It was an early winter morning a little before sunrise – that liminal period of time between darkness and light. When I left the house to feed the horses, it was so quiet, the silence felt deafening. I soon discovered the opposite was true. In that cold predawn stillness, sound was everywhere, once I started listening.
That Liminal Period Between Darkness and Light.
I have to admit on most mornings, I’m on autopilot as I walk to the barn. Typically, I’ve only been up about ten or fifteen minutes and haven’t yet had my coffee. It’s pretty rote – walk to the barn, feed the cats, feed the horses and return to the house to make coffee.
I suppose I have the sudden snorting of a buck to thank for my change on this particular day. I stopped and tried to pinpoint his location in the paddock, but couldn’t see him. The question of whether he was sounding an alarm, or merely indicating curiosity was soon answered – I heard muffled footfalls, and then saw six deer leaping our fence before clamoring into a neighbor’s field. Our dog Carmen and I were both so startled, neither of us did anything except watch them go, their white tails vivid in the half-light. I have no idea why Carmen didn’t chase them – it was the first of three unusual non-actions on her part that morning.
The deer must have disturbed some nearby turkeys, as two of them started “gobbling” in the woods by the pond. I looked for them as well, but couldn’t tell if they were on the ground, or the low branches of a tree. Carmen, for the second time that morning, did nothing.
By now, my ears were evidently alert, as I heard a woodpecker tapping near the side of the house. A few footsteps later, the whinnies of our neighbors’ horses came from about 100 yards away. That was unusual for them at this time of the morning. Perhaps something was about, as they were joined by the barking of our friend’s dogs, Jonah and Jebson, about a quarter mile down Swains Road. Carmen’s ears pricked up. Much like the dog telegraph in the movie, 101 Dalmatians, the two frequently start a message that circulates among the other dogs in the neighborhood. This morning, Carmen must have decided they were just gossiping – after listening for a second, she trotted to the barn, with nary a bark.
Jonah and Jebson Trying to Look Innocent
It was chilly in the barn and there was a skim of ice on the water buckets. Our cats, Ollie and Mama Cat, stared silently at me, waiting for their breakfast. The horses weren’t so quiet. Stella and Katie nickered, snorted and pawed the ground. They too wanted their breakfast, but made a much bigger demonstration than the cats about it.
I fed the cats and then the horses, left the barn and started making my way back to the house. It was nearing sunrise now and there was some color in the eastern sky. Carmen and I stopped for a moment just outside the barn and looked to the east. We disturbed a couple of crows who scolded us with their caws, but the cardinals in the nearby evergreen didn’t seem to mind our presence and continued to sing their song of CHEER, CHEER, CHEER ,,, PRETTY, PRETTY ,, PRETTY, PRETTY!
Color and Light in the Eastern Sky.
I thought about the birds and animals, both tame and wild, who were there to greet Carmen and I that morning. It brought to mind one of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou – “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.” While watching the sun rise that morning, I had an additional thought – In the quietude of a winter’s morning, hear the voices of God’s creatures and feel blessed, for we are all God’s creatures.
Sunrise, or Sunset? Which do you favor? Both can be equally beautiful. Both can be equally colorful. Both are fleeting. It’s a bit deeper than just color and beauty though, isn’t it? I enjoy them both, but if I could only pick one? Not an easy question to answer, but I would probably say…
It’s easy to say you must be a morning person to see the sunrise, although I think that’s a bit of a cop-out. For myself, I wake up at approximately the same time all year long – about 6:45-7:00AM. That means in the dead of winter, I see some gorgeous sunrises. For the rest of the year? I’m out of luck, unless traveling or something. Virtually all of us are up at least occasionally at sunrise. Maybe not often, but at least occasionally for travel or work, or something else going on, so let’s take the morning person argument off the table.
Many photographers and photography sites seem to favor sunrise – better light, or at least cleaner light I suppose. Maybe that’s true, but to my naked eye? I don’t see the difference.
So what is the difference? Maybe it’s more metaphysical and less about color and light.
Who doesn’t like sunrise and the start of a new day? Poetry and quotes are filled with “wisdom” on this subject – The symbolism of darkness going back to light. The chance to pursue new opportunities with a clean slate. The promise of a new day and all that entails. The stillness of a new morning, that perhaps gives us the chance to think clearly and cleanly, almost as if the morning dew washed away our cobwebs from the night. This is stuff that reaches out to our core and there are elements of truth in all of it.
Sunrise at Rohan Farm one day this winter
Ah, but sunsets… They provide a close to the day and our activities. They let us take a small pause as we watch the setting sun, reflect back on the day, and maybe think about what did, or didn’t, happen that day. And if we are with others? I’ve learned over the years that for me, nothing says fellowship, like drinking a “sundowner” with friends while watching the dying light of day. That shared feeling of quiet and peacefulness is pretty wonderful. The warmth of those feelings often extend into the evening hours. And of course, most of us see many more sunsets than sunrises over the course of our lives.
A Sunset in Africa last fall
As I think about it now, the feelings I experience at sunrise and sunset are different. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it’s real and it’s true. I guess I’d sum it up as thinking about new beginnings versus a time of reflection. How do you choose between those two versions of truth?
