It’s noon on Thursday, and I am sitting at the table on the veranda, gazing out into the bush, wondering who might wander by next. There is a quiet anticipation in these moments, a stillness that feels alive, as if anything could happen at any time. The air is warm but not oppressive, and every rustle in the bush draws my attention. Living this way has taught me to slow down, to watch, and to appreciate the small, unexpected visits that make each day feel unique.
A few weeks ago, when we left Minnesota, I made a mistake that still lingers in my mind. I left my favorite butcher knife behind on the kitchen counter at the hotel. It wasn’t just any knife. It was one of those rare finds that feels perfect in your hand, balanced and reliable, the kind of tool that makes cooking feel effortless. I didn’t realize it was missing until after we had unpacked here. That sinking feeling hit me immediately.
I called the hotel as soon as I could, hoping for a small miracle, but the knife was already gone. It’s easy to imagine what happened. Housekeeping must have found it, and I can’t say I blame them for keeping it. It was, after all, a beautiful knife. Still, I felt the loss more than I expected. It wasn’t just about the cost. It was about familiarity, about having something dependable in a lifestyle where so much is temporary.
I began searching for a replacement almost right away. I checked Takealot, which has become our go-to for many things here in South Africa, but I couldn’t find anything that compared. Everything I saw felt like a compromise. I wanted that same knife, the exact one I had purchased back in 2024 from Amazon in the United States.
Louise mentioned that she had been using Amazon South Africa since it launched and had good experiences with it. I decided to give it a try. I found the original order in my orders file on Amazon USA. I copied the name and pasted it into the search bar. To my surprise, there it was—the same knife.
It felt like a small victory. Without hesitation, I placed the order. Of course, it’s not quite the same as ordering from Amazon in the US. There is no next-day delivery or even anything close to it. The estimated arrival time is nearly three weeks, and it will most likely ship from the US warehouse. Even so, knowing it is on its way is enough to make me happy.
The price was the same as before, Zar 1324, about US $80. That consistency felt reassuring in its own way. In the meantime, I have tried to make do with the assortment of knives here. I have sharpened them as best I can, but none of them come close to what I had. Cooking has felt slightly off.
Still, there is something comforting about knowing that soon I will have my proper tools again. My favorite frying pan has been here waiting for me, untouched since we left nearly a year ago. Once the knife arrives, I know I will feel a renewed sense of enthusiasm in the kitchen. Cooking, for me, is not just about preparing meals. It is part of how I settle into a place, how I create a sense of home no matter where we are.
As I sit here now, my thoughts shift from knives and cooking back to the bush in front of me. Right on cue, as if he knows he is being thought about, Hal appears. Hal is a wildebeest we came to know during our last stay here, and somehow, he has remembered us. Since our return, he has resumed his regular visits, as though no time has passed at all.
Something is endearing about him. Wildebeests are not known for their beauty, but Hal has a presence that draws me in. He looks at me with his small eyes, and although his vision is not particularly strong, there is a sense of recognition in the way he pauses and stares. He becomes animated in his own quiet way, shifting his stance, holding eye contact just long enough to feel meaningful.
We have learned that wildebeests often travel with zebras, forming a kind of partnership that benefits them both. Their grazing habits do not compete, and their different strengths help them detect danger more effectively. It is a simple yet brilliant arrangement, one that speaks to the balance found in nature.
Watching Hal, I am reminded again of how fortunate we are to be here. This life, with its mix of routine and unpredictability, feels both grounded and extraordinary. We live what could be called a normal life, cooking meals, running errands, waiting for packages to arrive. And yet, just beyond the veranda, the wild carries on, offering moments like this that make everything feel a little more magical.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, June 25, 2016:
