I learn to let go of stress, unfair expectations and unnecessary pressure so my hands might be free to grab hold of something more powerful - happiness
I'm a creature of comfort. Flushing a toilet and flipping a light switch isn't so much a pleasure for me as it is a necessity, though I regularly torture myself by foregoing these modern rituals for a few days.
Thus camping is a contradictory exercise because my love for nature is indescribable. I have itchy feet and a restless spirit; camping is the only thing that truly satiates my inner vagabond. The procedure is that I suffer through the first night, convinced that I'll hit the road as soon as the sun peaks its perky head over the horizon.
But then it does.
I hear the enthusiastic chortle of the first morning bird. Peeling myself from my sleeping bag, I pierce through my tent and am astounded by the effortless beauty of my surroundings.
I recently went on a camping weekend because the voices in my head became a little too loud. The stillness and calmness of nature tends to render them, and me, speechless. Shopping around for the right coastal campsite, I settled on Morgan's Bay. It was important that I be a safe distance from the commotion of city life but not so far that I spend more time of the road than enjoying the rest and recuperation I needed.
With a boot bursting with camping gear, I set out on the open road. The further I leaned from the metropolis, the more relaxed I became. The hum of my SUV was keeping me company. My phone had been switched off so I depended on my memory to recollect the map I had studied before departing.
Relief washed over me when, after a suspiciously long drive, I saw the turn-off. I winded my way to the shoreline, the air becoming noticeably more balmy the closer I got to the ocean.
I tried to contain my excitement but failed greatly. I was going to be lost to the world for 37 hours in an effort to find myself. I was going to write, eat, sleep, mediate. Heck I was going to talk to myself and cry if I needed to. For 37 hours I was going to belong to no one but me and that was a rewarding feeling.
I raced into the campsite and began pitching my tent. There were a few camper vans and mobile homes scattered across the site but everyone could enjoy their own privacy. I hadn't slid my tent out of its bag when three men approached me. Sensing my apprehension they kept their distance, though offered to help me asemble my camp.
When I insisted I would manage just fine on my own, they went on their way.
It wasn't until I was struggling with starting a fire to cook my dinner, and they offered to feed me, that we met formally.
They were Dominican travelers, backpacking along the Southern African coast from Maputo to Cape Town. "Many friends have been to Africa, they say it's beautiful. We wanted to see for ourselves," the persistent tent-helper shared. His name was Zahi. His older brother was Diego, and their shy friend's name was Herai. Diego and Herai worked as mechanical engineers for the same company while Zahi worked as a brand manager. When I explained what I do, they insisted to be in charge of catering for the time I would spend with them. "You don't need to twist my arm," I laughed, but, teasing second-language English speakers, my joke fell flat.
We talked for hours. I traveled to the Dominican Republic through the animated stories Zahi told. The outgoing foreigner told vivid stories, so descriptive I could smell the mahogany trees and bayahibe rose. I could feel the heat calmed by the cool breeze even though the sun had long set. Zahi's allegory was only ever interrupted by a word or two from Diego, setting his younger brother on another enticing tangent.
Eventually, I had to retire. It may have been very late in the evening or already the early hours of the morning - who knows - but as quickly as I lay my head down and closed my eyes, Diego's deep voice woke me up. We'd agreed to a morning hike followed by breakfast.
Damn.
I'd given the lads my word, so I strapped into my trainers and layered a pair of sweatpants and quilted gilet over my thermal pajamas. Sleep still crusted in the corners of my eyes, I was handed a cup of something warm and a banana. The boys were chatting away, you'd swear they had been up hours.
"So how do you know Diego and Herai," I aske.icted above our heads. Zahi and his brother a few paces in front of Herai and I gave me a chance to get to know the introverted individual.
"So how do you know Diego and Herai," I asked.
"Diego and I work for same company" he said.
Ordinarily I would scamper for another conversation topic but we both settled into the silence and followed the path the two set for us. At some point Herai yelled something to Diego and Zahi and they stopped. We rested for a few minutes, drank some water then get back to it. This time Herai and Diego walked ahead and Zahi and I strolled behind them. Noticing Herai was more talkative now, I asked Zahi if his friend was offended by me. "No, not at all," Zahi laughe, "that's just his nature. Herai likes you just fine. He just reveals himself like an artichoke- one layer at a time." To which I giggled because of how familiar that was.
By the time we're back to the campsite I had enough energy to go on another hike but it was time for breakfast. Diego stoked a fire, and while we waited for the flames to lower enough to cook with we made s'mores.
Herai handed me a skewer lined with marshmallows. We roasted them on the fire while Zahi hovered a skillet of chocolate above the fire to soften the bars. Courageously he waved digestive biscuits through the open flames, "toasted biscuits just make it all taste better," he insisted. We constructed the sweet sandwich and scoffed them down while Diego brewed some coffee for breakfast
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The South and Wild Coast have been good to me this winter. The holistic healers at Earth Forest made me an exquisite lunch.
I've got a few recipes you need to try to. The best part is you can enjoy them on your next camping trip or at home.
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