Robin Pope is a remarkable man. He spreads such a sense of calm; we were out walking in the unspoilt wilderness of the South Luangwa Valley in Zambia, a handful of trusting guests, miles from the comparative safety of truck or Land Rover, prey for any passing kings of the plains, but feeling completely secure.

Lion, leopard, trampling elephants with their young, hippo, hyenas, vultures, more than 400 species of bird: the valley is one of the finest wildlife sanctuaries in Africa. Nowhere could you feel more humble and incidental to the grand scheme of things. Petty thoughts float away on the air like thistledown. There is an elemental majesty - the huge mahogany, baobab and black ebony trees, the oxbow lagoons, glorious flora and fauna. It is a place from where you will come back feeling stripped of material worldliness; Africa will have crept under your skin and be flowing in your veins.

My husband Michael (former leader of the Conservative party) and I had one elderly scout with us, lean and weathered, a native of the region. He carried a rifle and looked, in his khaki shorts, bush jacket and
hard-brimmed safari hat, comfortingly expert and dependable.

Pope pioneered the walking safari. Zambia is his country, he was born there and understands its people. The safari camp he and his wife Jo set up on the banks of the Luangwa River gives holiday-makers an experience to remember, but it gives back a lot to the region, too. The Popes fund eight teachers for a local school and train and employ the villagers.

Zambia is a politically stable country, the Northern Rhodesia of old. We had a week there, too little time to go bush camping or on a proper walking safari, since we wanted to visit Victoria Falls. We took an internal flight from Lusaka to the tiny airport of Mfuwe. The main base camp, Nkwali, is about an hour’s drive away.

Seeing our room on arrival was a thrill. It was in a solid house, Robin and Jo’s original home in their early days, and right on the riverbank with schools of wallowing hippos in easy view. They kept up a chorus of harrumphing hellos by way of greeting. The furniture was solid, too.

All this solidity proved a comfort when, at two in the morning, a couple of elephants chose to invade the c it’s not often you can wake up and see in the moonlight an elephant trunk waving and sniffing outside your open bedroom window. The camp has a swimming pool, but with an armed scout just in case any wild animals might take a fancy to the human form.

Ali, who looked after us, served meals outdoors. In the evenings we joined in round an open-air fire in the main compound, handily near the bar. Ali was a delight, so very gentle, waking us at five for a breakfast of porridge and toast before the early drive. He was ready with answers to all our questions, although rather a gloom-merchant over the dangers facing the local fishermen on their flimsy punts. The river was teeming with crocodiles and hippos, which have a habit of rising up and capsizing boats. “We lose one to crocodile, one to hippo, one to elephant,” Ali said. We didn’t dare ask how regularly this took place.

I asked Robin if he’d had any really frightening moments out walking. “Only once: we had stopped for sundowners and I was gazing at the sunset instead of keeping an alert eye. A hippo decided to go for me and charged. He was coming so fast I had no possible chance but the scout, with incredible aim and reflexes, shot from behind and saved my life. I felt the heat of the cartridge singing past, within a hair’s breadth of my ear.”

Bush safaris begin, after a day’s acclimatising at Nkwali, at the Tena Tena tented camp. It is a stunning location a few hours’ drive away, on a sweeping bend of the river where meals are taken under a stately mahogany tree. The first bush camp is a morning’s walk away - the camp is then transported ahead so there is always a delicious reviving meal at the next port of call.

Neither of us is remotely intrepid, but our briefest taste of walking with Robin made us long to go deeper and further into the bush and return for more. We visited the school given such generous support by the Popes, before leaving for Livingstone and Victoria Falls: nearly 700 children, many of them orphans, all eager to learn and beautifully behaved. It was a rewarding experience.

Livingstone is charming, with wide streets and modern buildings, but also shack-like shops that would not look out of place in a Wild West film. I had last been there when I was seven and felt faint rustles of memory stirring like animals in the forest.

Victoria Falls is in a wild game national park where there are two hotels, the Royal Livingstone and the Zambezi Sun. There were zebras grazing on the immaculate lawns at the Livingstone when we arrived - lawns that went right to the edge of the mighty surging Zambezi. To know that, just out of sight, the river spans more than a mile before plunging into a chasm only 200ft wide is an extraordinary thrill. The monumental power of the falls sends up a plume of spray, a towering white mist, that can rise 1,000ft into the air.

In my childhood I had gazed at the awesome falls from the other side of the river in Southern Rhodesia, as it was: now Zimbabwe. There is a bridge over the gorge joining the two countries and people bungee-jump there. It felt quite brave enough, though, to be taking a narrow slippery path to a point almost opposite the thundering waters for a fantastic view. We were soaked to the skin from the spray and exhilarated beyond belief.

There are other countries with magnificent wildlife and thrilling safaris, but apart from Zimbabwe, only peaceable, welcoming Zambia has the Victoria Falls. It is impossible not to feel overwhelmed by an experience that will stay with you forever.

Sandra and Michael Howard travelled to Zambia with Africa Travel Centre (0845 450 5705, www.africatravel.co.uk). A six-night trip, staying for three nights on safari at Robin’s House and three at the Royal Livingstone, with return British Airways flights from Heathrow, costs from £2,195 per person