Zimbabwe's lions have never attracted as much attention as they have in the past few weeks, first with the shooting of Cecil the lion by a trophy hunter and, more recently, the tragic death of safari guide Quinn Swales.

There is no suggestion in anything I've read that Swales did the wrong thing. Far from it: he's been lauded as a hero for putting himself between the lion and the party of tourists he was leading on a walking safari. As a professional guide, he did his job.

Cecil's killing, however, is being replayed in the courts in Zimbabwe with allegations of unethical, illegal practices. (Walter Palmer, the Minnesota dentist who killed Cecil, has gone back to work, as protesters called for him to be sent to Zimbabwe to face trial.)

My own experiences with lions have, in the main, been very pleasurable and rewarding. It's a thrill to see these magnificent creatures and it's possible and safe to get very close to them in a vehicle on safari.

The two latest lion incidents happened in Zimbabwe's Hwange National Park, a place I know well. Every year for the past 17, I've taken part in a voluntary wildlife census there in the park, counting animals.

A few years ago I was sitting in my Land Rover by a waterhole, counting. It was cold and quiet at four in the morning and at that time there was no wildlife to be seen.

The usual rule in African national parks is that tourists do not get out of their vehicles, other than at demarcated spots. During the game census we're allowed to sit outside our vehicles during the day, but at night it's wise to stay inside.

I was tired and bored, so I got out of my vehicle to brew up some coffee on the gas cooker. As I stood, stretching, I heard a noise like a galloping horse. Before I even realised what it was, a fully-grown lioness flashed past, a couple of metres from me.

She was charging after a baby elephant, which, with the rest of its herd, had been heading down to drink. I scrambled back into the truck, heart in my mouth, shaking.

The lioness had probably been lying up all day and most of the night under a tree and I hadn't seen her. She missed the elephant and returned to my truck. She stood at the bumper bar and glared up at me through the windscreen.

She had a look in her eye that seemed to mirror what I was thinking. If she had veered off her attack vector by one degree and aimed for me instead of the elephant she would have had the easiest meal of her life.

It was a timely reminder for me that no matter how much experience a human has in the bush he or she should always remember that the lion is the top of the food chain and we exist in his kingdom by his good graces.

I like to think Swales would have agreed with me. I too have gone on walking safaris tracking lions. It's exciting and an element of fear adds to the rush, but with a good, experienced guide, tourists are safe.

The most dangerous thing I do in Africa, where I spend six months a year writing, is drive. Drink driving, speeding and general craziness kill tens of thousands of people here each year on the roads. Deaths from encounters with wildlife happen, but they are far rarer.

Swales, by all accounts, stood his ground when the lion that killed him started to charge. He did not run, and nor did his guests, which was the right thing to do. His death was unusual, though perhaps no different to a motorist who is driving along at 60 kp/h and is killed in a random head-on crash by a drink-driver.

The lion that killed him wasn't drunk, but it acted out of character. We will never know why.

What we do know is that wild lions are in trouble. It's estimated that somewhere between 20,000 and 30,000 lions left in the wild. That's about 10 per cent of the population a hundred years ago.

Only seven African countries – Zimbabwe, South Africa, Botswana, Namibia, Kenya, Tanzania and Ethiopia – have populations of more than a thousand.

Habitat loss and killings by farmers, who lose livestock when lions range outside of unfenced reserves, are the two biggest threats to lions.

There are arguments for and against the hunting in Africa, but with lion numbers at an all time low, it's hard for even the most diehard hunters to defend the shooting of lions for trophies.

Some people will say, in the wake of Swales' death, that it's not appropriate for tourists to walk in lion country, but I disagree.

The only thing that will save Africa's lions is tourism and better conservation efforts; and while the future is bleak, there are rays of hope.

In Namibia, where I've been researching and writing my next book, the numbers of rare desert lions have increased from an all time low of 20 in 1997 to about 250 today. Farmers there still hunt lions that stray into their lands, but locals are benefiting from the big cats as financial drawcards for tourists.

In Kenya, a young Masai boy invented a simple solar powered flashing light that can be hung outside cattle yards to scare lions away at night, and in South Africa lions are being reintroduced into reserves, such as the Karoo National Park, where they were previously extinct.

Where I live in South Africa, for part of the year, we occasionally get lions crossing into our property from the neighbouring Kruger National Park. I'm careful – I don't walk around at night – and while there's still an element of risk, I'd rather take my chances in a world with lions than one without.

Tony Park is the author of 11 novels set in Africa. His 12th, An Empty Coast, will be released in November 2015.