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Off the Record, Chapter 1: Light and Dust

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Off the Record, Chapter 1: Light and Dust

Welcome to 'Off the Record'! Here, we explore personal journeys and stories related to a place that has played a key role in who we are today, destinations and moments that we believe deserve to be shared for the incredible impact they had, and the beauty they hold (physical, emotional, intellectual…). In return, we’d love nothing more than to hear your stories of the places that marked you, and why you’d recommend them - why they were special! These Chapters will be slightly different to our Letters to you in format, but always filled with tips, information, and suggestions. They are certainly more personal pieces of writing, and hope to inspire a reflection on your own journeys and what they mean to you. Today, magical Mana Pools takes the spotlight, one of our favourite places in Africa, a place particularly special to us as it inspired the creation of Odysseia, amongst many other beautiful things. We hope to inspire you with the magic this part of the continent holds and to share it with you. So sit back, nice drink in hand, and let us whisk you away for the time of the read, a short journey to the bush filled with sage and lion calls.

The Mysteries of Mana Pools

I remember it like it was yesterday. The liquid gold. The glowing orange. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, nor anything I could have envisioned in my wildest dreams. It was sudden – one moment, we were standing in the warm dust, immersed in the blue forest. The afternoon glow was warm, as it always is when the sun hastens its descent, though the light was still relatively white. A young elephant bull was gently but firmly reaching up for leaves, not 200m from where we stood. We were hoping he would stay until the end, for we had heard stories of magical things that took place at dusk – I did not understand what it was, exactly, that we were waiting for. Though I had been fortunate enough to enjoy my fair share of stunning African sunsets in the past… it was my first time here. Yet, the mere evocation of Mana Pools instigated insistent whispers of delight in those fortunate individuals already initiated to this place’s mysteries, and I was curious to see why. 

And so here we were, a group of photographers standing in the dusty heat, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to us. The bull eventually moved away, ebbing deeper into the forest; a few impalas ambled by delicately, baboons crossed ahead. The guide was muttering, ‘any moment now’, we were all laughing light-heartedly – there’s just something about being in the bush that turns people giddy with happiness. 
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, flashes of pure gold materialised before us, followed by scintillating cascades of pink and orange. At the heart of one of them, an impala ram stood, head lifted, immobile, gazing in our direction. A true moment of majestic grace. For once, I barely remember the sounds and the feelings, only the wondrous sight of a light that would never leave me, forever emblazoned into the back of my pupils. For whenever I close my eyes, even now, almost 4 years later, I see flashes of gold and pink and a mysterious forest that is now home to a part of my heart. It had bewitched me entirely, and I longed – long – to return to that patch of trees and see that light again. Your soul never returns whole from Mana Pools. 
But let’s pause for a second, and start from the beginning. 
 
It’s hot. October strikes heavily in the Zambezi Valley, pressing and intoxicating, layering hot cell upon hot cell in preparation for the heavens to open and bless the dry land with life. It wouldn’t be for a few weeks, however. 
 

October, known as ‘the oven of Africa’ in many regions, is a month of dust and lethargy. In the heat, the mighty Zambezi flows invitingly and tortuously, yet one would do well to avoid the temptation of dipping a toe or two in its cool waters. Ancient creatures lurk below the glistening surface, ready for desperate animals to give in to the release and quench their thirst. Such is the circle of life, and the climax of the dry season is the perfect moment to observe animals of all shapes, colours, and sizes as they congregate around the sparse waterholes that survived the dry months. Relief will come though, soon, and the rounded bellies of the pregnant impalas are a clear sign that the rains are on their way. The bush knows how to tell us to be patient. 

For some of us, however, the hot African air is like home. With it comes the memory of happy hours spent in a place that smells of sage and musk, where doves coo and cicadas rub their resounding wings. Of hours spent in the dust, waiting for the light to transform particles into portals, allowing us glimpses of the gods in their immortal form. It all takes place in an instant though, and the memory of it – did it even happen? was it a dream? a blink of an eye and our pounding minds exploded in frenetic hallucinations of light? or was it real? – sends us back the next day, at the same time, waiting for the magic to happen once more. For few places in the world offer such timeless, mystical beauty, especially when accompanied by the watchful eye of some of Africa’s most talented guides: Zimbabweans. Years of strict and intensive training have shaped incredible passion into terrific skill, renowned across the continent. 

In October, there is a magical haze, and something almost romantic- or primal, for lack of a better word – about the dust and the earth. We set off before the first light, at hours only acceptable in the bush, yet already birds and insects are actively celebrating the new day. Excitement is almost palpable, buzzing in tune to the promise of dawn. We drive to find a spot, perhaps we want to spend some time with the magnificent and gentle tusker Boswell, or maybe look for the pack of wild dogs and their pups. On that note, I’ll always remember when a young pup came to investigate the end of my telephoto lens as I lay flat on the ground trying to get photos of the pack. Exhilarating, terrifying, all-sorts-of-emotions-whirling kind of feelings suddenly electrified me with a hot rush! Incredible. Sometimes though, the bush is ‘quiet’, though it depends on our definition of the word because, really, there’s always something going on. A flash of Lilian’s lovebirds – tiny parroting dots of green and red – may just flitter by, while turquoise dung-beetles engage in a dance around a nutrient-rich ball of droppings. And ultimately, it’s when you’re sat by the blue Zambezi, resting against a termite mound, or barefoot in the dust, sipping something good, hippo ears flickering in and out, the occasional resounding grunts, that everything simply makes sense.  
When the heat finally manages to prove its point, and we head back to camp, there is nothing like showering with all of your clothes on (worry not, they’ll be dry in all but 10 minutes) and playing a good round of ‘arsehole’ with a cold beer or something similar (excuse my French – though it is a French game of cards that emulates politics and life in a grand way. This game has travelled with me from the cold base camps of Mt Kilimanjaro, playing with gloves, headlamps and scarves with a cup of warm hot chocolate, to the ebony groves of the South Luangwa, playing for hours on end in between searches for the famous Luangwa leopards). 

The evenings bring otherworldly scenes. Sometimes, it’ll take waiting a few hours for wild dogs to wake up, all at once with a communal yelp at exactly 15:57 sharp. Others, it’ll be playing the patience game by Long Pool, flat on the ground, for hippos to reveal their powerful jaws as the dying light strikes them. Or perhaps, sometimes, the afternoon will write itself like the beginning of this story – pools of golden light seeing through the canopy. And at night? A crackling fire, dancing crickets and the endless Milky Way. Come bedtime, resting under canvas, the leaves outside are rustled and crunched, and gentle, low rumblings are tell-tale signs an elephant – or 5 – might be just inches nearby, separated only by (sort of) thick khaki material. It is mainly the leaves that betray their presence – such giant animals are surprisingly gentle in their step, and their soft movement is seldom anything but discrete. One particular night, I had just applied a balm of lemongrass and citrus to repel mosquitoes, and a curious elephant had walked right up to investigate the smell. Just above my head, on the other side of the canvas, in the pitch darkness, I felt the trunk brush against the tent, inhaling the scent for what felt like very long seconds indeed. I lay stock still, blood pounding, heart racing. Satisfied with the information, the elephant’s attention reverted back to the bushes, and it walked off into the night, rustling and chomping. There’s just something about falling asleep to the rhythm of the bush! 

The Wilderness Within

Mana Pools is one of Africa’s most magnificent secrets. A place of blue Ana trees and thick baobabs, riverbeds that rise and empty with the Earth’s rotations around the sun, and above all a place of freedom. The last place in Africa where one can roam freely on foot without any restrictions, the last place where one can experience what it truly feels like to be at one with the wild once more.
For the wild is never separate from us. We have become so accustomed to pointing out the wilderness as untouched and pristine, as far away from possible as the ‘artificial’ cities and boundaries that man has built. Perhaps it is not nature that is wild versus humans (or human creations) that are not, but instead, it is us humans that have forgotten our connection to the wild, evermore living – for those who can- in the comforts of ease and assistance. Packaged food, cars or public transport, energy at the flick of a switch. But the soul never forgets the wild. How could it? We have built walls to protect ourselves from the elements, yet in doing so have cut ourselves from the very origins of our existence, denying the bond that links man and animal and plant. It is there, somewhere, often stirred awake – or gently brought closer to consciousness, like a vivid dream – when we find ourselves in nature, particularly environments as omniscient as the African bush. If we have everything at the flick of a switch, at the opening of a tap, why chase the simplicity and rusticity, ruggedness even, of nature? We find ourselves searching for the extreme opposites of what we live in, using adjectives such as ‘raw’ ‘untouched’ ‘pristine’ ‘wilderness’, craving all that is as far removed from our daily lives as possible. 

We crave connectedness. The African bush, relatively untouched in appearance – though shrinking every day – is a stronghold to this. And Africa is, after all, the continent that saw the birth of humankind. The feeling of home is double, and there is no denying the energy that one often feels upon exiting the aeroplane, after landing on the beautiful continent that ignites passion amongst so many of us. Home. The human soul does not bode well when severed from the deep connection it has formed with loved ones and loved places. The pandemic has been so very revealing of this, and although it would be simplistic to extrapolate human suffering simply by this sole point, I profoundly believe that disconnection from ourselves, our home and our peers (replaced with digital connections, digital experiences of nature, and endless distractions from ourselves) are some of the reasons behind the pain, stress, and anxiety that have multiplied as the world shifted dramatically in very short periods of time. It brought a lot to the surface that had been buried deep under daily rhythms and routines, Netflix, Instagram, drinking nights out, gambling, or whatever coping mechanisms each one of us has in place to forget the anxiety and the feeling of finiteness or loss of purpose. 

For those of us living in urban environments – or environments where we have learned to come into conflict with nature – the wild persists, of course. Differently, sometimes in the gentle forms of colours explosions in spring, and various species adapting to concrete and car horns. But sometimes, it is also the worst of the beast that leaks out from within us. The law of the jungle makes its way, intellectually or physically, manifesting through corruption, greed, anger, deception, manipulation – any form of violence. The call of the wild festers within us, like the pain of a lost limb, if we ignore it. It is why I have always struggled to view ‘the wild’ or the wilderness’ as something separate, almost built-in opposition to humanity as if humanity were ‘bad’ and nature ‘good’. Turning against ourselves will do little good until we fully relinquish the cultural and natural parts within. 

Yet, it certainly does not take much to stimulate the link back to our roots: the mere perception of nature – the intention to connect with it – is enough to reignite the connectedness. Though when you do immerse yourself fully… the feeling of ease and happiness is incredible. For me, and for many of us I believe, the call of the bush is incredibly healing in this regard – especially when it’s a call from one of the last places on the continent where the freedom to roam is unrivalled. As I close my eyes and think back to Mana, all I remember is liquid gold, echoes of belly laughter and happy laziness in the heat, content to just sit in the blue forest and observe the animals go about their day. It all feels like a giant playground where one hides and seeks respectfully and simply … gives in to senses lulled by light and heat. Perhaps this is what Odysseus felt with the Lotophagi – some sort of bliss from forgetting what the world is like for a second. 

The ‘Mana essence’ is partly what led to the creation of Odysseia. The desire to help people reconnect with themselves by reconnecting with nature – and for them to be aware of it too. It was very much inspired by creating journeys that were driven by exploring, adventure and the reawakening of the feeling of the wild within. Walking safaris… what an incredible way to be in nature, without the noise of a vehicle and a metallic box separating us from it all. Of course, sometimes vehicles are necessary and actually wonderful, but when one has tasted the freedom of stepping out of the car… it becomes difficult to get back inside. Perhaps this is why Mana enamours me – and so many others – so much. Since the day we met, Andrew and I have dreamt of escaping to this wondrous place of freedom and elephants, of mystical golden light and unique blue tones, of roaring lions and yelping wild dogs, of spending weeks there, cut off from the world, giving way to creativity, mindfulness and reconnection. Every day, for the past 2 years and a bit, we have talked – and talk – about how we just cannot wait to pitch up a tent and spend a month in Mana.