This is, quite frankly, too much thought about things that happen everyday. And of course, we don’t generally talk about, or remember those sunrises and sunsets happening in the rain, or the fog, or on a cloudy day. Most of us will experience 20,000-30,000 sunrises and sunsets over the course of our lives. I think it’s OK that not all of them are “perfect”. 😉
We were in the middle of the Kalahari Desert, on the edge of the Ntwetwe Salt Pan when it started to rain. I’d just started my second Gin and Tonic. Dinner was still a bit away, and we made a dash for shelter in the Land Cruiser…
We’d arrived at our Safari Camp, Leroo La Tau (The Lion’s Paw) the day before after a 1 1/2 hour flight on a six seater plane out of Kasane. Our camp was in a remote location along the Boteti River in the Makgadikgadi Game Reserve.
Cathy and the Plane that Flew us to the Makgadikgadi Game Reserve
One of the reasons we were excited about Leroo was that we were to spend one of our nights under the stars at the the Ntwetwe Salt Pan. We would be as remote as possible in the Kalahari Desert, with no ambient light, or connection to other humans. Literally, it would be just us, the desert and the sky – vastness and emptiness, intertwined.
By luck, or by happenstance, we arrived at Leroo on September 30th. Our hosts were celebrating the 55th anniversary of Botswana’s Independence from the British on September 30, 1966. After dinner, they served us a cake decorated in the colors of Botswana’s flag, and explained the meaning of each of the colors*. As we were eating our cake, it started to rain – not for long, perhaps only 20 minutes. We learned it rained on September 30th, 1966 as well, and as Botswana is such a dry country, rain is considered a blessing and a sign of good luck, particularly on Independence Day. We weren’t yet aware how that rain was going to impact our trip.
The next day, as we were getting ready to leave on our five hour drive for the Pan, we learned there was some concern on the part of our guide, Isaac, and the staff. It turned out not only had it rained at Leroo the night before, it probably also rained at Ntwetwe. The condition of the Pan was unknown, and we might not be able to drive on it, or even approach it without our vehicle sinking into the mud. We would not know until we arrived.
A decision was made to give it a shot and we piled into our Land Cruiser. In addition to Cathy and I, and our friends Bill and Sharon, there was a crew of three. Our guide was Isaac, who had led previous trips to the Pan (we were only the seventh group to actually do this). He was accompanied by Dabe, a Bushman (The San People) who was very familiar with the desert environment, and Kago, a manager from the camp.
Setting out for the Ntwetwe Pan in our Land Cruiser
After driving nearly 50 kilometers on a highway, we turned off into the desert. We had nearly 70 kilometers to go, which doesn’t sound far, but with no real road, we would follow a path through the grass and shifting sand. There were still several hours before we reached the Pan.
The “Road” Through the Grass and Sand
As time passed, the environment became starker and vegetation started to disappear. There were no more trees, and few bushes. We were left with a sea of grass. Animals too disappeared. Other than some birds, meerkats, and mongoose, we saw no other wild game on the trip. We were told there wasn’t any real water this far into the desert, so the big game stayed away. Interestingly, we did pass some herds of cattle.
This Meerkat is One of the Few Animals we Viewed on the Drive
Eventually, around 5PM we arrived at the Ntwetwe Pan, with sundown still about an hour away. It had definitely rained on the Pan and it would be a bad choice to drive on it. Although it appeared dry, our Land Cruiser would have soon sunk up to the hubs and been trapped. Instead, we camped on the edge of the Pan.
We connected with Maipa and Mash who drove “The Elephant” (a vehicle with the kitchen equipment, lights, tarps, loo, etc) to the Pan earlier in the day. It was they who set up the kitchen, and the dining area. You could already smell good things cooking on the fire and stove for our dinner. We were served sundowners, and then received a safety talk and a briefing on how to use the loo.
Our Chef, Mash, Fixing Dinner, While Isaac was Making our Sundowners…
We had time before dinner and wandered around. As I took a sip of my G&T, my gaze looked to the east across the Pan. Vastness and Emptyness? Sure. The word Nothingness also came to mind. There was nothing but a line on the horizon separating the sky above from the salt pan below. Loneliness … desolation … flatness… all were also good descriptors. It was flat as far as you could see in any direction.
Nothingness…
It started to get dark, and we viewed lightning storms on the horizon to the north of us. In Botswana, the weather generally flows east to west, so Isaac thought we were safe. Of course, there IS the occasional freak storm ;-)… I’d just started on my second G&T when the sky opened and it began to rain.
Lightning During the Rainstorm in the Kalahari
Three things then happened in quick succession. First, Isaac directed us to the Land Cruiser where we could stay dry and stay out of the way. Next, the staff divided into two crews. The first one quickly broke down the dinner settings and packed them away. Our table, complete with white table cloth, glassware and china was secured. The second crew grabbed our sleeping mattresses and at the same time popped open small two-person tents and put the mattresses in the tents to keep them dry. If you recall, we were to sleep under the stars. That was no longer going to happen.
