MOSI-OA-TUNYA NATIONAL PARK, Zambia, Oct 29 PA – Listening to someone chew their food noisily isn't especially pleasant, but I find myself mesmerised by the loudmouth diner munching his evening meal just five metres from me.

As his jaw pounds heavily up and down, greens hanging from his bottom lip, I'm gripped by what is a essentially a mundane daily activity.

But while I'm used to spending mealtimes with other people, sitting down to dinner with a rhino is an altogether novel experience.

I've stumbled upon this raucous feast while on a walking safari through the dusty scrubland of Zambia's Mosi-Oa-Tunya National Park, close to Livingstone. As the dipping sun bathes the landscape in warm, yellow light, wildlife scout Alfred signals me to edge backwards into a thicket, while he assesses the rhino's mood and looks for any signs of aggression.

"If you see him tilt his tail upwards, it's time to exit," warns Alfred, one hand gripping the rifle slung over his shoulder. Fortunately, the 14-year-old male is more engrossed in his food than the spectators that have gathered in front of him.

Observing rhino at eye level, rather than the elevated comfort of a safari vehicle, is both exhilarating and humbling.

Along with neighbouring country Zimbabwe, Zambia is credited as being the birthplace of the walking safari.

Zambia, which celebrated 50 years of independence in October, enjoys both political stability and a rapidly developing infrastructure, which, combined with great game and impressive landscapes, makes it a favourable option for safari.

Mosi-Oa-Tunya is the smallest park in Zambia, encompassing just 66 sq km, but it has massive appeal, mainly in the form of 10 white rhino living on its grounds.

In the 1970s, when the park first opened, 60,000 rhino were in Zambia, but by 1989, there were none. The main cause of their demise was poaching, an epidemic that's sweeping across Africa at an alarming rate.

In 1992, five white rhinos were successfully translocated from South Africa to Mosi-Oa-Tunya, where the small scale of the fenced park facilitates 24-hour security, and the population has since doubled. Ten guards take it in turns to guard the precious creatures, following them on foot and often allowing tourists to join them.

A short drive from Livingstone airport and reached by a tarmac road, Mosi-Oa-Tunya is far less wild than Zambia's bigger, more remote national parks. Fifty years ago, animals were kept in cages in a set-up more akin to a zoo. When they were released, all predators were relocated elsewhere, so there are no big cats to be found in the park.

The positive impact, though, is that the game is remarkably relaxed and easy to approach. On a drive through gnarly bush and open woodland, I encounter buffalo playfully locking horns, elephants bulldozing their way through thickets, and giraffe kneeling down to sleep at dusk. None are particularly perturbed by a vehicle driving past.

The park is also within easy reach of one of Zambia's greatest tourist attractions, Victoria Falls.

Containing the biggest volume of water of any waterfall in the world, the roaring Falls stretch for 1.7km, although the largest slice belongs to neighbouring Zimbabwe. When I visit, the Zambezi river is swollen from heavy rainfall. Following a trail through parkland, I can hear the urgent call of the Falls as water rushes over boulders and broken branches.

With so much mist lifting from the water, the face of the waterfall disappears into a cloud of white noise, as rainbows form overhead. And as I walk along a wooden bridge that runs along the front of the Falls, even a plastic poncho does little to protect me from a drenching. But it's the sound – the bottomless, aching roar of an insatiable beast, that communicates Victoria Falls' real power.

Even further along the Zambezi, while sat on my riverside verandah at Sanctuary Retreats' Sussi & Chuma lodge, I can still hear the rumbling, although at this distance it's more of a pressing whisper. Guests sleep in elaborate spherical tree houses on stilts, designed in dark wood with standalone baths and four poster beds. Stretching along the river, rooms are connected by suspended wooden walkways often patrolled by curious vervet monkeys.

At night, hippos tramp clumsily beneath the rooms, while elephants pass calmly through camp, often stopping to drink at the lodge's pools before swimming across the Zambezi.

After sunrise one morning, my guide Junior takes me on a boat ride along the Zambezi, looking out for wildlife on the riverbanks and in the water.

Zambia has the biggest hippo population of any country in Africa, so it's not long before we run into a series of pink, blubbery mounds submerged like stepping stones in the water. As we approach, a male raises his periscope-like eyes, then flips back his head to reveal a jaw full of black teeth dripping with thick, sticky saliva. It's a warning that we should back off, and given that hippos can run up to 35km/h under water, I'm not about to challenge him.

At one time, the rivers here were so full of hippos, the government had to start culling them. The skin and tails were used to make police truncheons and the meat ended up being sold as hippo sausages. "We had them nearly every day on a barbecue," Junior says.

Given the abundance of water in the area, it's surprising to discover the nearby Nakatindi Village only recently received funding for boreholes. Much of the money came from donations made by the Sussi & Chuma philanthropic arm, which has also invested in a medical clinic and the provision of free school meals.

When I arrive in the village, I'm besieged by children wanting to hold my hand and pestering for sweets. Mavuto, a 28-year-old who has been given the role of village guide, takes care of tourists and shows them around.

* Sarah Marshall was a guest of Sanctuary Sussi & Chuma.