Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A land whose silence is louder than anything I’ve heard. A land filled with the call of the jackal, the swoop of the owl’s wings, the swish of the aardvark’s tale, and the squawk of the baboon. And if you don’t hear them, you think you do. You want to. And you listen even more carefully than you’ve listened to anything in your life. Samara is peaceful and mystical and emotional, too.
In Samara, a day doesn’t go by without tears, tears that flow from your belly up. Tears that can’t be stopped, tears that can’t be explained. Experiencing Samara is experiencing a land of raw emotions with raw emotion.
And it’s a land of respect, too. The land, its people, the animals respect each other. Admire each other. Celebrate each other. And maybe fear each other a little, too. And their mututal respect leads to a harmony I’ve not witnessed before among a land, its people, and the animals whose presence makes it special.
Oh yes, Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A land that respectfully demands respect. A peaceful existence which shares its peace with those who come to visit. And there is so much to share.
Last night as the sun began to sink down to the horizon leaving a pinkish haze hovering over the mountains, we gingerly hiked down a rocky, somewhat treacherous cliff to a small, hidden cave below, motivated by anticipation of seeing the famous ancient rock art waiting on the cave’s walls. I haven’t hiked like that since I was a young girl climbing with my Uncle Tommy at Palo Dura Canyon 43 years ago, and then last year Ian, who has cracked rib cartilage, broke his arm walking down stairs in the Battleship of Texas. So I prayed a lot on the way down to the cave. “Oh Lord. Please don’t let us break a bone here in the mountains of South Africa where there is no light to be seen, no one around, and no EMS vehicle that could possibly make it this far!” Yes, it was frightening, but once we made it to the cave, the trek was most definitely worth the risk.
In the serene stillness of that tiny cave nestled in the dolomite mountain and blocked by the sweet thorn bush, the only noise was the sound of our pounding chests, pumping with adrenalin and excitement and relief for having survived the hike down the rocky cliff. And we stood, respectfully silent and awed at what was before us. We came to Samara expecting animals, but we’ve experienced so much more.
The first ancient drawing we encountered was a cheetah, a simple child-like, reddish-hue sketch drawn by a bushman 2,000 years ago. A piece of art symbolic of this land, still home to that amazing cat. And then there was more art by the Ngami painted a mere 1,000 years ago. Drawings of man with animals, the giraffe recognizable immediately. Art distinctly different than the bushman’s art. And unique just like the experience of Samara. And, of course, much more than you expect. Reid’s repeated phrase - “Just wait. There’s more!” – wasn’t a hyperbole. There’s always more in this magical, harmonious place.
Yes. Samara is a land that screams to be sung about.
And it’s a land where the reserve ranger is a teacher as well as a guide. And when the ranger says, “Follow me,” you know to be careful for you might be the food for a waiting predator. But when he says, “You go first,” then you learn there is food waiting for you! And what an experience both of them are. First, climbing out of the Toyota land cruiser and gingerly meandering down a darkened, shaded path in the midst of “monkey land” where the greenish foliage drapes over the road and the majestic buffalo are hidden further down in the bush, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But Shakemore, our trusted guide, said to go first, and soon I found out that awaiting us was a culinary surprise: table cloths and silverware and plates and a delicious, kingly feast including anything we wanted to drink. Golden-crusted fish and lamb sticks and chicken sandwiches on rolls and flakey-pastry quiche and bean salad and green salad with cucumbers and tomatoes and the most incredible multi-layered chocolate cake oozing with chocolate icing from Ian’s birthday celebration the night before. And a fire to warm our hands after washing them in a porcelain basin filled with warm water.
What we’ve learned is that the adventure of the animals and the adventure of the land are only part of the Samara experience. The respectful treatment we were given was equally amazing and a part of our adventure as well. And when the ranger says, “You go first. I have a surprise for you,” we learned he wasn’t kidding!
And we also learned that when the guide says, “Follow me,” there’s also going to be a surprise, too. Climbing out of that same land cruiser and walking single-file, Reid grabbed my phone and silenced it, which was enough to remind me we were walking in a land of wild animals. And then, circling a series of sweet thorn trees loved by the giraffe and padding softly through a path of red grass blowing like grain, our knowledgeable guide stopped and pointed. “See that right there. Under the tree?” But I only saw a dark shadow. So he motioned me closer, “Right there.” And this time I saw, less than ten feet away and nestled comfortably under the shade of a tree, a cheetah who seemed totally oblivious to our presence, which I knew was far from the truth. That cheetah knew we were there. And then there was that moment of awe tinged with fear for when I looked at Ian, his face was stricken with terror! Respect and fear go hand-in-hand in this surprising bush land filled constantly with new surprises. Every single moment of every single day.
Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A lyrical land that awakens dreams in me, dreams not forgotten but long buried. Dreams like hope that still rises from the ashes, dreams that give birth to more possibilities. Dreams of more. Always more.
God must look down on Samara and smile and think, “Oh yes, it is very good.”
I didn’t want to leave Samara today. More tears came. But I will sing about it in my own way for its music mistily touched my soul. Oh yes, I’ll sing about it in my own way by respectfully writing about it. More. Tomorrow.
For Samara is a land that needs to be sung about.