Zambia
Livingstone
Perched high above the Zambezi River, this baboon looks like it’s contemplating life—or maybe just waiting for lunch. Out here, the wild runs the show, and every creature knows its place. No rush, no stress—just a front-row seat to one of Africa’s greatest landscapes.
The current pressed hard against me, a relentless, surging force that had carved this canyon over millennia. Heart pounding, adrenaline spiking, I balanced on the very edge of Devil’s Pool, caught between terror and exhilaration. Rainbows danced in the mist ahead. As 500 million liters of water per minute thundered past around me, crashing into the abyss below, I inched forward, euphoria rising with every heartbeat, the raw energy of the falls coursing through me, dissolving every thought but this one wild moment. I stared down the drop, feeling like I could fly.
But luckily, a firm grip on my waistband reminded me I wasn’t going anywhere. Thanks, Mr. Guide.
Waiting for the Night Train to Harare
Livingstone, Zambia. The railway stretches ahead, vanishing into the heat-hazed horizon. From here, the tracks cross the Zambezi, slipping southward toward Harare. What awaits at the other end? A city alive with voices, market stalls, and restless ambition—or something quieter, a world of hearts longing and stories waiting to be told, before history is obscured in the dust. The tracks call, inviting me deeper into Africa, to listen, to learn, to belong—if only for a while.