MIY ALARM GOES OFF when it’s still dark outside my tent. Well, that’s what it’s technically called, but this tent comes with a four-poster bed, a cut-crystal decanter filled with port wine, and a wooden terrace overlooking the rolling grasslands of Singita Grumeti, a private reserve northwest of the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania. Even in the presence of such luxuries, I can’t shake the knowledge that, right now, alone in the black of night, I am completely surrounded by creatures. I can’t see the animals, but I can hear and, even more clearly, imagine them: There’s a rustle of frantic scurrying just behind my bed, then some kind of desperate struggle in the dirt, all sounding close enough that I could touch whatever is making that noise. There’s snorting coming…