Renewal isn’t only about new life; it’s about second chances. A seed lies dormant for months, waiting for the rain. A track in the sand fades, then another animal takes the same path. A moment lingers in our memory, then takes on new meaning. More often than not, we don’t notice until much later.
renewal
volume 7
contents
welcome note
inspiration
the art of becoming
we came as friends
the shape of change
experience
feel home
humans, being windows onto the world
wisdom from the sun
reaping what you sow
all things in moderation
how the wild provides
welcome
Renewal isn’t only about new life;
it’s about second chances.
A seed lies dormant for months,
waiting for the rain.
A track in the sand fades, then another animal takes the same path.
A moment lingers in our memory,
then takes on new meaning.
More often than not,
we don’t notice until much later.
In this volume of the Singita magazine,
we reexamine the concept of renewal
as what lives on from the experiences we have
— or miss.
We hope you enjoy, The people of Singita
some moments
ask nothing of you
inspiration
inspiration
the art
of becoming
Tatenda Chidora’s Metamorphosis project
evolved over two years,
along with the seasons themselves
inspiration
In late 2024, at Pamushana , a seed was planted, and our collaborative journey with Tatenda Chidora began. Like nature itself, the concept evolved over time, growing alongside the relationship. Aptly named Metamorphosis , it culminated in an exhibition at Singita Kruger National Park — on display from June until December 2026. The collective efforts of Tatenda, filmmaker Julian Robinet, who documented his creative process, and our guides, lodge teams, and photographers have made it a multifaceted and many-layered love letter to nature. Here, Tatenda reflects on the project. On the birth of an idea: In 2024, during my time at Pamushana, I was inspired to build a mask from seed pods. This was the starting point of an idea for a bigger study, using them to create different props. I have been obsessed with masks for a while, and have made a few images using different objects as masks. So, I spent time at Singita’s Kruger concession and did many walks with the help of the guides, identifying different trees and the different times they had seed pods, and gathering them over time.
On the freedom to explore: The process of collaborating with the brand has been a beautiful one. I love how open-minded Singita is and how deeply in love its people are with nature. They have a seamless appreciation of it. Having the team embrace my ideas without any elements of control allowed me to be in a space of creative freedom, and I think that’s what prompted other dimensions of the exhibition to come to life. This sense of openness really inspires one to be in a state of continual inquisitiveness and exploration. On a project evolving: The concept evolved during this journey. We realised it needed to be brought to life as a moving visual element. So, Julian did a study and mapped different places in the concession that he revisited in different seasons to see the transformation that happens over time. Time played a huge role and was a metaphor in this journey — the project investigates the idea of time through the pieces, as well as how the scenery changes. How the landscape, and the quality of light, vegetation, and space, transform throughout the year.
Previous spread Tatenda’s study on seed pods evolved into an exploration of identity. Left Behind the scenes on the concession as the final pieces were captured.
Explore the works that make up Metamorphosis in the digital catalogue .
inspiration
Without the elements we stand upon for definition,
what do we,
in our purest form, stand for?
On the process: Spending time at the property in three different seasons allowed us to experience change and see different plants produce fruit at different times. The change of seasons itself became the theme of Julian’s video component. Being on the granophyres, experiencing the wild on foot, remains a precious part of this process, because of how diverse the ridge and how beautiful the landscape are. Learning from the guides about the reserve, the trees, and their special properties informed the process and supported the work as it came to be. I did continuously feel bad for always making a mess in my room, though. On the impact it leaves: The world has so many distractions, and we get absorbed by the daily demands of life. We can all conclude that being in the wild allows us to be grounded and pause to reconnect with Mother Nature. But I feel we mustn’t only wait to be in nature for us to experience a reconnection to it. These works should challenge the viewer to be present in their everyday spaces. Nature isn’t only about the bush — it’s about the smell, touch, taste, feel, and sounds around us.
On the work: The reason why I cover faces is this metaphor of people hiding themselves. When you cover someone’s face, you’re covering their identity. This project is an exploration of the masks we wear. It’s a study of the layers we build to navigate the world, and the potential we hide beneath them. Exploring themes of identity, masculinity, and belonging, Metamorphosis reflects an artistic spin on nature’s vessels of change, reminding us that for potential to be realised, the shell must eventually crack open. Without the elements we stand upon for definition, what do we, in our purest form, stand for? *Tatenda Chidora’s Metamorphosis is currently on exhibition in the gallery space at Singita Kruger National Park until December 2026. Each print is on sale in limited numbers, and a percentage of each sale will be donated to the Singita Lowveld Trust , our conservation partner in the region.
Right Collected across different seasons, the pods that make up Tatenda’s masks symbolise transformation in nature — and, over time, transformation of self. Previous spread Browse the digital catalogue.
Watch Tatenda’s artist statement film.
inspiration
we came
as friends
One moment is all it takes
to redefine our relationship with nature
and strengthen our resolve to care for it
inspiration
We came to see you, but you weren’t there.
You had grass in your teeth; a table set but never dined at. Were you afraid when you heard us coming? Our footsteps the same as those who did this to you. Did you worry we would do it again?
We came as friends, but just too late. Putting the two halves of your scattered skull together only to notice the space where your horn had been. No birds or crickets were singing then,
but something fierce stirred within us.
We came to tell you there are tears still shed for you.
Hats removed and prayers still said for you.
Silences shared where resolve strengthens. We sat with our grief until it gave way to something brighter.
Now what was taken from you will help others live.
We came searching and found a deeper need.
You’ll return to these hills; the tall grass will hold you.
And with every telling of your story, new life will flower.
Brushing dust off your bones so sunlight can reach you. We swore it then when we came as friends.
inspiration
not every loss is felt equally
when deliberate,
it leaves scars
where the land should be sustained
Rhino poaching remains a reality across much of Africa. The work of protection is ongoing and vital to the survival of this precious, endangered animal. Our teams and partners across regions are part of it — and now, so are you. Find out more about their work below. Grumeti Fund, Tanzania: Eastern Black Rhino Re-establishment Project , Anti-Poaching Unit, and Human-Wildlife Conflict Mitigation Unit Singita Lowveld Trust, South Africa: Rehabilitation & Rewilding of Rhino Orphans
Malilangwe Trust, Zimbabwe: Anti-Poaching Unit
renewal starts
below our eyeline
before it can be seen
inspiration
the shape
of change
The Okavango Delta
is shaped by forces both big and small
Mighty like water
Modest like termites
inspiration
The shoes of so-called civilisation are left at the door to great places like the Delta. Tar roads turn to dirt, and then into wildlife trails that cross the landscape like tributaries. Each reminds us how many feet and hooves have walked this land, and for how long. There are older processes at play here, unconcerned with us, but still influenced by other forces. Each year, when the floods come, they reclaim our tyre tracks, and we must curb our ambitions to roam. Tall grasses sway in the wind, holding their secrets close, and placid waters — so clear you can see every cloud reflected in them — erupt without warning in bursts of mist, as hippos’ jaws open wide. The scent of wildlife and wild sage mingle in the air, and there’s scarcely a moment of silence between bird calls. Standing steadfast amongst this wild patchwork of change are towers of white, sun-
baked sand, some as tall as a minibus, some as broad as an oak tree. You might not think to look twice at a termite mound until it casts a shadow over your vehicle. But their ubiquitousness, shaping the landscape and behaviour of everything in it, forces you to acknowledge them. The Delta wouldn’t exist, nor could it endure, without them. Around 70% of its more than 150,000 islands began as termite mounds. Termites build upwards in dry floodplains, above the water table, so they don’t drown when the floods come. Instead, floods flow around the mounds, depositing layers of organic matter at their base and carving channels around their edges that persist long after the waters recede. Antelopes and baboons use the mounds as vantage points to scan the landscape for threats. Even leopards can be spotted atop them at dusk, surveying all that the last light
Previous spread These minute architects prove that size means nothing when we work together. Left Growing with age, termite mounds can rise from our ankles to well above our heads.
inspiration
tall grasses sway in the wind,
holding their secrets close
touches. The droppings of this wildlife fertilise the soil and deposit seeds. These seeds take root and, over time, sprout into grasses, shrubs, and eventually even trees. Roots stabilise soil, and certain flora helps trap sediment during floods, gradually building up and expanding the land. Flowing water and plant activity redistribute salts, making island centres more hospitable. Over decades, even centuries, what was once a tiny hill of compacted earth and fungus gardens becomes an island with its own ecology, drawing birds, insects, monkeys, grazers, and browsers — and the predators that follow them. There can be millions of termites in a mound, with the queen laying up to 40,000 eggs per day — the proportion of each caste depending on the needs of the colony. If she dies and can’t be replaced, the colony perishes with her. If predators like ants, aardvarks, or pangolins
attack too consistently, termite numbers diminish beyond repair. If the environment changes too drastically due to flooding or drought, the mound cannot adapt quickly enough. If food supplies are exhausted, the colony must move. Mounds become inactive for any of these reasons, and when they do, they dry out and start to crumble. Holes form in their husk. These holes invite mammals, birds, invertebrates, reptiles, and amphibians, who make their home here, forming abundant pockets of life from the moment they are conceived — micro- communities that can last centuries. One would scarcely imagine that one of the Delta’s smallest and most unassuming inhabitants could make us feel the irrelevance of size. But if they can play such a vital part in the endurance of this ecosystem, so can we.
Right Termite mounds outlast their builders, offering shelter to whatever comes next.
so much lives on in what we can’t see
meaning in the intangible
experience
experience
feel
home
So much of the joy of visiting Rwanda lies in the journey,
as a Singita writer and photographer
recently discovered
experience
Kigali The cabin lights were still dim when I saw the first streams of light, like rivers over and around the thousand hills, finally below us. Our approach was slow with anticipation. The closer we got, the more these streams pooled in great yellow bodies, until they revealed the capital. Our way to the hotel was all immaculate, tree-lined streets that wove and swung around in smooth curves. Deep swathes of greenery sprouted between every shop and skyscraper, café and construction site along the way. Kigali is filled with places you want to be, and people seemingly on their way there. Before we knew it, we’d arrived at an early night. We met Azalias, the driver Singita had sent for us, the next morning after breakfast. He took us first to the Kigali Genocide Memorial . It’s a place of harrowing reality, but this discomfort brings perspective. The warmth of Rwanda’s people and its emergence as a tourism and technology hub isn’t only inspiring because of its recent history, but understanding it deepens
your appreciation for everything you experience here. Given the time, every visitor to the city should go. Mugire Peace David had invited us to his studio, where we went next. It’s nestled above the charming Indabo Café — ‘Indabo’ meaning ‘flowers’ in Kinyarwanda — where we sat under an awning sipping local coffee to an amapiano soundtrack, sharing our mutual love for plants and his artistic journey. He gave us a tour of his studio, filled with books of inspiration, his impressionistic landscapes lining every wall. David’s works span mediums, documenting contemporary life in Rwanda, with nature a constant presence. Our last stop was at Question Coffee , where every bean comes from cooperatives of women farmers across Rwanda, Tanzania, and the DRC. A percentage of every purchase goes directly to them, and what remains is reinvested in training and trading programmes. The volcanic soils it’s grown in give Rwandan coffee exceptional flavour. We left with bags to bring home.
Previous spread In old ground, something within us remembers. Left Kigali’s skyscrapers live alongside thickets, between hills, and its history lives on in the youth.
experience
Kwitonda At every Singita property, you’re greeted warmly and with a hand wash. Each scrub draws from the region. In Rwanda, it’s a coarse mixture of coffee and brown sugar. I was still smelling my hands when I stepped into Kwitonda for the first time. Its walls of umber wood and volcanic stone frame the view through tall panes of glass — a gradient of open grassland to thick rainforest leads up to the volcanoes which give the property its name. This glass runs the full length of the lodge, meaning wherever you are, the landscape is always with you. Three volcanoes define the horizon. Sabyinyo, with its jagged peaks, means ‘the old man’s teeth’. Gahinga means ‘a small pile of stones’ — the humblest of the three, though still by no means unimpressive. Muhabura is ‘the guide’. It’s the only one entirely within Rwanda, where the others spill over into the DRC and Uganda. In the past, Muhabura was used as a waypoint for people Kinyarwanda. Moss softens its volcanic stone walls, and grass sprouts between and atop every structure. Inside, it’s insular and warm — thick mohair blankets, fires almost always burning. It’s a deeply comforting space. Peaceful. Soothing for mind, body, and soul. Outside, couches and chairs circle the firepit, putting you on the ground. The sun peeks through now and then, but the clouds close in quickly. Nourishing rains arrive unannounced, dimming the light until you draw nearer. Buffaloes graze in the middle distance, and the forest spills down toward you. There’s an eternal lushness here — and a pull, eventually, back indoors. finding their way back into the country. Kwitonda means ‘the humble one’ in
The Transfer “Are we ready to go to Kwitonda?” Azalias asked as we hopped back in his car, to-go cup in hand. It’s a three-hour drive, but it passes quickly with so much to see. Endless fields and plantations, gushing rivers, and mountaintop villages with their rows of flat-front buildings painted bright yellow, red, and blue — like the Old West, we said, but with more character. Bicycles and motorbikes carrying towering bags of potatoes creep miraculously alongside you, and trucks slow you down enough to take in the view. Musanze is the next city you reach, and then you pass through the village of Nyange, where murals and wood-carved statuettes of gorillas line the roadside. From there, it’s a short drive to Singita Volcanoes National Park . We turned off the smooth tar onto a dirt track where the Singita sign points you home. Neat rows of potato farms transition into tall, lush grasses, and the air is as crisp as you’ve ever breathed.
Previous spread Rwanda’s pride shows in how well its towns and villages are kept. Right Always, there’s green between the buildings — nature given room to stay.
experience
we crossed to a peninsula
born of fire
and softened by time
The Twin Lakes The next morning, we met Chriss, an aspiring Field Guide, who drove us the 40 minutes east from Kwitonda, through Musanze’s downtown, past the Agakiriro — a handicraft centre housing over 600 artisans, woodworkers, and metalworkers — and then out through towns, villages, and sorghum and banana plantations to the shores of Lake Ruhondo, one of the Twin Lakes. Along the way, he told us about the cooperative model Rwanda’s government is promoting, where smallholder farmers pool land, resources, and labour to scale their operations, access financing, and enter broader markets. He spoke about rural access to water and electricity, and the education drives democratising opportunity across the country — something I share not only out of praise, but out of awe.
At the village of Gahunga, we turned onto a rural road lined with rukarakara — traditional mud-brick houses — and people carrying their harvest to the local market, before reaching the lakeshore at Gikoro. The Twin Lakes were formed when ancient lava flows blocked the Nyabarongo River, creating two lava-dammed bodies of water free of crocodiles and hippos. This makes them some of the few lakes on the continent where you can swim, and where birdwatching and fishing draw as many visitors as the scenery itself. We boarded a wooden motor-sailer and crossed to Gashaki, the peninsula home to Chef Dieuveil Malonga’s Culinary Innovation Village , sharing the placid waters with dugout canoes and other motor-sailers jetting between islands.
Left The gentle waters of Rwanda’s Twin Lakes are held on all sides by hills and forest, and in the distance lie the volcanoes that drew you here.
experience
Meza Malonga Dieuveil Malonga is one of Africa’s most
to this is nurturing the next generation of African chefs. The Village offers a two-year programme teaching everything from kitchen craft to leadership. Many students are orphans or refugees. Others are simply following a passion. Then came the meal. Eight courses tracing the diverse culinary traditions of the continent, each paired with a wine or non-alcoholic beverage, and introduced by the chef who made it — a defining spice passed around the table, its origin and story told before the first bite. It’s a world- class experience. Four hours you’ll savour long after the last delightful mouthful. Much of the produce used in the kitchen is grown at the Village or sourced seasonally from local farmers. This ties in with Dieuveil’s vision for food to act as a climate solution and empower African communities to preserve the environments they call home. We ended the afternoon on the balcony with him. As the clouds rolled in, he pointed to the horizon, to where Kwitonda is. “I hope you felt home,” he repeated to us. By then, we did.
impressive, innovative chefs. Born in Linzolo, a village near the DRC’s capital of Brazzaville, he moved to Germany as a teenager, trained in the culinary arts, and worked his way through three Michelin-starred kitchens. Drawn to return to his roots, he moved to Rwanda in 2020 to open Meza Malonga in Kigali, soon recognised as one of the world’s 50 best restaurants. In 2025, he closed it and relocated here. The Culinary Innovation Village is a largely self- sustaining ecosystem, comprising a farm, school, accommodation, and restaurant with views over the lake and five volcanoes on the horizon. We were met at the door with a “Welcome, feel home,” and given a tour of the facility. Some of its rooms house more than 400 fragrant spices from Egypt to Nigeria to Cameroon, in calabashes and clay pots. “We want to share the culinary heritage of the continent,” Dieuveil told us. “Blending cultures, mixing tradition and innovation. That’s what Afrofusion means to me.” Central
Right For Chef Dieuveil Malonga, food is a means to nurture both people and land.
experience
Gorilla Trekking The night before my trek, after dinner, we gathered in Kwitonda’s conservation lounge for a briefing. Its walls are lined with books, stories, and photographs outlining the region’s heritage, and a cabinet in the corner houses the equipment and journals of Bob Campbell, the National Geographic photographer who worked closely with Dian Fossey . Fire lit behind him, Charles Nsabimana, one of the resident Conservationists, launched into a story. “You know the gorilla on the other side of this wall?” he asked, referring to an enormous portrait of a silverback, painted by artist John Banovich. “That’s me.” Every September, Musanze hosts Kwita Izina, a ceremony naming the gorillas born that year. Around 30,000 people gather for music, food, and the naming itself, a highlight Chriss had assured me is deeply meaningful in a place where gorillas are responsible for so much of tourism’s benefit. “I’ve been working as a conservationist in this region for 30 years,” Charles told us. “I know every gorilla by name. One year, they decided to name one after me.” With his deep, soothing voice, both assuring and animating us at once, he walked us through the region’s history — from its origins as Albert National Park, the continent’s first, to its present division into Volcanoes, Virunga, and Mgahinga Gorilla National Parks across Rwanda, the DRC, and Uganda. We learned how to behave and what to expect. Wisdom from a man who knows and deeply loves this place.
The next morning, Chriss took me to the Volcanoes National Park headquarters, where you’re divided into groups and assigned a gorilla family. I was to visit the Isimbi family, who reside on the slopes of Karisimbi, the tallest mountain in Rwanda and the westernmost of the Virunga range. Most of the way to the start was paved, but toward the end, we turned onto an undulating dirt road that led us to the foot of the mountain. “Hold on,” Chriss said as we turned onto it. “You’re about to get an African massage.” We wound our way up steep, muddy paths through bamboo forests, where golden monkeys looked curiously at us until we saw them, then scurried away in hoots and hollers. It took about two and a half hours to reach the Isimbi family — Silverback Muturengere, three of his females, and five of his infants. Gorillas’ eyes are startlingly familiar. As are their hands — like ours, but bigger. The love they display for their young and their relatives feels the same. For me, seeing gorillas is powerful precisely because of how alike we are. It’s humbling getting there, and seeing them reminds us simultaneously of our own inflated sense of importance and the underrepresentation of wildlife in our concerns. It makes you care. They’re gentle, playing or grooming one another when they’re not eating or sleeping. You have an hour with them, and all the time on the way down to sit with what that hour revealed.
Previous spread Dieuveil Malonga and his team elevate local, traditional cooking from across Africa to a world-class standard. Left Stronger than us, yet more at risk — gorillas stir something close to reverence.
experience
something quieter settles
in your chest
Musanze On the way back, Chriss asked if there was time to spare. He took me to the Studio of African Wildlife Art in Musanze — a gallery whose conservation mission is expressed through local wildlife and nature-inspired art — and then into town, where we walked the food and produce markets, and he showed me around. I met some of his friends at the youth centre.
Back at Kwitonda, a fresh green juice was waiting in my room, and a card with a watercolour portrait of Muturengere with facts about his family — a memento to take home. The fire was lit, and a warm drawn bath is ready, if you want one. Still feeling the mountain in your legs, something quieter settles in your chest.
Right Kwitonda is lined with spaces to be still, and to reflect on the volcanoes just beyond.
experience
Passing Time What you find at Kwitonda, more than anything, is unstructured time. There are no game drives here, and nothing needs to be arranged in advance. If you want to go for a walk between the lodge and the volcanoes or eat something hearty and nourishing, you can. Once a week, maybe twice, the lodge hosts a traditional night, which starts with the team dancing, drumming, and singing (on a quiet, misty day, you might hear the sound of them practicing reverberating across the property) and ends with meals like Nyama Choma, a local goat curry, brochettes (skewers) of meat, and Isombe, a flavourful stew of mashed cassava leaves, simmered with ground peanuts or palm oil. Sommeliers are always on hand to complement meals with well-chosen wines. You can visit the Akarabo Nursery, where much of the produce used in the lodge is grown. Akarabo means ‘little flower’. When Singita arrived, the area it spans now was farmland, overgrown with invasive eucalyptus. Hundreds of thousands of endemic trees have been planted since to rewild the landscape. With this, an abundance of wildlife has returned to the property. You can plant a tree at the Nursery or enjoy meals in the gardens, surrounded by birds and verdant vegetation. You can take a pottery
class, paint, commission works by a local tailor, weaver, or carver, and purchase trinkets by local artisans in the on-site shop. “Being surrounded by beauty like this makes you curious,” says Donatha Kabaganwa, the Nursery’s Supervisor. And you can certainly fill that curiosity at Kwitonda. You can soak up views of the Virungas from your heated plunge pool or the sprawling outdoor couch; enjoy wellness treatments in your room; or read or watch buffaloes and antelope roam, and birds flitting from a cosy corner nook framed by windows. If you’re lucky, you might see forest elephants coming down from the volcanoes. Martin Tuyisenge, Singita’s community liaison officer, can drive you to the Singita Community Culinary School in Musanze — filling the journey with stories of Singita’s conservation and community projects and partnerships in the region. Here, you can meet the students and sample some of their work, or take part in cooking classes, learning traditional recipes. You can visit local communities and ride bikes around the property and into town, all at your own pace. Without anything strictly to do, days feel longer, and you never feel rushed.
Left The beauty of unstructured time is that it starts with presence and ends up somewhere you didn’t expect.
experience
the places that stay with us
are the ones we learn to see
beyond their surface
The Way Home To know a place, you must at least glimpse beyond its surface at the new, the old, the beautiful, and the real. Conversation, presence, and curiosity: these are what move a backdrop into a lived reality, an experience into understanding. They’re what
help you feel home. They awaken a sense of deeper belonging, a stronger desire to return. We were only there for seven nights, but by the time we left, we agreed that we could have stayed longer, so as not to miss it all.
Right Travel often leaves us aching — yearning to return, different, with new eyes.
sometimes slowing down
is the most productive thing you can do
experience
humans,
being
At Explore,
the only thing between you and the wild
is canvas
experience
From the moment you land at Sasakwa Airstrip, each next step takes you further from the world you know. It’s a long drive past Singita’s other properties in the Serengeti, along winding dirt roads into the western reaches of the Grumeti concessions, to Explore . You step off the vehicle a short distance from camp and walk toward a simpler stretch of time. This is a place just to be, where you’re led on two journeys at once — outward, across the landscape, and inward, into yourself. The further you go, the more you discover what you may not have known you needed. And you may realise you need less than you thought. Connection: The tents rest on the plains, which stretch out endlessly in every direction to the jagged kopjes that line the horizon. Wildebeest
and zebras gather in the middle distance, seeking shade during the day, and birds and insects flit through camp, resting in the tree canopies above. Here, you aren’t just close to the ecosystem; you’re part of it — completely immersed from the moment you arrive. Pared-back and intentionally intimate, Explore is yours alone for the time you spend there. The team is small enough that you come to know everyone by name, and your Guide stays with you throughout, giving a sense of closeness and continuity. You become a community, drawn together around the fire, the table, the landscape, connected by the ease that comes from being somewhere truly removed from everything else. Something in that recognition settles you. You’re part of something bigger than yourself — and here, you can feel it.
Previous spread Walk this path shared by so few, not to escape the world, but to reach it again. Left The only certainty is what’s before you; the only question is what you’ll do with it.
the more to life
experience
Presence: Explore’s design includes only what is needed. There are no synthetic sounds, no artificial scents, no screens competing for your attention. Instead, you’re soothed by the elements. The breeze cools you. Heat nudges you towards shade. Wildlife calls from metres away as you fall asleep, but the steady footfall of night guards reassures you that you’re safe. In the morning, you’re gently awakened by a voice telling you the sun has risen and your bucket shower is ready. What fills the day is birdsong, and wind, and the particular quality of light that exists only here, at this hour, on this morning. Small things begin to register. You notice things you hadn’t noticed in a long time.
And in noticing them, you start to wonder how much you usually miss. Curiosity: A clear mind coaxes out questions — what kind of bird is that, why are there so many of a certain kind of tree, what made that print in the dirt? Your guide knows this landscape intimately and will tell you as much or as little as you want to know. Conversations fill the spaces between wind blowing through the grass and the distant grunts of herds beyond camp. In the unbusy moments, you find yourself drawing circles in the dust, playing local board games, making shadow puppets against the canvas at night. Rekindling the flames of long-
Right At Explore, all you know feels far, and all that matters is close.
the greatest show
on Earth
experience
neglected interests and indulging the part of you that seeks to learn and question. There are journals and drawing kits, books and open fires — and the freedom of not knowing what’s coming next. You rediscover what it feels like to be genuinely curious, to play without purpose, to colour, for a moment, outside the lines you usually live within. Freedom: Free to roam, you feel the crunch of the earth beneath every step. Every meal is cooked over a open flames, using produce from the land and the communities that call this region home. Small plates are shared, as are stories around the fire, and as the excitement
of each day fades, all that’s left to ponder are embers and star-filled skies. There is no pressure to keep to a schedule, only the rhythm of the day. Mornings begin when you’re ready. If you feel like walking, your Guide is there. If you want to lie in the shade and look at the sky, that’s also the right choice. Between drives and bush walks, there’s time to sit, to talk, and to watch the life around you unfold. Days feel slower because time, as we know it, ceases to matter. What remains is the freedom to follow your instincts — and the gradual, almost surprising realisation that surrendering control was exactly what you needed.
Previous spread It’s often the intangible moments that stay with us, resurfacing when we least expect it. Left When last have you walked barefoot on the Earth?
beneath an ever-shifting canopy
of dappled,
dancing light
experience
windows onto
the world
A window onto the wilderness
can help us appreciate it
for the art that it is
How we see the world depends a lot on context
Who we are, where we’ve been, what we know, how something is framed
The more we travel,
the more we see,
and the more we see,
the more we understand
Understanding the picture within the frame sometimes requires simply sitting and looking
And sometimes it needs knowing what’s outside of the picture to appreciate what’s within its frame
Barely-there barriers: A tent’s canvas and mesh offer merely the illusion of a barrier — a curtain more than a window between you and the wild. Slightly hazy through the fabric, but closer in other ways than glass, the outdoors filters in, and beckons you out. Sounds, smells, the breeze infiltrate through windows and walls that roll up and away, removing the boundary entirely and bringing the picture into sharp focus.
Inspired, outside in: Wherever we reside, what’s outside of the windows has always inspired what’s on the inside. They blur the line between the two — a rocky outcrop, an expanse of the Serengeti, a lush patch of trees — cue the colour palette or selection of textures that make the spaces inside feel so seamlessly connected to the world outside. Even further out, distant rockfaces of red stone, and the lines on a leaf, echo in a mosaic of tiles on the wall inside, or a pattern beaded into an artwork.
The wild, just outside: An almost invisible barrier, a window allows us to observe — quietly — the world just outside it, without intruding. An almost imperceptible division, clear enough to see and hear through, it’s not so much a barrier as a portal. The world carries on despite our presence. The wind blows, a river flows, a bird sits motionless on a branch, unafraid and only inches away. Close enough for us not only to watch, but to really see.
experience
A moving artwork While the frames we see them through remain still, the artworks they contain are ever shifting. From season to season, dawn to nightfall, the picture evolves. Trees grow, and plants climb up their walls, engulfing their edges; the colours change, the sunlight moves, casting different- shaped shadows. Through them we can appreciate all of nature’s nuances in rooms that allow us to reflect on them deeply.
Reflecting & challenging perception: Glass reflects, not always precisely. Like water, it offers an imperfect imprint of the world it looks onto. In their abstract state, we can maybe better appreciate the indefinite images on the other side — the beautiful colours, textures, and shapes — for what they are, and interrogate them patiently without passing over them with the quick glance a clear image often prompts.
wisdom
wisdom
from
the
Solar power is one of the ways Singita carries out its conservation purpose,
using the renewable energy of the sun
to power our properties
sun
wisdom
Singita Kruger National Park was the testing ground, but Singita’s solar programme has since expanded across regions. Certain properties rely entirely on the sun, while others employ a hybrid model — blending solar with batteries, grids, and generators depending on factors such as load demands, weather, and grid reliability. “Every site is different; there’s no template. We just took learnings from one project to the next,” says Andrea. 75% of the power provided to Singita’s lodges and staff village in the Kruger National Park currently comes from a 1 MWp solar PV plant, and a recently commissioned 1,166 kWp system provides 50% of Ebony and Boulders ’ power, two properties in the Sabi Sand. For reference, 1 MWp can power between 400 and 600 households continually for an entire day. There’s a separate 142.08 kWp plant for Castleton , also in the Sabi Sand, and the region’s canine anti-poaching unit will receive a 38 kWp solar plant by the end of 2026. A 2 MWp solar plant is currently being installed at Pamushana , set to provide power to the whole Malilangwe property, including
The sun has a particularly notable presence in Africa. Strong, sometimes harsh, it’s revered in myths and proverbs for its power. Travellers often stop mid-sentence to watch it set, struck by the beauty of something that happens every day but never gets old. But it’s also increasingly being harnessed as a sustainable, low-impact means of supplying energy to Singita’s properties. “Our 100-year purpose is to preserve and protect Africa’s wildernesses for future generations,” says Dr Andrea Ferry, Singita’s Sustainability Coordinator. “If we’re serious about doing that, we need to reduce our operations’ negative environmental impact. Shifting to clean energy systems was the biggest lever in reducing our carbon footprint.” Sub-Saharan Africa receives consistent annual sunlight, making solar a viable solution. “The decision to start our solar transition was born out of a philosophical shift,” says Andrea. “Singita is more than a hospitality company; it’s a conservation company. If we were to advocate meaningfully for conservation, solar was an obvious choice.”
Previous spread Committed to lowering our environmental impact, Singita is increasing its reliance on solar power. Left Life on Earth exists only because the sun’s conditions are exactly right.
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its on-site clinic. In Botswana, a 1.2 MWp solar plant will power Elela , Singita’s first property in the Okavango Delta. Yarona, the region’s staff village, will be powered by its own 800 kWp plant. Singita’s properties in Rwanda are predominantly powered by the Rwandan grid, alongside a proportion of low-carbon hydropower — the region’s misty, overcast conditions aren’t conducive to on-site solar production — but multiple solar plants provided around 30% of the annual power load of Singita Grumeti in 2025, and Singita’s procurement and logistics hub in Johannesburg is also fitted with a rooftop solar plant. Singita’s installed solar capacity currently stands at 4.02 MWp, a figure that will reach 6.86 MWp once the Botswana and Pamushana plants are complete. In 2025, this capacity translated to 27% solar penetration across all properties. Installations can take anywhere from weeks to months, depending on the size and complexity of the system, weather, and guest occupancy. Local contractors are employed during construction, and Singita’s own technical maintenance teams — many of whom hail from neighbouring communities — are trained to support each region’s solar system in
collaboration with specialist service providers. Solar also adds layers of redundancy, reducing reliance on generators and unstable grids, and its benefits extend to guests directly — less noise means the sounds of the landscape always carry through. “People are going to travel,” says Andrea. “And this inherently impacts the environment. But there are ways to counter that. Ideally, they’ll use the carbon budget of their trips to visit places where their spending will benefit nature and communities — operators and destinations that have taken steps to reduce their footprint substantially, that employ locally, and that support conservation initiatives.” To further reduce the environmental impact of each stay, Singita offsets the carbon emissions of every guest with verified carbon credit providers in the regions it operates in. “Guests can now feel more comfortable that their stay has a reduced environmental impact,” says Andrea. Much of what we need to survive lies in nature. It’s in learning to identify and harness it that we can build our relationship with the natural world anew and live in greater harmony with it.
Right Working consciously with the natural world is the greatest tool we have in protecting it.
liquid gold sunlight
painting and powering the landscape
wisdom
reaping
To plant themselves and grow,
seeds harness the elements, rely on gravity,
or simply hitch a ride
what you sow
wisdom
For things to regenerate, multiply, and endure, a million tiny, often unrelated things have to go just right. The difference between a tree thriving and it never existing at all is almost arbitrary. Nothing teaches us that there isn’t always one route to where we want to be better than nature itself. Agile and adaptable, it finds a way to thrive, even in challenging conditions. In the wilderness, species conspire, sometimes with others and other times with the elements, to carry on. Equipped with parachute- or wing-like appendages, many seeds use the wind (anemochory) to travel to more fertile ground.
In open savannas where trees are spread out, plants rely on their design for transport. Fluffy, feathery, or hairy structures allow them to flutter, float, or helicopter to a suitable landing place. This way, they can be carried long distances from their origin, ensuring their species spreads far and wide. A common mode of transport along riverways, water carries seeds along in the current (hydrochory) to eventually find a resting place on a bank to germinate in new territory. To take advantage of this method of dispersal, plants growing near riverbanks produce seeds with waterproof skins and fibrous, buoyant husks to
Previous spread All elements shape life, each playing a role in nature’s delicate and imperfect harmony. Left From a husk often sprouts a whole new world.
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nature finds a way to thrive,
even in challenging conditions
ensure they don’t sink until they reach their final resting place. Sometimes simple gravity (barochory) does the work. Some heavy, large seeds simply fall from the parent plant and roll a short distance away. For others, a slightly longer journey prepares them to return to the ground. They’re either carried on an animal’s fur, a bird’s feathers, or digested (zoochory). Mammals, birds and primates, tempted by their sweetness, eat fruits and disperse seeds further away. The digestion process also aids easier germination — whether discarded seeds are covered in nutrient-rich dung or softened by digestion. A mutually beneficial process that feeds both animal and soil.
Fire, far from being only a destructive force, is often crucial for many plants. Some species have adapted specialised strategies that depend on it for reproduction. From hard cones or pods that can only be opened by heat (serotiny and pyriscence), releasing seeds into nutrient-rich ash or exposing them to rain; to smoke-stimulated germination, whose chemicals trigger dormant seeds to burst to life in rapid germination after a fire. Or myrmecochory, where ants carry seeds down underground
for storage, keeping them safe even as vegetation burns, only to sprout in the nutrient-rich post-fire earth, almost like a phoenix.
Previous spread Nature’s vessels of change, seedpods remind us that for potential to be realised, the shell must crack open. Right Some things may appear brittle, but they hold the power of new life.
renewal isn’t only about new life
it’s about second chances
wisdom
all things
in moderation
In nature,
balance is the ultimate
state of being
wisdom
It’s easy to equate the idea of abundance with growth. But more isn’t always better in an environmental context. And when it comes to conservation, successful intervention often means knowing when more is actually less. Each of the regions we operate in comprises a unique set of ecosystems and is governed by a web of wildlife dynamics specific to its location. In turn, each comes with its own conservation challenges — different landscapes demand different processes to ensure they remain healthy. “True restoration depends on biodiversity, natural regeneration, species diversity, and long-term monitoring,” says Angela Shillan, Singita’s Conservation Manager. In Rwanda, much of Singita’s conservation efforts have focused on reforestation — reclaiming and transforming agricultural land that had, over time, encroached on the natural forest, turning it back into verdant, indigenous buffer zones. Planting thousands of trees is
certainly a positive thing. But only if this is done with consideration of the whole picture. Rather than mass whole-area planting, Singita’s reforestation initiatives here have taken the form of a ‘tree-island’ (nuclei) model, aided by research conducted by the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund . This model restores degraded ecosystems gradually, as these patches attract seed-dispersing wildlife, allowing forest regeneration to occur. Slowly, surely, and naturally, balance is achieved. Restoring and maintaining ecosystemic balance requires active, science-led management. “Through carefully planned bush clearing, prescribed burning, and ongoing ecological monitoring, the Malilangwe Trust helps maintain a range of habitats that support plentiful species. These interventions aren’t about removing nature but about ensuring that no single component of the ecosystem overwhelms another,” says Shelley Warth
Previous spread Fire, when managed, can serve as a force for good, and growth. Left To achieve balance naturally, patience is crucial.
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from The Malilangwe Trust , our non-profit conservation partner in Zimbabwe. We can also see the importance of balance at play at South Africa’s properties in numerous ways. In early 2026, heavy rains caused floods across the Greater Kruger region. While rain in the wild is essential for renewal, too much of a good thing brings consequences. This mighty force can be unstoppable, and when truly unleashed, it threatens habitats and infrastructure. Here, there can be no prevention, only preparation. In the bush, fire can also be a hugely devastating force, especially if it rages out of control. But at the same time, ecosystemic balance relies on it. The controlled use of fire, from an ecological standpoint, can help clear excess vegetation and reduce the fuel load, minimising the risk of excessive wildfires. It also recycles nutrients back into the soil, regenerating grasslands and growing palatable grasses for the herds. Harnessing this powerful
element allows us to use it for good. In the Serengeti, Grumeti Fund aims to cover the entire 350,000-acre concession every three years through controlled burns and firebreaks around infrastructure. To do this strategically, the Fund’s Research and Monitoring team conduct vegetation assessments to measure availability and identify species. “Using these, our teams develop maps to identify areas where they want to implement managed or prescribed burns. Again, moderation and timing are crucial. You don’t want to burn too much at once,” says Skyler Nuelle, Grumeti Fund’s Head of Partnerships & Impact Analysis. Ecosystems are not static, and neither are their challenges. They’re living entities, so balance needs to be equally as dynamic, with research constantly updating strategies and informing methods, and conservationists always looking to nature for the answers.
Right The forces of nature can’t be controlled or predicted, only prepared for.
beauty emerges only when
life surrenders to change
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how the wild
provides
Nature has all we need,
if we just know where to look
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A lost art in many places today, relying on what can be found naturally around us is now a rare skill, where it used to be ingrained. In a world where we’re constantly told we need more, the truth is, we only need nature. Although we may feel vulnerable in the wilderness, food, protection, and remedies — the answers to all we need — are lying in plain sight. The wild provides. A pharmacy, food garden, and solutions to shelter and safety, the bush’s abundance is constant. But this abundance can only be
unlocked by tapping into ancestral inheritance — the skills and knowledge passed down from those who lived on and with the land in Africa, who knew all its secrets. This knowledge endures in the everyday rural homes and rituals of many. Each community may have its own recipes, but the constant is nature’s richness. In the wild, every element of a plant, from those immediately visible to the parts hidden below ground, might be medicine or sustenance — or both. The key is in knowing. Barks and leaves that make healing teas. Fruits
wisdom
in a world where
we’re constantly told
we need more, the truth is,
we only need nature
that energise, flowers that soothe and strengthen. Roots that protect. Treatments for common ailments like colds and small wounds, to remedies steeped in folklore to enhance virility or appease one’s ancestors, to antidotes and poisons. It can all be found around (or under) your feet, or above your eyeline. Knowing which is which is wisdom. To know which berries or wild mushrooms taste good and which will bring on an untimely end. To know that a delicate flower — one you might easily miss if you’re not looking — can enhance fertility, or that an unassuming root can cure discomfort. This is wisdom.
Homes and shelters can be created with simple tools and materials by harnessing techniques passed down. Knowing which trees are supple and which are not, whose leaves, when woven, ward off the cold and rain. How to construct a structure that withstands heavy winds. This is wisdom. Wisdom in the wild can make the difference between life and death. To know which are the things that feed, revive, protect, heal, and rehabilitate; this knowledge, once so intrinsic and now more scattered, is still very much alive. And it’s shared by many of the Guides who now act as custodians and teachers in Africa’s wild spaces.
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