From Dubai to South Africa: Filipina expat Kathlene Fidora’s wild journey through the lens

A leap of faith brought her to the UAE, where she worked as a bartender by day and photographer by heart. Her talent took her all the way to Paris for the Monin Cup UAE finals—where she also met her future husband. Their shared love of travel led them across continents, but it was a 2017 trip to South Africa that transformed her purpose. “Seeing elephants roam free and lions in their natural habitat was both breathtaking and heartbreaking,” she says. “That’s when I knew I had to speak up for them.”

Now, Fidora’s work is more than art—it’s advocacy. Her wildlife photography spotlights endangered species and fragile ecosystems, using each frame to spark awareness and action. “Every image is a message,” she says. “A reminder that the wild is vanishing—and we have to fight for it.”

In this exclusive interview with Gulf News, Fidora shares raw moments from the African bush, near-misses with predators, and why telling honest, ethical stories through photography matters more than ever.

Q: What inspired you to choose South Africa for your photo essay, and how did you prepare for photographing such powerful animals in the wild? A: South Africa has always held a kind of mystique for me. The vastness of the landscape, the rawness of the animal encounters—it’s like stepping into a different rhythm of life. It wasn’t just about photographing animals; it was about experiencing nature at its most honest and untamed.

Leading up to the trip, I immersed myself in everything I could—documentaries, books on animal behavior, online masterclasses. I reached out to a few safari guides I’d met on previous trips and got advice on what to expect during that time of year—weather patterns, predator movement, even how to react if we encountered certain animals unexpectedly. My husband and I planned this journey ourselves, so we made a list of key locations within the reserves that were known for biodiversity. We also made sure our gear was lightweight but robust—long lenses for distance, weatherproof covers, and plenty of backups for batteries and memory cards. Preparation was both technical and mental. You have to be ready for anything.

Q. Can you describe a moment during the trip when you felt both awe and fear while capturing footage of predators like lions or tigers? A: There was one morning that still gives me chills. We were tracking a pride of lions at dawn—soft golden light just beginning to break through the horizon. Our guide had spotted fresh tracks in the sand, and suddenly, there he was—a massive male lion stepping out of the grass, about 30 feet away from our vehicle.

He was calm, but alert. His amber eyes locked with mine for a moment. That stare—it was ancient, knowing, wild. He moved slowly toward us, each pawfall deliberate. We didn’t speak. We didn’t breathe. The tension in the air was almost tangible. There was no barrier, no enclosure—just us and him in shared space. Was I scared? Yes. But the fear was layered with reverence. That moment—the golden light on his mane, the soft sound of his breath, the dust kicked up by his feet—was one of the most profound of my life. I only took two shots. Then I put the camera down and just watched.

Q: What challenges did you face while shooting in the wild—weather, safety, lighting, or animal behavior—and how did you overcome them? A: Everything in the wild is unpredictable. One moment it’s sunny and still; the next, a sudden wind shifts everything. The animals react to the environment constantly, so if the light changes or a predator moves into the area, the whole ecosystem adjusts. Lighting was probably my biggest hurdle. Midday sun flattens everything and creates harsh shadows, while early mornings meant dealing with cold temperatures that drained my batteries quickly. I had to adjust my shooting schedule to maximize the golden hours—those fleeting moments just after sunrise and before sunset.

Then there’s safety. We were alone much of the time, so we had to rely on our training—watching animal body language, staying inside the vehicle, never making sudden movements. We were always respectful of the space we were in. These animals aren’t actors; they don’t perform for the camera. You wait for them to tell their own stories.

Q: How do you balance the need to get a compelling shot with respecting the animals’ space and natural behavior? A: That’s a balance I take very seriously. I’ve seen too many tourists or influencers trying to provoke reactions just to get a dramatic photo. That’s not only unethical—it’s dangerous. My philosophy is simple: do no harm. I work with long lenses so I can stay well back. I watch for signs of stress—flared nostrils, tail movements, vocalizations—and the moment I see a shift in body language, I pull back.

Some of my best shots came when the animal didn’t even know I was there. A lioness nursing her cubs. A kudu drinking at dawn. A leopard grooming in the shade. These intimate moments only happen when the animal feels completely at ease. That’s when photography becomes art—and when it becomes meaningful.

Q. What story or message are you hoping your photos and videos will convey to people who view your essay? A: I want people to feel something when they see my work. Wonder. Respect. Maybe even discomfort. Because that emotional response can be the first step toward awareness—and change.

This project is a love letter to the wild, yes, but it’s also a warning. So many of the species I captured—the African wild dog, certain lion subspecies, even large birds like the southern ground hornbill—are disappearing before our eyes. Not tomorrow. Now.

If my images can make someone pause before buying ivory, or support a conservation fund, or just think twice about where they spend their tourism dollars—then I’ve done my job.

This isn’t about taking beautiful photos. It’s about using photography as a voice—for the voiceless, for the fragile ecosystems we’re losing, for future generations who deserve to know what it’s like to hear a lion roar across an open plain.