So Much More Than a Safari

When people ask about our time in Kruger National Park and the Sabi Sands, they usually want to know one thing:

“Did you see the Big Five?”

We did.

We were incredibly fortunate to see all five, along with giraffes, zebras, elephants, countless birds, and, perhaps most memorably, two extraordinary leopard sightings. One male leopard, after remaining hidden from our guides for hours, finally emerged and climbed onto a fallen jackalberry tree as if he had decided the audience had waited long enough. The following day we watched a mother leopard with her two cubs, close enough to observe every glance, stretch, and playful interaction.

What has really stayed with me most is how the animals moved. I wasn’t expecting a safari to feel spiritual, but at times it did.

There were long stretches when we saw nothing at all. Then, almost magically, an animal would appear exactly where moments before the landscape had seemed empty. It felt less like searching and more like being invited into their world.

Watching an elephant quietly emerge from the bush somehow in silent communication with each other, a giraffe stride so gracefully across the landscape, or a leopard disappear into tall grass somehow felt profound. Even when they were perfectly still, there was an unmistakable presence—a quiet power that is difficult to describe.

Earlier in the trip, at the Iziko South African Museum, I learned that animals in San rock art were never simply illustrations of the natural world. They embodied spiritual power and served as symbols of healing, transformation, and the connection between the physical and spiritual realms. At the time, I understood that intellectually. After spending days watching these animals in their own environment, I began to understand it in a different way.

As we’ve traveled through South Africa, I’ve also been learning about indigenous beliefs that see the natural and spiritual worlds as deeply connected. In many Zulu traditions, death is understood not as an ending but as a transition. Those who pass become ancestors who continue to guide, protect, and remain present in the lives of their families. Life continues, but in a different form.

Perhaps because of those conversations, and perhaps because my own father has been very much on my mind during this journey, I found myself reflecting on the circle of life —birth and death, presence and absence. My father is very ill, but he wanted me to be able to have this experience for myself and my students. I have kept that responsibility and the sacrifice of my family front of mind on this journey.

I have also been thinking about Pat Taylor, whose teaching award, named in her honor, made this trip possible. Though she is no longer with us, her generosity and commitment to education continue to shape the lives of Maggie Walker Gov. School teachers and students she will never meet. Her influence did not end with her life; it continues through the many opportunities she created for others.

Before this trip, I admired San rock art for its beauty and historical importance. Now I see it differently. After watching these animals move through their own world with grace and strength, I better understand why they became central to a people’s spiritual life and artistic expression.

That realization is, in many ways, on of the greatest insights from this journey and it is one I will carry from this experience.

The Pat Taylor Teaching Award was created so teachers could return with experiences they simply could not gain from a textbook. Thanks to the generosity of the Maggie L. Walker Governor’s School Foundation, I will return home with more than photographs and notes. I’ll return with a new perspective.

And that’s what I hope to pass on to my students.

Not just what African artists made—but why they made it, and how standing in the same landscape, watching the same animals, can transform our understanding of both art and ourselves.

Thanks for following along!