Concluding thoughts

This freedom is fragile, however, and although Mana attracts many people, it’s still yet only a prized destination amongst the lucky group of people who know. It’s certainly not in the likes of the hordes of tourists that flock to incredibly famous designations every year. No, Mana is more discrete in its reputation. And yet, with the recent developments of lodgings, leases and the slow but steady appearance of more touristic facilities… it may not always have this delicate magic that timelessness and secludedness always confer to a place. It is certainly one of these places that one who loves the bush and who seeks reconnection, should visit in their lifetime. I believe this from the bottom of my heart. But I also believe that change happens so quickly that we must often seize the instant and go before it’s too late.
Besides the freedom, Mana is special to me, because it’s where my creativity truly clicked into place. I had been photographing and writing for a while, but spending time there challenged me more than ever, encouraged me to let go of what I knew, to just go for it. I certainly didn’t find it an easy place to photograph, perhaps because there’s so much beauty pulling the senses in different ways, and also because there was a slight robotic immaturity in my work, something restricted. At the same time, Mana Pools is not the straightforward type of open crisp landscape one could find in other parts of Africa. Leopards don’t fall out of trees either. There’s dust, there’s forests and branches that can certainly disrupt a frame, and small trees trying to make their way up, too. And that’s exactly why it’s a perfect place to come and elevate your creative techniques and vision, particularly if you’re finding yourself at a plateau. If there’s one thing I would recommend, when you go, there or anywhere, is to bring a diary with you. I used to do it, and eventually replaced by typing notes quickly on my phone or computer… but nothing compares, really. Stick some leaves in it, and sprinkle some soil across its pages. Keep small notes of what you smell, observe, taste, feel. Of what you learned, of the birds you saw, of the facts that fascinated you and the things that made your heart beat faster. A jumbled aggregation of words and textures that one day you will read again and will flood you with memories of dazzling light and beauty.

Coming back to civilisation is not always easy. Odysseus lost some men to the Lotophagi, choosing numbness and forgetfulness over human life. Yet I don’t think it’s entirely the same with the bush – or any natural space, for that matter. It would be easy to run away and hide, but there is a commitment to be made, and I believe once we feel the immense beauty of nature, we enter a silent agreement to look after it – or to help those who cannot, to also feel the grace of nature. The bush enhances the mind and opens it to the magic of the world, I truly believe this. Somehow, in the process, it turns us into messengers ready to spread the word and preach tales of love and life. 200 years ago, the Romantics searched for God no longer in churches but in forests, mountains, oceans: the spaces of spirituality moved from magnificent human constructions… to nature. Life is so, incredibly perfect – every detail calculated to create a colourful harmony amidst a chaotic, disorganised mess. The more we learn about its intelligence, the minute connections across organisms of all shapes, colours, sizes and stages of development, the more in awe we become. And so perhaps, one can indeed wonder where the real boundaries between God, life-force and intelligence truly lay – particularly after experiencing the mystical Mana Pools.  

We hope to see you in the bush with us soon, or we’d love to help you get out there. If you’d like to explore Mana Pools with us, we have just one spot left for 2022 – the last of all of our scheduled trips for the year… We have yet to decide if we run a Mana Pools departure next year as we like to change things up a little! 
 
In any case, thank you, always, for your support and for joining the Odysseia family. We’re humbled by the fact our trips filled up so quickly, and that you’ve trusted us with your honeymoons, family adventures or escapes to the bush. 
Chapters 2 & 3 will be out soon soon – and will introduce new places and new encounters. In the meantime, take care, and please, tell us about your stories, your favourite moments, your encounters. We want this to be interactive and we want to hear your fireside stories!  
 
With love, 
 
Alice
 
Ps: For those of you who’d like to read the papers that are behind some of the ideas and studies expressed above, you can consult the following bibliography: 
 
Camus, A. (1942). The Myth of Sisyphus. 
 
Capaldi, C. A., Dopko, R. L., & Zelenski, J. M. (2014). The relationship between nature connectedness and happiness: a meta-analaysis. Frontiers in Psychoology, 5. 
 
Chan, K., Balvanera, P., Benessaiah, K., Chapman, M., Díaz, S., Gómez-Baggethun, E., Gould, R., Hannahs, N., Jax, K., Klain, S., Luck, G., Martín-López, B., Muraca, B., Norton, B., Ott, K., Pascual, U., Satterfield, T., Tadaki, M., Taggart, J. and Turner, N., 2016. Why protect nature? Rethinking values and the environment. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113(6), pp.1462-1465.

Cronon, W. (1995). The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature. William Cronon, ed., Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, New York: W. W. Norton & Co. 1995, 69-90.  
 
Homer. & Lattimore, R. (1967). The Odyssey. new York: Harper & Row. 
 
Richardson., M., Hamlin, I., Butler, C. W., Thomas, R., & Hunt, A. (2022). Actively Noticing Nature (Not just Time in Nature) Helps Promote Nature Connectedness. Ecopsychology, 14(1), 8-16. 

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