The sweet scent of wild jasmine mingled with the damp, warm morning air and wafted sweetly into my nose. Thick, clear drops of water adorned the varied leaves, and fresh, crisp green in all kinds of colours and shapes complemented the rusty red of the muddy, fertile soil.

I was back in the wilderness, back on foot, but this time everything was different. Instead of a dry, dusty, somehow dead landscape and parched grasses and bushes, instead of burnt, black earth, I was now surrounded by green, fresh life. It was now spring in South Africa and the heavy rain of the last few weeks had literally kissed the land awake. The leaves had sprouted from the bushes at a breathtaking pace, and from what had seemed like nothing, the most colourful flowers now adorned the trees and bushes, while the returning birds sang their songs in the valleys. But it wasn’t just the landscape that was different from before; my companions and the quality of the encounters were also in a completely different league.

‘Welcome home’ were the first words from Nunu, our guide, early this morning. Nunu Jobe was a legend among trail guides and known as the ‘Barefoot Rhino Whisperer’.

Starting out at a young age as a ‘meat poacher’, he had made a dramatic change and switched to the other side: as a nature guide, he now tried to teach people about the importance of nature, to create understanding and to protect nature. His experience in the bush was phenomenal, and some said he was able to talk to the animals – or let’s say communicate with them.

I find that remarkable in itself, but what really made him a minor celebrity was the fact that he travels exclusively barefoot. In the car, in the city and in the bush. His feet had adapted and developed such a ‘sole’ that hardly any thorns could hurt him. ‘People often think I’m poor and some even offer me shoes. But I’m not,’ laughed Nunu, highlighting the limited perspective of modern humans.

For many, it is incomprehensible why someone would voluntarily give up shoes, even though we as a species have survived for thousands, even millions of years. Nunu may have been ‘poor’ in the past, but he certainly wasn’t anymore. He had made it and, through his own efforts and commitment, freed himself from his humble beginnings. Now he was a businessman and, in addition to his company, which specialised in immersive, multi-day tours through the wilderness, he owned one of the few campsites directly adjacent to the large, old Hluhluwe-iMfolozi Game Reserve. He also worked as a trail guide for several five-star lodges. But his heart was with the community, and he saw it as his mission to give the local population access to the ‘wilderness,’ the bush.

I carefully placed my foot next to Nunu’s footprint on the slippery muddy hill and concentrated on not slipping away, while Nunu was already standing on the hill and helpfully offered me his walking stick to help me climb up. My trousers, shoes and socks were completely wet and covered in brown, black and red stains, while another layer of mud had formed under the soles of my shoes. I grabbed the walking stick and looked at Nunu’s feet – almost clean and free of mud. ‘Amazing, it seems somehow easier,’ I thought as I climbed up the hill, my knee pressing into the damp ground.

It was a special atmosphere. Grey clouds adorned the sky and the rain from the previous night still hung in the air as nature slowly awoke and began its daily routine.

We were a small group of four people, and besides Nunu, only Reni and Tom accompanied me. We all shared a love and respect for nature, which took this hike to a whole new level for me. Mindful, quiet, attentive and with our senses sharpened, we had been roaming the bush of a Big Five reserve for a good hour now, trying to soak up all the impressions and keep them forever. On the horizon, we could see the roofs of the game drive vehicles driving up and down the paved road, but here, in the middle of the bush, it was just us – and the wilderness of birds, insects, plants, amphibians and elephants.

big brothers

‘Elephant,’ whispered Nunu, gently pointing to a hill behind a small valley parallel to us. Still enchanted by the wild scent of sweet jasmine and tart fever tree, I let my gaze wander over the green hills until I too spotted the two huge bull elephants. Leisurely, deliberately but purposefully, the two supposed brothers trotted along the foot of the hill, and the deep bass of their characteristic rumbling once again made me aware of the sheer power of these animals. We followed the animals for some time, parallel to them on the other side of the small, gorge-like riverbed, when Nunu had an idea: ‘As determined as they are, they must be on their way to the waterhole,’ whispered Nunu, suggesting that we also go there and wait for the animals.

When the first elephant bull emerged from the thicket onto the bank of the brown waterhole, flapping his ears, we realised just how big the two bulls really were. While the first bull was very relaxed and seemed at peace, the second bull was not particularly pleased about our presence.

Excitedly, he trotted from one side of the waterhole to the other until he found a spot where he could access the brown water without being seen by us. His brother, who had been watching the spectacle relaxed for some time, then took the initiative. Slowly but surely, he moved closer and closer to us, gently but clearly letting us know that we were not welcome so close to the waterhole. We understood, stood up and also slowly moved back a few metres. The bull acknowledged our retreat with a movement of his head, almost like a nod, trotted back to the edge of the water and stuck his trunk deep into the brown broth.

‘Elephants love water,’ Dylan’s words echoed in my ears as the mighty elephant, clearly ecstatic, splashed his large trunk into the water, filled it with water and then sprayed it wildly in all directions. After twenty minutes, the bull had had his fill, took one last big gulp, turned around, and the two brothers disappeared together, comfortably, grumbling deeply, into the thicket of the nearby hill.

