As we have mentioned many times over the years, fewer animals come to our holiday home on weekends. It has become a familiar pattern, one we have come to expect rather than question. There are two primary reasons for this, both of which make perfect sense when we pause to consider the bigger picture.
First, there is a noticeable increase in activity throughout Marloth Park. By the time Friday arrives, the quiet roads begin to fill with vehicles as tourists pour in for a few days of escape. With them comes an energy shift. What is typically a calm and predictable environment during the week becomes busier, louder, and far less predictable. It is easy to imagine how this might feel to the wildlife. The animals, so attuned to subtle changes in their surroundings, seem to retreat, choosing caution over curiosity.
The second reason is something we have witnessed time and time again. Many visitors feed the animals, often offering foods that are not suitable for them. While this is usually done with good intentions, it creates a different kind of draw. The animals begin to associate certain homes with easy and abundant food sources. Given the choice, they will often return to those places rather than seek out the familiar pellets we provide.
We cannot blame them. It truly is the nature of the beast, no pun intended.
This morning, as we sit on the veranda hoping to capture a few photos to share, the absence is unmistakable. The bush stretches out before us, quiet and still, with no sign of our usual visitors. No warthogs wander by, no kudu linger in the distance. Only the occasional gecko breaks the stillness, slipping across the floor in a quick and effortless motion.
Even so, there is comfort in knowing this is temporary. Tomorrow is another day. Once Monday arrives and the weekend visitors begin their journeys home, the environment shifts once again. Slowly, almost cautiously, the animals begin to filter back into our surroundings. It often feels as though they are checking to see if things have settled, if the familiar calm has returned. When they realize it has, they stay, moving through the bush with a sense of ease that feels reassuring to witness.
They always seem happy to see us, or at least willing to return to a place where they can count on a bit of sustenance. The pellets we offer are a small but consistent part of their diet, especially now. The bush may appear lush and green after months of generous rain, but appearances can be deceiving. Much of the vegetation they rely on has already been grazed down. What looks abundant is often depleted, leaving them with fewer options than one might expect at first glance.
On another note, last night at Jabula turned into one of those unexpectedly memorable evenings. Every seat at the bar was taken, and before long, we found ourselves chatting with a group of four: a father, his two beautiful adult daughters, and one daughter’s fiancé. The conversation began in the easy, familiar way these encounters often do. We shared where we were from, snippets of our travels, and the kind of lighthearted stories that fill the early part of an evening.
As time passed, the conversation deepened in a way that felt natural and unforced. Dawn and Leon joined in, and soon the seven of us were completely engaged, laughing, sharing, and enjoying one another’s company. When the music grew louder and the drinks flowed a little more freely, the atmosphere shifted into something that felt reminiscent of a place where everyone belongs. It had that welcoming, connected feeling that is hard to describe but easy to recognize.
We typically head home by 8:00 in the evening, but last night was different. We stayed until after 10:00, reluctant to leave such an enjoyable experience.
Back at the house, we settled into bed, thinking we might stream a few shows before falling asleep. Instead, we found ourselves drifting in and out, the long day catching up with us. Eventually, we gave in, closed the laptop, turned off the light, and let sleep take over.
I ended up sleeping longer than Tom. He was up and moving by 5:30 this morning, while I lingered in bed for a few extra hours, savoring the quiet start to the day.
Tonight, we will dine in, enjoying a meal on the veranda. As the weekend comes to a close and the tourists begin to leave, we hold onto the hope that a few of our wildlife friends might stop by. If not tonight, then tomorrow.
Either way, life is good, and we are content.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, June 14, 2016:
