The Nyala Family…Pure joy…A new little life…Norman’s last offspring…

The first time we saw Norman in 2018, the very first nyala to wander into our lives in Marloth Park since we began coming here in 2013, we could never have imagined the depth of the bond that would follow. At the time, he was simply a beautiful, somewhat cautious visitor, pausing at the edge of the garden as if deciding whether we were worthy of his trust. Over the years, that hesitation melted away. In its place came a familiarity that felt both remarkable and deeply moving.

Norman had a presence about him that was impossible to ignore. He was attentive in a way that made it seem as if he understood far more than we could ever prove. His little gestures, the tilt of his head, the way he approached with a quiet confidence, often made us laugh out loud. There was something unmistakably personal in those interactions, something that turned an ordinary wildlife sighting into a relationship we cherished more than we could have anticipated. We shared countless stories and photos of him, each one capturing a moment that felt entirely our own.

When he passed away five months ago, following the heartbreaking decision to euthanize him due to a broken jaw, the loss was profound. I found myself looking for him in all the usual places, half expecting him to appear as he always had. His absence left a space that could not easily be filled, and for a time, it felt as though something essential was missing from our days here.

In the midst of that loss, Nina, the matriarch and Norman’s first mate, continued to visit. Her presence has been a quiet comfort. There is strength in her, a steadiness that seems to hold the herd together. Watching her over these past months has offered a sense of continuity, a reminder that life in the bush carries on even when we struggle to do the same. Her family has grown into a group of nine, each one contributing to the gentle activity that unfolds in our garden.

Then, late yesterday afternoon, a new and unexpected joy arrived. Among the group was a tiny newcomer, still unsteady, still discovering the world one careful step at a time. It did not take long for us to notice the faint white line beginning to form between his eyes, a telltale sign that he is a young male. That small detail filled us with excitement, as if we were being introduced to the next chapter in a story we already hold dear.

We named him Nico, continuing our tradition of giving each member of this extended nyala family a name beginning with the letter n. Nina’s name, given by someone else before we adopted it ourselves, set the tone for this pattern, and it has felt only natural to carry it forward. Of course, we are fully aware that these animals likely answer to many names as they move from one garden to another. Depending on who is watching and where they come from, Nico may just as easily be called Hans, Pierre, or Julio.

There is something quietly amusing about that thought. These animals, so wild and independent, have learned to respond to whatever sounds we humans choose to assign them. Not out of affection, perhaps, but out of practicality. They know that recognition often leads to a reward, whether it be pellets, apples, or carrots. We have no illusions about this arrangement. They are clever, observant, and entirely capable of understanding how to get what they want.

And yet, knowing this does not diminish the charm of it all. If anything, it makes the connection feel even more special. In their own way, these animals meet us halfway. They allow us to believe, even for a moment, that there is something more than simple exchange taking place. It is in that space, somewhere between instinct and affection, that the magic of these encounters truly lives.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, July 24, 2016: