When we observe the depth, diversity, and complexity, the intricacy and beauty of the natural world, we begin to see that life isn’t sustained by isolated mechanisms, or by strength, skill, and luck alone, but by the relationships that weave them together, forming the living fabric of the world.
symbiosis
volume 5
contents
welcome note
inspiration how the cheetah got its tears wild words blending into nature
experience
down to earth
becoming a birder
on symbiosis
chakula ni maisha
wisdom
making sense the fever tree’s golden secrets more than mud
welcome
When we observe the depth, diversity, and complexity, the intricacy and beauty of the natural world, we begin to see that life isn’t sustained by isolated mechanisms, or by strength, skill, and luck alone,
but by the relationships that weave them together, forming the living fabric of the world.
Even in human cultures and communities, we see this.
May these stories open your eyes to the unseen threads that bind us all, and inspire you to live more closely with the rest of nature.
We hope you enjoy, The people of Singita
breathe like breeze through grass
and soften
inspiration
inspiration
how the
cheetah
Science may explain nature,
but folklore
keeps its magic alive
got
its tears
inspiration
in nature,
everything serves a purpose
Long before science revealed its secrets, stories kept us captivated by the wild. Too little understanding can dampen our curiosity, but too much strips away the mystery that draws us in. It’s in this balance between knowing and wondering that the richest experience of nature lies. The story: Long ago, say the Zulu people, there lived a hunter. A lazy man with a sharp mind for doing nothing. One hot day, he set out to find food for his family. But soon he sat to rest in the shade of a tree, watching a herd of impala grazing nearby, wishing for an easier way. After a while, he noticed something moving in the tall grass. Downwind of the herd, crouched low, a mother cheetah was waiting patiently for an impala to stray. When the time was right, she leapt forward to catch her prey, and the rest of the herd scattered. The hunter was impressed. “What if she could hunt for me?” he thought to himself. “Then I could rest and my family could still eat.” He watched her drag the impala to a clearing, where three cubs were waiting to feast. Seeing
them gave him an idea: “I will steal one of those cubs and raise it to hunt for me.” He waited until the mother left, then snuck up behind them. “But why take one when I can take them all?” He grabbed the cubs and made his way back to the village. When the mother returned to find them missing, she cried and cried for days, until the tears stained her cheeks with long, black streaks. Sometime later, an old man passed by and heard her crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She told him what had happened. He knew the hunter from his village, and that he had stolen her cubs, and he promised to return them. He convened with the elders, who scolded the hunter for dishonouring them by abandoning the tradition of relying on their skills to hunt, and banished him. The hunter returned the cubs to their mother, but the stains from her tears could not be wiped away. And when she gave birth to new cubs, they too shared her markings. These tears have remained on the cheetah ever since, a reminder to all to be honest, never to deceive or deliberately harm nature, or take from it what isn’t needed.
inspiration
beauty is often
survival in disguise
The science: Cheetahs need vast, open spaces to hunt, which is why they favour open grasslands and savannahs. As the fastest land animal, they can cover massive stretches of ground very quickly, reaching speeds of up to 120 km/h (75 mph) in just a few seconds. But they can only sustain their top speed over short spans. They expend enormous amounts of energy on these high-speed chases, which push them to the point of exhaustion. This means they must rest for at least 30 minutes after each chase to regulate their bodies and replenish their energy. During this time, they’re at their most vulnerable and risk losing their prey to other predators or scavengers, like lions and hyenas. Because their speed and stamina work in such a delicate balance, cheetahs must be strategic in choosing when – and who – to hunt. The element of surprise is crucial; they have around a one in 10 chance of a successful kill without it, and a one in two chance with it. Especially in times of drought or after repeated failed hunts, as their energy wanes, identifying
the right prey could spell the difference between death and survival. This is where their eyesight becomes useful. Cheetahs can spot and identify prey and threats from up to five kilometres (three miles) away, and, at 210 degrees, their field of vision is nearly panoramic, making it easy for them to scan vast landscapes. You’ll often see them perched atop termite mounds or other small rises for a better vantage point. Unlike some big cats that hunt at night, cheetahs hunt in the daytime, often at dawn or dusk, and they’ve adapted unique mechanisms to help with this. The black streaks under their eyes, known as malar stripes, reflect sunlight, reducing glare, especially in open plains where it’s particularly harsh. An evolutionary adaptation, this enhances the cheetah’s hunting ability and chances of survival. Not only do they help the animal spot prey from afar, but also to hold focus on moving targets during a long-distance chase. Proof that, in nature, nothing is ever purely aesthetic.
it’s in the balance
between knowing and wondering
that the richest experience
of nature lies
inspiration
wild
words
A guide to writing outdoors,
where attention sharpens
and creativity opens
inspiration
With no digital distraction, the senses come alive. With this comes clearer thinking, creativity, and a different perspective. Writing outdoors is balm for the mind. Writing about the wild, in the wild, can be even more of a tonic – and a great way to capture, remember, and share your journey.
Immerse yourself
The setting matters. Choose a spot that resonates. A sun-warmed rock. Or maybe the sound of water speaks to you more clearly. The presence of trees might help you feel more grounded.
Become aware of your senses Feel the ground under you, the fresh air in your lungs, and the sun on your skin. Listen to the sound of your breath, the birds, the leaves in the wind. Smell the earth, or water, depending on where you sit. Revel in the feeling of being.
Look around you
But really look. Every texture, colour and movement can spark a cascade of thought and crystallise into an idea. The magic is in what’s around you, and big ideas can seed from small details.
inspiration
Don’t rush
It’s not about how much you can write, nor how quickly. It’s not about sounding a certain way or like anyone other than you. Pauses are important for thought. They’re where links are made, and memories and senses are revisited fully.
Let instinct take the lead
Allow words to spill onto the page without any criticism. As freely and effortlessly as everything moving around you. Let your mind mirror this.
Feelings matter as well as facts
Don’t just record what you see, write down what you feel, too. When writing about the wild, emotion is as important as observation. This lends weight and depth, allowing words to live beyond the page.
pauses are important for thought
they’re where links are made
inspiration
blending
into
nature
All species have developed means of blending into the landscape in their own way – through pattern, texture, colour, and shape,
for survival, shelter, and stealth.
Inspired by this, our design teams conceive spaces
that blend into their surroundings;
that emulate and honour nature, and demonstrate our reverence for it.
Each space sits subtly
and unobtrusively in its surroundings, crafted by looking at how nature’s creations do the same.
inspiration
inspiration
Transformative and strong: Like a chameleon, which moulds to its surroundings, so Kwitonda merges with the forest. Where nature begins and ends is hard to discern. Unobtrusive, observant, and unique, it reaches out towards the wild, slowly becoming one with it. Bold, striking, and adaptable, it’s a symbol of evolution, of growth. A quiet and yet confident figure that is built for change – and to be reclaimed.
inspiration
Delicate and refined: Like the impala, elegant and ever watchful, Serengeti House sits softly on the land. Pleasingly proportioned, sleek, and understated, it has a quiet but poised presence. Its textures allow it to blend into the ecosystem – present but partially disguised behind softly waving golden grass. Perfectly appointed but unassuming, its gentleness mirrors that of the antelope on the plains.
i n si npsi rpai tr ai otni o n
Subtly sculptural: Like a leopard draped over a branch, Ebony perches gracefully among the trees. Assured and yet agile, its strength is felt rather than stated. Striking and elegant, its impact is immediate but it doesn’t intrude. Undeniably African, yet universally beautiful, it’s elegantly formed, imposing ever so gently, yet nobly on its surroundings. Both light and shadow, it blends into the foliage.
inspiration
Monolithic and earthbound: Like the elephant – solid, grounded, and proud – Boulders is undeniably anchored in the riverbed. Monumental and yet quietly contemplative, it embodies stability, timelessness, and connection to the earth. A dignified figure – enduring and unmoving. Its strength is felt in the powerful but gentle ties to the land beneath it.
