectacle of the loud African Broadbill. She didn’t appear particularly smitten, but he didn’t give up, and by this point, I was even filming.
Around me, camera shutters clicked away, and I found myself wondering why no one was using the “Silent” setting… but never mind, the bird didn’t seem bothered, and we had—yet again—an ornithological moment of pure bliss.
Above us, an Eastern Nicator—today seems to be the day for unusual names—sang its heart out, feeling quite neglected. It’s worth noting that, like the African Broadbill and the Leafloves (but that’s another story), this species is among the few of its kind ever seen in Namibia, making it an absolute magnet for birders.
These sightings are, and always will be, a stroke of pure luck, and my gratitude for experiencing them in such a way is boundless!
Last Updated on 3. December 2024 by Albert Voigts von Schütz