‘Wow, that was incredible,’ whispered Reni, still quite moved, and everyone had a bright gleam in their eyes. ‘Next?’ whispered Nunu.

We nodded.

The landscape slowly changed from green thickets to a green, fertile, hilly grassland when we spotted something large and grey in the distance on a flat grassy plain. ‘Rhinos?’ asked Nunu, asking Tom for his binoculars..

‘Yes! Rhinos!’

Nunu was excited, but also a little sad. ‘They’re too visible from such a long way off,’ he whispered, and we understood exactly what he meant. Despite the dehorning, poaching had recently increased again in this area, and spotting the animals from such a long distance put them in clear danger. It was also rather unusual, as the animals normally preferred the dense bushland. ‘They’re moving,’ whispered Nunu with relief, handing Tom back his binoculars. ‘Shall we go?’

shield wall

Almost like Roman soldiers, the four massive grey rhinos stood lined up in front of us and slowly took one step after the other – in our direction. It took them a long time to spot us. An alarmingly long time! In the open, with no protection from bushes or trees, we had slowly approached the animals step by step until we were just 30 metres away, before the wind picked up and initially only one, then all of the animals noticed us.

Rhinoceroses generally have very poor eyesight, but their sense of smell is very good. But the almost complete lack of wind had made the animals very vulnerable, even ‘blind’. Even after their initial ‘sniff’, they were unable to determine our location as we were standing completely still. They ran excitedly from one direction to another, trying to locate the source of the unfamiliar smell with their heads raised. Nunu, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed and – in stark contrast to everything I had learned so far – we took one slow step after another. Until the wind picked up and blew our human scent clearly into the nostrils of the grey giants.

So there we stood, face to face with the obviously ‘ready to fight’ and not very happy animals. But Nunu was still completely relaxed. With his rifle demonstratively slung passively over his shoulder, he watched the animals friendly and with alert eyes. I wasn’t afraid and trusted Nunu. If a guide with his experience showed no sign of nervousness, then I didn’t have to worry either.

‘NO!’ As the animals, lined up like soldiers, came closer and closer and slowly closed the distance until we had definitely ‘invaded’ their comfort zone, even Nunu had had enough. Nunu’s gentle but firm verbal warning had an immediate effect. As always, unexpectedly agile, the animals suddenly took a small leap and trotted away quickly.

I was impressed. Had that really just happened? A simple ‘No’ had been enough to stop the animals from approaching any further?! Nunu smiled kindly, but was not yet satisfied. The animals had only moved about 120 metres away and were now obviously unsure of what had just happened. “That’s not enough. They have to go back into the undergrowth,” said Nunu, no longer whispering, and motioned us with an inviting hand gesture to go back to the rhinos. This time, no longer so quietly and under the now watchful gaze of the animals, but just as calmly and relaxed, we approached the animals again. When we were only 50 metres away, the game repeated itself. The massive, stocky animals once again lined up in a ‘fighting’ line and began to approach us again. This time, however, Nunu didn’t take any chances, and a loud, clear, head-shaking ‘EH EH’ was enough to finally convince the animals to take to their heels.

We watched the thick behinds of the pachyderms disappear into the crackling bushes and then looked around. We were standing exactly where the four animals had been lying relaxed, and the imprints of their skin folds were still clearly visible in the wet mud. The view over the valley was phenomenal. ‘No wonder the animals had come here to relax,’ I thought with a smile. ‘I don’t usually chase the animals like that,’ Nunu explained. ‘But poaching has increased again and I want to protect these wonderful animals at all costs – they are our brothers and sisters! They must survive!’

welcome home

It was now 9 a.m. and getting hot and humid. The temperature was expected to reach 29 degrees that afternoon, and the sun’s rays fighting their way through the thick cloud cover gave us a little taste of what was to come.

We had spent a good twenty minutes at the former rhino resting place to make sure that they did not return to the open area, and we had philosophised about the wilderness, nature and poaching. Now we were on the move again, roaming through the bush and grassland, when I noticed something inside me: I was neither excited nor tense, nor was I afraid of being on foot in this potentially dangerous area, the ‘wilderness’. I had never been afraid on foot in the bush before.

Walking in the bush was like how our ancestors used to live. THAT was their everyday life. THAT was normal, and I, too, felt right at home here. No, I suddenly felt more than ‘comfortable’. I had arrived! The landscape was changing from green bushland to open, yellowish grassland as we climbed to the top of what appeared to be a hill and an incredible view of a large valley opened up before us. I paused. There was no one else around. There were only plants, wild animals, thousands of birds – and us. This nature, this tranquillity was so exclusive and filled me with a strong sense of gratitude.

I remembered Nunu’s first words this morning: ‘Welcome home’.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and deeply. The love of nature flowed through my body. I felt connected to the elements, the animals, the plants. Yes, I was truly ‘home’.