Not yet 6am, camped by the Ngare Ndare River about 300km (190 miles) north of Nairobi, the first rays of light creeping over the acacia trees around me – and a few feet away something with a very large hump has just burped extremely loudly. My personalised African alarm clock has announced that it’s time to get up.

As part of a week in Kenya I was on a four-day walking safari with everything for the journey carried by camels – 15 of them, and all just for me. (Trips cater for up to eight people.)

Although camels are more common in the far north of the country, some have been brought south for tourist expeditions such as this. You walk alongside, while they carry provisions and camping equipment, although you can mount up if you choose. I didn’t. “Rather sore for chaps, if you get my drift,” I was advised by an old Africa hand on the flight from Nairobi.

We – my Masai guide Kitonga Lipan Mbaatia, seven staff, 15 camels and me – set off from Lewa Wilderness Lodge. I felt incredibly guilty. I was like a 21st-century Queen of Sheba taking most of my court with me. But it is pumping much-needed money into local projects that support school bursaries, cattle dips, mosquito nets and mobile clinics in an area far from the more visited Kenyan tourist haunts to the south, where Minivanibus flippinloadsicus roam the plains and tourists take pictures of tourists taking pictures of wildlife. And, as I was told several times by Masai herdsmen, it’s lessening the need to rely solely on cattle farming, which, after three years of harsh drought, is a welcome change.

Kitonga was incredibly knowledgeable and good fun, striding out in his red shuka(tunic) and kikoy (shawl), wearing beads and headdress given to him after the circumcision ceremony that marked his standing as a warrior, dagger-like olalem sword at his side. He always clutched a Winchester rifle during our expeditions on foot.

He was also always equipped with a huge grin. “Jesus Christ, Will, what are you talking about?” he would demand after I had asked a particularly obvious question, before dissolving into giggles. “ Vamos a la playa!” was his rallying call every time we bounded off to poke through more rhino poo, look for hyena tracks, watch harvester ants scuttling about, or brush our teeth with twigs from the Salvadora persica tree.

A small child accidentally locked in a toy shop before Christmas couldn’t have been more excited than Kitonga was about the wildlife – he made a refreshing change from some guides whose “seen it all before” look of ennui shows all too clearly. He showed me clumps of “elephant’s chewing gum” – the spat-out, mashed-up leaves of the Sansevieria intermedia plant (also known as mother-in-law’s tongue) from which the animals get moisture when they can’t reach a water hole, and which, when dried, is excellent as a fire lighter. “Wow, this is amazing!” he whispered as we crept towards an elephant and its youngster partially hidden behind a bush a hundred yards away.

“I never get tired of the animals,” he told me. “It’s always like the first time, they are always fantastic.” And he laughed when I told him the hyenas’ nighttime howls sent shivers through my soul. “They’re just like a dog,” he guffawed dismissively.

The camels, despite my best efforts, were rather hard to love. It wasn’t just the various emissions – although, contrary to stereotype, no spitting. But the rough coat peppered with ticks didn’t make me want to stroke them, and the rather evil glint beneath their long eye-lashes gave out a “try and pat me and I’ll take your arm off” vibe. Kitonga said that all the camels been castrated, which made them a lot more docile.

Each evening, after the camels had been unloaded and enjoyed a group farting session and a roll in the dust, camp would be set up in a grove of acacia trees. As well as my tent (no need for an outer cover, so always a great view of the night sky), there was a long-drop lavatory, and a bucket shower filled with river water heated over a fire. A cool Tusker beer would follow and then Francis, the cook, whipped up some delicious soup followed by traditional Masai delicacies such as spaghetti bolognese and chilli con carne. Kitonga and I stargazed and put the world to rights over the dying embers of the fire, topics from American politics (Democratic presidential hopeful Barack Obama is half Kenyan) to the local HIV problem, via this season’s Arsenal performance and the views from the London Eye.

My final night was spent at Il Ngwesi, a community lodge, which last year won Best Small Hotel in the First Choice Responsible Tourism Awards co-sponsored by The Times. The stunning view from the veranda, down over sweeping grasslands with mountains blocking the horizon 80km away, must rank as one of Africa’s top lookouts. (Prince William is a fan and has stayed several times.) There’s an infinity pool and some of the rooms have “star beds” that can be rolled out on to the large balconies so you sleep with nothing but a mozzie net between you and a view of the Milky Way.

In the morning, I was woken with a polite tap on the door and a tray of tea which, while very welcome, didn’t have quite the same cachet as being raised from slumber by a burping camel.

Need to know

Will Hide travelled with Africa specialist The Ultimate Travel Company (020-7386 4646, www.theultimatetravelcompany.co.uk). A Walking Wild camel safari in northern Kenya costs from £1,855pp. The price includes flights to Nairobi with Kenya Airways, Safarilink air transfers to Lewa, one night at Lewa Wilderness, three nights’ camping and a night at Il Ngwesi.

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