Zoë Scholtz

Mom and Dad instilled a love for camping in me as a child. Trips to the South Coast, visits to Cape Town, and the Drakensberg were just some of the places we frequented. Everyone was expected to help and we each had a clearly defined task. I became proficient at wielding a rubber mallet, folding tents into bags, and earned a degree in tripping over guy ropes and tent pegs.  Aside from the obvious aspects, camping taught me useful life skills such as how to adapt and make a plan when things go wrong; magically being able to fit awkward shapes into impossibly small spaces; and the importance of planning in advance. It was also during these holidays that I grew to love the outdoors.  Whilst dad loved camping, he was adamant there should always be functioning facilities, I was thus accustomed to communal ablutions, flushing toilets, electrified campsites, and running water. Little did I know that such luxuries would all become optional extras when my husband and I started with our...

The Waterhole  I was sitting cross-legged on a small patch of pokey dry grass. In front of me was a watering hole, to my right a lone giraffe methodically chewed at the green shoots of a tree. To my left was what I imagined inspired the game lodge's name: a vast expanse of the wide-open African bushveld, the golden thatch grass swayed gently in the light breeze and Akasia trees dotted the landscape. Hubby and I were taking a much needed holiday at Safari Plains, part of the greater Mabula reserve, just outside Bela-Bela. I should be feeling calm and relaxed. Except, I wasn't... I was anxious or maybe scared was a better word. I couldn’t settle to anything, and my stomach persisted in twisting in knots. With a sigh, I set aside the novel I'd been trying to read. I had reread the same paragraph about four times but had absolutely no idea what I'd read.  The reason for my distress was that the moment I had been dreading since February 2020, had finally arri...