Review: Leobo Private Reserve, South Africa

If most safaris are David Attenborough in khakis, Leobo is Elon Musk on ketamine.  Forget the low-pace game drives where your guide whispers about some bird you couldn’t care less about, here you swap Land Cruisers for quad bikes, morning coffee for tequila shots, and a sunset yoga session for jumping out of a plane.  It’s the most unique exclusive-use property I’ve stayed at in Africa — not because it redefines the safari lodge, but because it completely rejects the concept.  There are wild animals, yes, but this isn’t a lodge. It’s an adventure playground.

Getting there

You will likely arrive by helicopter, given Leobo loves helicopters more than you love your children, and has a helipad.  And it’s only a 50-minute flight from Johannesburg.  If you’re coming by road, expect a three-hour drive, give or take.  We drove in from Melote House, which took about two hours by car.  Once you reach the gate — marked by a rather charmingly unhinged poster threatening trespassers with the most imaginative forms of death — it’s another 20-minute drive through the reserve to reach the house.

Setting

Leobo sits in South Africa’s Waterberg region — a malaria-free private reserve spanning over 20,000 acres.  It was once a patchwork of working farms, now stitched together to form the playground that is Leobo.  The house is perched high on a rocky ridge, with panoramic views stretching across the reserve.  It has real Bond villain energy — if said villain were deeply committed to eco design, which in 2025 you would certainly hope for.  You can’t exactly be plotting world domination while pumping out concrete and ignoring your carbon footprint.

The moment I arrived, the design felt familiar — and it should. It’s the same architect behind North Island, and you can see that DNA in all that dark wood, natural materials, and the rustic feel with sprinkles of light furnishings.

Yes, there’s wildlife — leopards, giraffes, zebras, various antelopes — but don’t confuse this with a conventional nature reserve.  This isn’t a Big Five destination.  And that’s deliberate.  Leobo isn’t about game drives. It’s about heli-paintball.  Quad bikes.  Stargazing from a rooftop hot tub.  Bush dinners where the nearest other guest is several thousand acres away.

Facilities

Leobo is made up of the main villa, and then due to owning the entire land, there are some wonderful places scattered around that have been setup just for guests. There’s also some other accommodation near the villa.  It used to endlessly confuse me that they advertised two “products” here. it’s so awful and so beneath you, dear reader, that just reading this has already wasted too much of your time. Let’s never speak of it again.

So, let’s focus on the villa.

Like so many exclusive-use properties, the house was originally built for its owner — and you can tell immediately.  It feels deeply personal.  The artwork, the quirks, the sheer amount of space, the attention-to-detail, it all speaks to someone’s very specific vision. It’s homely.  The layout is simple and circular, with the main living areas at the core and the bedrooms branching off like spokes.  It works well — everything feels close and connected, and there’s no need to schlep across acres of villa just to find your shoes.

You enter into the main area, which has these fully retractable glass doors that give the view out to the mighty impressive terrace and the views it offers.  Well, first you walk past the sandpit at the entrance.  I didn’t expect kids to be making sand castles on this holiday.

Inside, it’s incredibly spacious, and is all open planned, but manages to feel like you have your own little corners around the place.  The dining table feels a separate room to the living area, tucked just enough to one side to give it privacy without isolation.  Besides that, a sunken living area that curves around a fireplace.  And above the living area, you walk up a circular staircase and find another lounge area, filled with cushions spread across the floor and a TV.  Oh, and there’s a DVD player. With actual DVDs. My children looked at it like it had been pulled from an archaeological dig.

The kitchen is off to the side, right near the main dining room, but it almost makes it a focal point of the property as staff are always in there.  Other than the bedrooms and kitchen, the only separate room is actually the library/study.  An absolute mental area where you’ll find the observatory.  An actual observatory.  Which is as nuts as it sounds.  With a dome, a serious telescope, and even space suits.  Nothing like a bit of cosplay to spice up the night.  Unfortunately, the telescope may look serious, but it performed more my writing: a joke.  You could see the moon (very cool), but beyond that it was mostly eyeballing pixels. You can also request an astronomer for what I guess results in some stars to go with your gazing.

Speaking of outside, there’s two ways to get there, with one up on the roof, there’s a hot tub and more sofas — a perfect sundowner spot with expansive views across the reserve.  The other way, via the large sliding glass doors that open to a terrace with several distinct zones: to the right, a sofa and chairs; to the left, an outdoor dining table; down a few steps, a long, deep pool (so deep it takes three days to heat, apparently). There’s a fireplace beside the outdoor lounge, two loungers, a swing chair, and a firepit on the edge of the deck.  With a family of our size the space felt endless.

At night, the house really comes alive.  Low lighting, crackling fireplaces, and that soft, cocooned warmth that makes you want to pour a whisky and stay up too late.  But even in the day, there’s this peace about the place.  Music playing and the setting and vibe is pure relaxation.  Unfortunately, not so much in the mornings.  The early mornings are bitterly cold, especially when you’re waiting for the sun to rise or someone competent to light a fire (and no, that someone is not me).  There is underfloor heating, but it does not work, so you’re reliant on coats, a small fire, and a lot of praying.

Gym & Spa (Sort of)

There’s no gym.  But they did haul up some vintage equipment: a spin bike, an elliptical, a bench, a few dumbbells, and a kettlebell that’s seen some things.  All of it predates my time on this planet.

No spa either, though there are talks of adding one.  For now, massages are arranged via a freelancer who comes to the house.

Room

All the bedrooms lead directly off the main living area, which is handy — no walking outside, no separate wings.  But with young kids, it was less convenient than Melote House, where two of the bedrooms interconnect.  Here, only the nanny’s room connects to the kids’ room, and the other bedrooms are spaced just far enough apart that we didn’t feel comfortable leaving the children on their own.  So Lucie and I ended up in separate rooms, each with a child in our bed.  Romantic.

There are three and a half bedrooms.  One of the rooms connects directly to the kids’ room, which is designed as a nanny’s room.  The kids’ room is great: a lower double bed with two bunks stacked above it — part treehouse, part military barracks. It’s the only room with air conditioning, presumably to prevent small humans from spontaneously combusting mid-tantrum.

The two main suites are the real draw: facing the morning light, flooded with space, and full of that unmistakable North Island aesthetic — even down to some of the same furnishings.  The openness of the bedroom to bathroom creates this even larger space.  With the morning light coming in from sunrise it’s really beautiful to wake up to.  When the sun comes up and that early light pours into the open-plan suite, it’s hard not to be a little in love with the whole thing.Very high ceilings, including a dramatic, pipe-like shower shaft topped with a clear roof, just like at Miavana.  This extremely rustic, mud wall, looking feel to it. It’s almost like they had the same architect.  But here they’d clearly learnt how to make it better, with much more light, taller ceilings, more open planned.  I really liked it.

There’s no door between the bedroom and bathroom — just a wide opening — which makes the whole space feel even larger and more open. There’s also a swinging sofa-hammock suspended between bed and bath, in case the journey is too treacherous.

The main suite is especially private, tucked off to one side with its own terrace in front (we were promised no staff ever pass in front of it).  The bath is large, though the kids room had the largest of all. There’s no air conditioning in the adult rooms — only heated blankets on the beds — which, in winter, does the job.  But it’s an odd mismatch: a North Island design transplanted into a place where you need a jacket by 5pm and going barefoot is a risk.  The climate doesn’t match the barefoot-luxury design language. It’s so cold at night I have to consider how much I want to pee vs how much I can live with peeing myself.

Beds are very comfortable. There’s plenty of wardrobe space, although like many parts of Leobo, the tech wasn’t working and the lights didn’t come on, making it impossible to see any of your possessions.  And blackout curtains?  Not a chance.  Just long threads of draped fabric that whisper “good luck” when the sun rises.

Space wise, incredible, a beautiful design too, even if it’s not what I’d normally go for, with the rustic look.  But at this time of year, all it needs to get itself acceptable again is the underfloor heating fixed.  Not such a large request.

Service

We’ve never had a nanny.  Lucie never wanted one.  Before arriving, I asked if anyone would be available to keep an eye on our kids, because it’s not exactly the most child-friendly place with easy drops and activities aimed mostly for adults and/or psychopaths.  A nanny was then hired.  We didn’t actually need full-time help, just someone to step in for a few hours each day so we could pretend to be on holiday.  It taught us we’re somewhere between “do everything ourselves” and “give them up for adoption.”

Day one, she’s offering to bathe the kids, feed them, put them to bed, and even sleep in the same room in case they wake up. We’re horrified.  This isn’t us.  We feel awkward.  It feels wrong.

By day two, we’re drawing up immigration paperwork and trying to adopt her. She’s replaced us entirely.  We now believe the best family holidays are the ones where you don’t see your own children.  I will never travel without a nanny again.  Ever.  Even on solo trips.

The managers are married, having actually got married on property, and are really sweet and kind.  They took it in turns to take us out on activities due to their guiding background.

As for the rest of the service: lovely people, but not the most attentive.  Requests were sometimes forgotten, mosquito nets weren’t set up one night, the heated blanket was missed, and by day three I was still being asked if I wanted tea or coffee despite saying “neither” every morning.  Same with the wine glasses — I don’t drink, and there are only two adults staying here. It’s not a huge cast of characters to memorise.

There’s no magic here where people seem to intuit what you need before you know you need it.  But it’s warm and well-meaning.  I did like that the kitchen, just a few steps from the dining table, where you would find everyone, willing to help, and it was often closed off and we were given our own space — small touch, but it meant meals felt private, not like you were eating in someone’s prep station.

There’s a certain quietness to the house at night that feels… odd.  Everyone disappears, and you’re left entirely alone.  Which is, of course, the point — it’s meant to feel like a private home.  But there’s a thin line between privacy and eeriness.

Food

There’s no resident chef on-site full-time, so they bring in a freelancer for your stay.  Naturally, this means the experience is going to widely vary.  We got flashes of both ends of the spectrum.  First of all, there’s no menu.  No choices.  You eat what you’re given.  Which, to be fair, can be lovely — our first lunch was exactly that.  Dinner that evening was less consistent: the mash was cold, the steak was average, the salad had olives (the worst, and also on my stay list that I hate them), and dessert was massive — absurdly large — but none of us managed more than a few bites.  Quantity: 10.  Quality: debatable.

One meal I couldn’t stomach the meat, whilst this glorious, carb-heavy South African thing masquerading as a side dish was fantastic.  Another day, the pizza was fantastic.  Then the next, part of the food once again came out cold.  The girls made burgers with the chef down by the hippo deck, which was a hit.  No dessert at lunch, though — and frankly, I consider that a moral failing.

In short: food quality here is widely inconsistent.

Activities

If you’re coming somewhere to relax and do nothing, it can certainly cater for that, but I think you’re coming to the wrong place. It’d be like heading to an orgy to test your celibacy.

We attempted a movie night on arrival, but between the ancient DVD player and a remote with dead batteries, we gave up and embraced the silence.  By the third night, it was finally playing nicely, although we watched 101 Dalmatians, and I regretted that they got it working.

Fortunately, the real entertainment is outside.

Everything runs on your schedule.  There are no other guests, no competing vehicles, no timetables.  You want to go quad biking at 6am?  Great.  Sundowners at 11?  Sure.  Why you’re doing that when the sunset five hours earlier is no one’s business but yours.  Each evening we’d have sundowners on the rooftop deck by the hot tub, so who am I to judge?

The wildlife is here, but sparse — this isn’t a game-rich reserve, and it’s the first safari lodge I’ve stayed at where I didn’t once take my camera out with me. That’s not a criticism, just a recalibration of expectations. It’s not a traditional safari destination.  Game drives are on offer, though this isn’t Big Five country as there’s no elephants or lions.

One morning drive we set out to try fishing for the first time.  We gave it our best shot. Let’s just say no one went hungry because of our efforts.  Because we had lots of snacks with us.  No fish were harmed, or even mildly inconvenienced in the making of this review.  Then we finished off with a “hippo deck lunch” setup by the water, complete with an outdoor oven.  And hippos, just to be clear.

Off premises, there’s all kinds of wonderful places that we found ourselves, but the highlight was a hike an hour up a mountain and found this amazing setup overlooking the property with some great pizza, including Nutella pizza for the “kids”. That’s the joy of Leobo, they own the land, they have all these bespoke, private areas you can go to, that are amazing.  They are far beyond what you may find in other lodges, as they would have to share them with other guests.

Mostly, there’s lots and lots of things we didn’t get to try.  Kayaking, mountain climbing, ski diving. There’s a shooting range.  Quad bikes — both solo and side-by-side versions — either for exploring or kamikaze o’clock. It’s adrenaline galore.  And that’s before talking about the helicopter excursions that are a big part of the pitch.  Just flying around for shits and giggles, dropping by waterfalls, or the heli-paintball fantasy they’re famous for.

Kids Friendly

Well, there are a lot of sharp falls, and not enough railings for my liking, given our accident-prone kids.  The rooms are all relatively close to each other, with one of them even having bunk beds for the kids, positioned near the bedroom which is designed for the nanny.

The Good

• Hot tub
• Views
• Amount of space

The Bad

• Poorly maintained
• Goddamn freezing
• So close, yet so far, from excellence

The Luxurious

• Privacy
• Exclusivity
• Uniqueness
• Activities

Conclusion

I love properties that are truly unique — ones that stand apart, that don’t feel generic or engineered for Instagram glory.  Leobo is exactly that.  A private home, on private land, with no other guests in sight, and a wild itinerary of experiences you don’t expect to find.  Aside from Ol Jogi, there’s really nowhere else quite like it, where the whole environment exists purely for your pleasure.  Just thinking about what’s on offer here makes me smile.

But Leobo doesn’t offer the polished luxury of a top-tier lodge.  There are flashes of it, but not the full package.

There’s no denying the creativity or charm.  I love how well the house flows, how many small spaces there are to lounge in.  Despite being smaller than some other exclusive-use homes I’ve stayed in, it’s incredibly well thought out — in many ways, more liveable than many larger, more expensive properties.  There are lots of areas to chill out in, which is something I find missing in properties built for commercial use.

But it’s rough around the edges.  And the middle.  And pretty much everywhere else too. There’s underfloor heating, but it doesn’t work.  This strange paint on the exterior wood has permanently stained several items of clothing.  The kinda things that are just not acceptable.  Maintenance isn’t a strong suit.  Tech definitely isn’t.  The property feels unkept, uncleaned, almost dirty in places.  It feels, at times, like it’s been winging it for a while — running on passion and potential rather than investment.

It needs investment.  The managers are passionate and clearly care, but passion alone doesn’t fix underfloor heating or bring in more wildlife.  Right now, the cold nights and lack of game make it a tougher sell.  Which is all the more of a shame, as it’s a wonderful property at heart.

The talk was all on the plans about to be signed off.  The plan is to add two more rooms, which I think will help it significantly, as it will find itself in amongst the standard exclusive-use properties, which tend to start at five rooms. I’d love to see a proper gym and spa added too.  But fixing what is there is a better start.  The bones are there.  The team cares.  But it needs money — real investment — to evolve into the ultra-luxury product it could be.  We also heard future plans involving hyenas, cheetah walks, and more conservation-focused initiatives.  I hope they come through with it.  If you can add a bit more animals into this environment, it will be absolutely epic.  If they get the next phase right, it could become one of the most distinctive places to stay in Africa.

So as usual, there is a lot of promise, and as usual, I can only hope it happens.  But for now, it’s a place you have to go into with some serious misgivings.  Not least of which whether you’re comfortable with your clothes being stained and your extremities suffering frostbite.

Still, I’d return – just not in winter.  Or anytime the temperature drops below 20C.  The activities are fun.  The house has soul.  And the nanny — the glorious, life-saving nanny — changed my life.