It was pitch black, except for the occasional flash of lightning. We were staying pretty dry under the Land Cruiser roof, and then one of us started laughing. Pretty soon all of us were. Here we were, in the middle of the Kalahari Desert, one of the driest places on earth, getting rained on while sipping our drinks in a Land Cruiser. How could you not see the humor in that?
Twenty minutes later the rain stopped. The crew quickly reassembled our dining table and just before 7:30PM, we sat down to dinner. Our chef, Mash, served a feast of rolls cooked in a dutch oven, salad, beet salad, a cauliflower and cheese dish, ribs, and chicken filets in a cream sauce. White and red wines were opened. One more surprise awaited us. The tarp above our table had gathered a considerable amount of rain and while eating our first bite, some of it spilled on the table. We quickly moved the table and then we made our way through the delicious meal. We were still chuckling about the rainstorm, but it was a different chuckle as our bellies grew full.
Mash Serving Dinner After the Rain
After dinner, we joined the crew around the fire. Some stories were told and of course a few jokes. A couple of us may have drunk a Jameson. The sky kept changing from clear to cloudy and Isaac confirmed we would sleep in tents. It was a good call, as it rained twice more during the night.
I woke once in the late hours of the night to go the bathroom. The sky had cleared by then and as I looked up, I saw my old friend Orion high in the sky overhead. I smiled to myself – it’s nice to know some things never change.
The next morning while still dark, I woke to a voice softly singing. It was Kago singing her morning prayers. I listened quietly and out of nowhere, felt an immense sense of peace come over me. I can’t help but wonder if the remoteness of where we were also contributed to the feeling.
The camp started stirring and I got out of bed about 5:30. Although still dark, a fire was already going, and our morning breakfast was cooking. The eastern sky was turning gold and red, as the sun was about to appear on the horizon.
The Moon was still high in the sky as dawn approached.
As the sun rose, I walked to edge of our camp by myself. I again saw the vastness and emptiness of the Ntwetwe Pan to the east. There was a beauty to it that provoked an ache in my heart. Even now, I find it hard to describe.
Sunrise over the Ntwetwe Pan in the Kalahari
In Botswana, the word for rain is Pula*, which also means a blessing, as rain is so scarce. Although the rain the night before and on Independence Day changed the tenor of the trip, I think it also gave me something else I can’t define. As I looked at the vastness of the Pan that morning at sunrise, I felt the presence of something larger. God? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. It was more a feeling that even though I am so small, I belonged to something much larger than myself. To me, the vast emptiness I was looking at no longer felt like nothingness or loneliness. There was a weight and depth to it, and yes, a peacefulness. I felt blessed to be in such a remote location. Maybe hearing Kago sing her prayers earlier in the dark is what changed my feelings to something more spiritual. I doubt I will ever know.
My Friend Bill Surreptitiously Snapped this Picture of me Contemplating the Pan
A bit later, I rejoined the others and soon we ate a breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, yogurt, fruit and freshly made biscuits. Afterwards, we packed up, and just after 7AM, started the five hour return trip to Leroo. Later in the afternoon while on safari, our guide Ollie tracked and showed us a Cheetah and her three cubs, which was amazing. For me, even as I was viewing the cheetahs, my mind returned to the sunrise at Ntwetwe and the ethereal feelings I experienced.
Addendum:
– *Pula actually has four different meanings: rain, a blessing, “Cheers!” If toasting someone over a drink, and lastly, it is what they call their currency. It’s a pretty versatile and important word in Botswana.
⁃ I’d like to thank Isaac Mpuchane, our guide, for reading my blog and providing input. As we traded emails, he sent me a link to an article that places the Ntwetwe Pan as one of the possible locations for the start of human civilization. Maybe my spiritual feeling wasn’t as accidental as I thought. You can read the article he sent me here: https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-50210701 If you want to learn more about Isaac, or see some of his amazing photography, you can do so at: http://www.instagram.com/isak_naturephotography
⁃ I’d also like to thank Bill Reichhardt for the picture of me on the edge of the Pan. Bill is quite the photographer and if you would like to see more of his pictures from Africa, you can view them here: http://billreichphoto.com/
– * The colors in the flag of Botswana have the following meanings: The light blue represents water, and specifically rain, as it is such a precious resource. The black band with the white frame has two meanings. First, they symbolise the harmony and cooperation between the black and white people who live in Botswana. Furthermore, they represent the stripes of the zebra, the national animal of Botswana.
Botswana’s Flag
– This is the sixth in a series of blogs about our 2021 trip to Africa. The other blogs are listed here, in the reverse order of their publishing.
⁃ This is the second time we have used Karen Dewhurst, of Sikeleli Travel & Expeditions as our travel consultant. After working with her in 2018, there was no doubt we would use her and Sikeleli again. All accommodations were amazing, the food and wine excellent, the logistics and travel arrangements perfect and the animal viewing exceeded all expectations. If you are coming to this part of the world, I highly recommend her and them. You can reach Karen at: karen@sikelelitravel.com | (+27) 81 067 1094 (South Africa). Their overall website is at: https://sikelelitravel.com/ .
Live Life Exuberantly 