experience
experience
down to
earth
Among the trees of the lush
Volcanoes National Park,
clay is lovingly shaped
into something lasting –
both useful and beautiful
experience
In the verdant grounds of the Akarabo Nursery, a short walk from Kwitonda, you’ll find a peaceful pottery studio, shelves lined with cups, vases, and teapots – some made by guests, most made by its resident ceramicists. A setting ripe for slow and mindful exploration. A space for sharing skills and returning to the simple satisfaction that can be found in making something by hand. Our pottery workshops in Singita Volcanoes National Park are more than a place for learning and witnessing craft. Through them, we turn clay into something meaningful, heritage into art, and skill into mementoes. There’s a symbiosis between learning and doing, the passing down of tradition, and the elemental experience of transforming earth into something else, equally useful and beautiful. Observation – intrinsic & inherited: Theophile Cyizere, Kwitonda’s resident potter, learned about working with clay by watching his father, who has been a professional potter since childhood, and joined him in his studio in Kigali in 2019. He marvelled from a young age at how a simple lump of clay would become something beautiful under his father’s coaxing and talented hands. “He is the one who gave me these skills, although I think my passion for pottery was always hidden in me because it came so naturally,” he says. Transmutation – from earth to art: The synergy between human and material, heart and mind, past and present. This transforms clay from raw potential into meaning – channelling earth into a discernible object. More than merely a pastime or creative outlet, it’s an act
of creation. Theophile remembers that without any machinery or technology, his father would use his hands to make works of art. Alchemy between hands and clay, turning it into something more. “While working, he would go somewhere quiet. And then he would come out holding beautiful pieces.” Meditation – busy hands, still mind: It may seem like a contradictory statement, but moving hands quiet the mind. A waking meditation, and inner reflection through outward motion. When a repeated and rhythmic gesture, single-minded attention, and a peaceful place conspire to bring stillness to the mind, intuitive movement guides the hands, and focus comes to a pinpoint. Mental quiet follows. Theo explains that when you work on the wheel, you have to concentrate on the job at hand. “I believe this helps open up your mind.” Intention – objects hold memory: Creating or choosing a piece and taking one home that has ties to a place imbues it with meaning. A meal shared, a memory made, the spirit of a special location and period in time. A talisman rather than simply a physical object. Embedded in it are generations of skill passed down, the energy and care with which it was crafted and the emotions that washed over you while in this place, at this time. Theo observes that many guests love to take an item home – a comfortable-to-hold coffee cup, an oil burner, something to symbolise moments of reflection and pause. A relic of another world, not so far from their own. A reminder of a journey they once took – and can take again.
Previous spread The experience of hand moulding clay is not only tactile, but meditative and creative. Left Theophile Cyizere, a skilled potter at Singita Volcanoes National Park, learned his craft from his father, and shares it now with visitors.
synergy between
human and material
heart and mind
past and present
experience
becoming a birder
Birding is more than a passion
Every sighting is a moment shared,
and a small, albeit significant,
contribution to the study of ecosystemic well-being
experience
“We know which birds to expect across the reserve at different times of the year,” says Gracious-Jumbe Mngofi, a field guide at Singita Grumeti. “And we’re always monitoring their presence and populations. There, I can see the European bee-eater. It has completed its migration on time, so I won’t worry about it.” I realised quickly that Gracious was a passionate birder. For eight days, he and I sat side-by-side, roaming the Serengeti, free from the pursuit of hopeful sightings, to see what each day brought. Often, he would stop, whip out his binoculars, and point at some winged wonder I had to squint to see. As a budding birder, it was incredible to hear him rattling off names, facts, and tips on how to identify different species, and to emulate their calls with near-perfect precision. He’d smile, laugh, and linger on almost every sighting. “I don’t know how you remember them all,” I said to him. “And identify them so quickly.” His signature laugh rang out again, melting into the
still morning air. “It takes time and lots of study. But mostly, you just have to get out there and look for them. Sometimes it’s not how it looks, but how it sounds, or what it’s doing, that gives it away.” “I’ve been using an app called Birda ,” I blurted after a while. “You can take a photo of any bird and it’ll identify it and keep a log for you. And you can see what was spotted near you recently. It saves me having to flip through a thick book and miss the actual sighting trying to figure out what it is.” “Is it helping?” “It’s helping me a lot, and the sightings get logged and sent off to track populations and distribution over time, which I like.” I asked Gracious if he uses game drives to actively monitor bird populations, seeing as he was already looking out for them. “It’s not something I set out to do, but we are always keeping track of the animals; where they are, how many there are, what condition they’re in,”
Previous spread Beyond the beauty of feather and form, birds serve as ecosystemic messengers. Left From nearby places to unlikely spaces, birding urges us to explore the world.
one species can be here today
and gone tomorrow
experience
just step outside
and look up
he told me. “If we notice something is wrong, we relay it to the other guides.” An ecosystem’s birdlife offers insight into its health. Changes in populations may indicate degradation, or shifts in climate or pollution, with wider ecosystemic consequences. “Awareness is important for understanding and protecting the ecosystem,” he said. A few days later, up in the north of the reserve, we were sitting along a dry riverbed, watching two elephant calves romp around the sturdy legs of their elders. In the golden grass at my 10 o’clock, I noticed three jet-black figures pecking at the shade of a desert date tree. “Those are ground hornbills!” I proclaimed, proud to be first for a change. “Southern ground hornbills.” “Yes,” said Gracious with a smile. “They are interesting birds. Here, if you see them, it means the rains are coming.” “Back home, many cultures believe that too. I wrote a story about them. I’m just glad we got
to see them; they’re so rare.” “These birds are quite common here. I see them maybe every few days.” “In South Africa, they’re highly endangered. You’re lucky if you see one in a week.” “I didn’t know that,” he said. I guess now I’m aware.” The belief was the same, but the circumstances different. And that’s the intrigue of birding. The same species can live two entirely different realities, depending on where you stand. One bird can be here today and gone tomorrow. Its significance can be lost on you before you understand it. Hours of nothing can yield a sighting so extraordinary it pulls you back out again the next day. All the while, something shifts in us. With every sighting, awareness deepens – first into awe, then consciousness, then care. You don’t have to be skilled at birding or travel far to make a difference; just step outside and look up.
Right Look up, look around, look within. Sometimes, nature looks back.
“nature is a powerful force
that’s able to bring us together”
MMANGALISO NZUZA
experience
on
Following his stay at Singita Sabi Sand, speaks to the creative confluence of setting, state, and story symbiosis artist Mmangaliso Nzuza
experience
“There was inspiration in everything.
There were preconceived assumptions that I would go straight to painting animals, as exciting as I would find it, and all in good faith.
But something wanted me to go a completely different route than what was expected of me.
Taking into context Singita’s ethos and the cultural and conceptual integrity of my practice,
I would find myself lingering after meals to stare at the river, even if there weren’t any animals, going on morning and afternoon drives,
and interacting with people more than I usually do. Just to savour every second.
This allowed me to tap into approaching the works with more intention. Interacting with not only the individuals, but nature too, expanded my creativity even further. Listening to the team talk about symbiosis between the landscape and wildlife that surround us, and stories in passing, and allowing myself to be more present and patient.
experience
And observing without rushing to respond to the artwork. This culminated in a body of work that was reflective of the sensory experience of being there.
It began with wanting to integrate
the Bamileke traditional stool, which takes influence from the knob-thorned tree, into one of my still lives – a tribute to Sipho Sibuyi and Lawrence Mkansi, who were my Field Guide and Tracker throughout my stay. This speaks to the beauty of the mundane, spotlighting stories of black ancestral knowledge and teaching me not only about nature and animals, but also how every action and decision is part of a shared system, a community.
Even though the figures are introspective and still,
it was still vibrant, and the colours are playful,
mirroring my time spent at Singita.
I left feeling replenished.”
MMANGALISO NZUZA
Explore Ebony with Mmangaliso in an episode of our podcast, Safari Conversations .
the wild leaves no space
for linear thought
experience
In Tanzania, ‘ chakula ni maisha ’ means ‘food is life’
chakula
The power of this proverb
lies beneath its words
ni maisha
experience
Life is, in part, the culmination of our experiences and memories, both personal and collective. Food is a bridge to that, and to each other. A living, evolving archive, made to be shared; a glimpse of a place and time suspended between then and now; a confluence of culture, care, and craft. At Singita Grumeti, food tells the story of the people of Tanzania and the generations who came before them. Mia Neethling, Executive Chef and Guest Experience Lead, speaks to the philosophy that guides her teams and keeps the country’s natural and cultural heritage alive on every plate: New African Cuisine. On possibility: “Sometime in 2022, I came across Marlies Gabriel, Director of Wondergarden in Arusha – a ‘culinary conservation’ organisation that works with local farmers to grow a range of indigenous crops. On a tour of her facility, I met a group of women farmers who taught me about the culinary and medicinal uses of different local plants. It opened my eyes to the power and possibility of what she calls ‘heritage food’ – the ingredients that have been used in the region for generations – and how we can honour them by using them. For example, instead of using lemon juice to add acidity to our dishes, we now use baobab. Instead of using apricots in a salad, we use dried zambarau fruits. And instead of pistachios, we use kweme, a type of seed, which can also be ground into flour for baking,
roasted like a chestnut, or extracted into a milk alternative. Everything you eat in Grumeti, down to the snacks in your rooms, uses these ingredients, meaning you’re always tasting Tanzanian heritage.” On bringing consciousness to every dish: “Drawing from the land like this forces us to be more conscious of the ingredients we use, and how we use them. Kweme grows in the forests of the Kilimanjaro region, and farmers support themselves by harvesting it. In such small quantities, there’s no need to chop down trees, so buying from them is a way we can promote conservation and support communities. Cooking in this way also means we have to work with what we have. Our menu changes seasonally based on what local farmers produce. With this comes a level of experimentation, competition, and creativity that pushes us to be better. I always encourage our chefs to bring ideas to the table and be confident in them.” On learning & sharing: “Being South African, I didn’t know many of the ingredients our chefs have always used, or how to get the most out of them. So, I asked them to show me, starting with the dishes they grew up with. They’ve been cooking Swahili food since they were young, so we don’t follow recipes. I tell them to cook what they know, how they know. Each time you taste something, it carries that personal touch.
Previous spread The rich natural and cultural heritage of the region is reflected on every plate. Left, clockwise from top left Bread is both a staple and a story of culture. Nature offers of itself generously in the form of nourishment. Those who take from the earth tend to it in turn.
experience
You might order the same dish at different properties, or at the same property on a different day, and it’ll be unique, depending on who cooked it. Despite it being a new experience for our guests, there’s a sense of comfort and familiarity in the traditions we offer. You can feel it in the way food is prepared and presented. Here, people eat with their hands. They share. They spread their meal across plates. That’s what we’re connecting people to. It’s a delicate balance, trying to create an authentic dining experience while making sure it’s still accessible for our guests, but we must be proud of where we are, because guests come here to experience it fully.” On helping to build a legacy: “The Singita Community Culinary School (SCCS) is a big part of our world. Every year, eight students from the communities around us embark on an 18-month programme, where they gain the skills and experience needed to become professional chefs. Some have never seen a professional kitchen, but by the end of it, every graduate ends up working in our properties. And word is now getting out among these communities of what being a chef and SCCS graduate can mean for you, the places it can take you to, and we’re seeing a lot more interest in the programme. We started testing New African Cuisine at certain properties, like Mara River, which offers a more local and elemental experience, where
tilapia cooked on the fire and served with pilau rice makes sense, for example. For now, we source our ingredients from across the country, but the goal is to get to a point where we’re focusing more on those that grow in and around the Serengeti. And to work with guides, banakelis, and other front-of- house staff to weave food into the story and experience of each property. We’re mindful that our guests often move between them, and we want to offer a different food experience at each that captures and reflects its look and feel – and communicates the spirit of ‘chakula ni maisha’.” On returning to roots and earth: “New African Cuisine is about returning to the roots of who and where we are; making simple, natural food; keeping culture and tradition alive through food; empowering people through food; showing the world how incredible and diverse Africa is, through food. It isn’t about novelty, it’s about pride. About making people believe in where they come from and want to share it with the world. That’s the biggest validation for us. For our chefs, being able to share their mother’s or grandmother’s recipe with guests but elevating it to a world-class level is a unique privilege, and a challenge they’ve embraced fully; how to take what they know and balance it with quality and precision. But more importantly, it underscores to them that where they come from is worth celebrating, because it is.”
Right Swahili food is a confluence of African, Arab, Indian, and Portuguese influences.
wisdom
wisdom
making
sense
Nature’s ingenuity allows different species
to navigate, communicate, and survive
through the evolution of their senses
wisdom
Different species have evolved unique methods of communicating with their surroundings and each other. Smell, taste, sight, sound, and touch – these are not merely senses in the animal world, but modes of exchange. Evidence of the ingenuity and efficiency of nature’s designs, which maintain balance and ensure their own survival, and, often, that of others, too. When giraffes begin browsing the leaves of an acacia tree, the tree responds defensively. Bitter-tasting compounds flood their leaves, and the giraffe moves on to another tree after only a few minutes. The browsed acacia tree then also releases airborne chemical signals, to alert neighbouring trees, who pre-emptively prepare for the approaching giraffe with their own secretions. This pushes giraffes upwind, sparing the trees from being stripped bare. A bigger picture system that’s better for all. Sensitive nerve endings in the soft pads of an elephant’s otherwise weathered feet can receive signals through the ground, which vibrate through their bodies and bones. Their ability to send each other messages seismically, through stomping or rumbling at a low frequency, means that distance is no barrier to communication. The vibrations allow them to locate, warn, or
coordinate with each other from up to 20 miles away. Community minded, always. A zebra’s stripes are not only a means of camouflage, but also a distraction and diversion. Flies are attracted to horizontally polarised light, which they associate with places to land and feed, such as water or dark animal coats. Zebras’ stripes disrupt and distract by reflecting light in mixed polarisation patterns – black absorbs it, white reflects it – creating a confusing visual signal that prevents flies from irritating or biting them. Evasive even while stationary, through design. If it senses a threat, a vervet monkey alerts its neighbours. But the system isn’t one-call-fits-all. It’s sophisticated enough to let other monkeys – and species – know exactly who is close by. With specific calls for each of their primary predators, vervets communicate across canopies and perches: a series of short, low- pitched calls for a leopard, which prompts the monkeys to run into trees; a single, high-pitched hiss for snakes, which sends them up onto two legs to scan the ground; and a short sharp ‘cough’ for an eagle, which tells them to look up and seek cover in dense bushes. Effective, adaptive, and dynamic.
nature’s messages
in motion
wisdom
the fever tree’s golden secrets
Rooted wherever water flows, these trees remind us that symbiosis can exist in many forms at once
wisdom
An ecological enabler Fever tree’s roots stretch deep into alluvial layers, drawing from a steady underground supply of nutrients and minerals. The fertile, oxygen-rich soils they grow from nurture not just the trees themselves, but a host of life in and around them: vervet monkeys leaping between branches, herons roosting in the canopy, and even hippos resting in their shade. Acacia ants find shelter in hollow swellings at the base of a fever trees’ thorns and feed on its sap. In return, they patrol the tree, attacking insects and mammals who feed on it, preventing them from stripping its leaves and bark. They also prevent harmful bacteria and parasitic weeds from growing on its leaves and around its base, respectively. The survival of an ant colony depends on the health of its host tree, and without these miniscule defenders, a tree may not survive. Under ideal conditions, fever trees can grow incredibly quickly, catalysed by xanthophyll, a yellow pigment that allows the bark itself to photosynthesise. It’s this, along with a yellow- green, powdery film on the bark that give the tree its distinctive hue. As their roots spread out in search of water, fever trees bind riverbanks, preventing erosion and holding the land together during summer storms. They can live for many decades, and when they die, they do so having prepared the soil for other trees still to grow.
