The Wild Way: 4 Lessons from the African Bush to Navigate Life’s Transitions
Some journeys stay with you long after the dust of the savanna has settled. My second day in Kafue National Park, Zambia, began with neutral clothes, insect repellent, and a heart full of anticipation. At the centre of our journey was Martin, our petite, razor-sharp guide who has belonged to this land for thirty years.
Before we set out, Martin briefed my husband, our daughter, and me with a quiet authority: “No loud talking. Whisper only when safe. And complete silence near animals.” As we rolled through the tall savanna grass — passing impalas, warthogs, and wild boars — we exchanged whispers with other drivers: “No lions yet.” Four hours in, the wilderness remained elusive. We stopped by a waterbody for coffee and sandwiches, only to hear a deep grunt from the water — a hippo warning its herd that humans were nearby.
I asked Martin if he thought we’d see the thirty thousand elephants or the lions today. He simply smiled and said, “We might. They’re watching us more than we’re watching them.”
1. The Elephants: Quiet Power in Single File
Suddenly, Martin slowed the jeep. “There they are,” he whispered. A herd was crossing the path in single file — the matriarch leading, others following, and a tiny baby protected in the middle. Not one hurried; not one broke the line. Following Martin’s lead, we sat in total stillness, cameras down. He whispered, “We wait. They’re not here for us.”
Time itself seemed to slow to make way for them. Not one of them raised a trunk to warn us off, not one broke formation to show us who was in charge. They simply passed, unhurried, unbothered, entirely certain of their own ground.
2. The Lioness: Evaluating the Energy
Minutes later, Martin stopped again in a cooler stretch of the bush. Perched on a low rise was a lioness. Behind her, another lion and a cub were barely visible. My daughter slowly lifted her camera. The lioness squinted, studying us — evaluating the energy in our stillness. Satisfied that we were not a threat, she simply lay back down.
She never roared, never postured. She read the moment, decided it needed nothing from her, and went back to resting. As we moved away quietly and gratefully, I thought about how often we humans do the opposite — mistaking motion for competence, feeling we must respond to every situation simply because we’re standing in it.
3. The Bonfire: Stories and Safety
As evening fell, the sun painted the river in shades of peach, vermillion, and blue-grey. Martin lit a bonfire using dry wood and elephant droppings, the flames dancing against the growing darkness as we sat with our cups of Ricoffy coffee.
Lost in his stories, I asked him with a child’s curiosity, “Aren’t these animals your friends?” He replied with a soft but confident note: “No, they are not. They are wild. Yet we are much safer here than in the cities. In the cities, there is violence and fear. Here, we respect each other’s space.” Sitting there, coffee in hand, fire cracking, I found myself listening more closely to the silence than to Martin himself — it was, in its own way, saying something too.
4. The Hippo: Security through Respect
The ultimate lesson on boundaries arrived at dinner. Our dining area was open to the bush, with no walls separating us from the wild. Martin’s friend quietly appeared with a torch and pointed it towards the grass just eight metres away.
There, sideways to us, was a massive hippopotamus, grazing in the dark. We froze. The hippo knew we were there but read us correctly — no threat — and stayed a few minutes before slipping back into the night. No fence had kept it out. No force had kept us safe. Just distance, stillness, and both sides reading the other’s intent correctly.
Bringing the “Wild Way” Home
That safari humbled me — and somewhere between the elephants and the fire, I found myself thinking less about the animals and more about the people I sit across from in my coaching room, the ones also trying to find their footing in unfamiliar terrain. Arrogance — whether it’s cutting down trees or dominating a conversation — destroys harmony just as surely in a boardroom as it does in the bush. Stillness, balance, and boundaries aren’t just wilderness survival skills; they’re the very things a protégé needs from a mentor, and a client needs from a coach.
As a coach, I often meet people navigating uncertainty, transition, and conflict. We’re conditioned to solve, fix, persuade, and control. But the wilderness offers another way:
Observe before reacting. Listen before speaking. Respect boundaries, and allow space.
Martin has spent thirty years learning to watch before he acts. I’m still learning it myself — one transition, and one client, at a time. If you’re navigating a major life transition and could use someone willing to sit in the stillness with you before rushing to fix anything, let’s find your path together.
Contact me now to schedule your first session
