What Camp?

Months ago, Tebogo and I made a plan to visit him again in the Delta.

I brought a small two-person tent for Amy and I to share while we were there and then leave it with Tebogo — a simple gesture of continuity.

On our way to meet him, we were caught in a massive electrical storm. Torrential rain came down as we traveled in an open-sided vehicle. The sky closed in, the ground blurred, and the cellular networks went down completely.

There was no way to reach Tebogo.

So we waited.

Sitting in the rain, soaked through, I became aware of how little control we actually had. I found myself thinking about the small practical things — like the fact that I hadn’t brought a groundsheet for the tent, and wondering how we would manage in these conditions.

Eventually, connection was restored, and we found Tebogo.

We crossed by boat and stepped out onto an island, walking through the rain, visibility still low. In the distance, I began to make out shapes — structures of some kind. I wondered, briefly, if perhaps we were being taken to an existing camp because of the weather.

But Tebogo kept walking.

He led us to a large, beautiful safari tent and opened the entrance.

Inside were two beds, tables, and, beyond a second opening, a simple bush toilet and bucket shower.

Only then did I understand.

For months, without announcement, he had been creating a tented camp on his ancestral land — land for which he had recently been given guardianship.

He had not spoken about it.

He had simply been doing the work.

When he opened the tent and we stepped inside, I was speechless.

In awe. In wonder.

I felt so held in a life so real that it took my breath away.