A mythical monolith Unaccustomed to Africa’s landscapes and ecologies, early European settlers soon noticed that, wherever a certain tree grew, fever seemed to follow, sometimes fatally. Found along riverbanks and seasonal floodplains, where soil remains damp long after the rains have passed, this distinctive flora, recognisable for its golden- green bark, came to be known as the fever tree, a name we still use today. Over time, it became clear that the terrain they favour is fertile ground for malaria-carrying mosquitoes. But far from the myth that casts them as harbingers of disease, fever trees are foundational to the ecosystem, shaping habitats and signalling that water, and therefore life, is close.
wisdom
beneath its
golden trunk,
the bush,
the river,
and the spirit
of the land converge
A cultural connector Among many Tsonga and Shangaan people of South Africa, the fever tree’s meaning runs deeper than its ecology. Its yellow bark, when ground into a fine powder, is sometimes used in traditional rituals as a muthi – a good luck charm. Elders say that this golden powder can attract prosperity, protect travellers, and open the path for new beginnings. Hunters once rubbed some on their foreheads before setting out, believing it would bring success and safety on their journey. But with all such beliefs, respect is crucial. One doesn’t simply take from the fever tree. A small offering – a song, a greeting, a sprinkle of river sand – must be given before collecting its bark. The tree, they say, holds the spirit of the river itself, and taking from it without gratitude may anger the ancestors.
A living system In its resoluteness, the fever tree reminds us that the bush is not a collection of species, but a system shaped by exchange and interdependence. Its roots bind soil and water; its canopy shelters and nourishes other species; its presence carries meaning for the people who live alongside it. At once ecologically and culturally significant, the fever tree stands as a meeting point – symbiosis made visible. When the wind rustles through its leaves at dusk, and the light fades into the soft gold of its trunk, it’s easy to understand why the elders say the fever tree brings luck. Standing beneath one, as nature lays out before you, it’s impossible not to feel blessed.
wisdom
more
than
mud
Every element of nature
is woven into relationships
much larger than itself
wisdom
Mud is a messy microcosm of life – both a habitat and an enabler of ecosystem health. Among its many functions, it offers relief from the summer heat to species like rhinos, whose thick skin and dark-grey complexion make them especially vulnerable to the sun. With no perspiratory glands, they also struggle to regulate their temperature without its help. In the wild, it’s common to see these majestic mammals ambling from the shade as the afternoon fades, seeking the ideal spot to wallow. Thick legs like trunks trudge through the humidity in search of a patch that’s just right: too watery, and it’ll only cool them briefly; not watery enough, and it won’t have the right consistency. When they get there, they wrestle and wriggle until every inch of their body is covered. The mud acts as sunscreen, keeping a layer of moisture close to their skin. As it dries, it hardens, trapping parasites and insects, like ticks and flies, and sealing small abrasions. They then rub against tree stumps or rocks, scraping off excess mud and dead skin while keeping enough coating in place to stay cool – both an act of self-care and self-preservation.
Rhinos tend to use the same scratching post until it has been rubbed completely smooth, like the stones spread across the northern reaches of Singita Grumeti, which, according to legend, gave the nearby Faru Faru its name. In Swahili, the word faru means rhino. And while rhinos don’t wallow in a conscious effort to benefit the ecosystem, their behaviour does have positive ecological consequences. The act of wallowing churns soil and breaks up compacted ground, creating shallow depressions that fill up with water during the rains. In turn, these attract insects, amphibians, and other microorganisms to drink and breed. Terrapins in the mud may feed directly on parasites on the rhino’s skin, creating an unintended symbiosis. And because rhinos tend to reuse their wallows for as long as they can, they also defecate nearby, fertilising soil and boosting plant growth in the area. This close exchange between land and wildlife is a reminder that even the most seemingly mundane aspects of nature – like mud – play a noble role in its grand story.
Previous spread Every earthen dimple is evidence of life in constant motion. Left Good for skin and spirit, even mud holds wonders beyond its appearance.
across languages in Africa,
we believe,
“I am because you are”
meaning we are one
With thanks to our collaborators Bibiana Cristina, Daniel Samwel, Emma Jackson, Georgie Pennington, Gracious-Jumbe Mngofi, House of Zaan, Jessica Robertson, Julia Freemantle, Lindsay Couper, Mia Neethling, Michael Schapiro, Mmangaliso Nzuza, Ross Couper, Tamlyn Anthony, Theophile Cyizere, Walter Mabilane, and LOOKBOOK Studio.
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