Flying in, jetlagged, or sun-baked and road-tripped out, you’re full of anticipation, and probably a little wired from all the loose ends you had to tie up before leaving. Apprehensive, too: “Have I packed right? Was it over the top to buy those zebra safari socks? Will I get on with the other guests?”
As you slip into a wild space, all of this matters less and less. You’ve gone back to basics, with the basics on your back. Everything else you need is around you: scattered mopane or bushwillow branches for firewood; a river’s gift for water (or a swim, if we’re lucky); a hollow dug into the ground for your hip, or a pile of sand for a pillow. You’re on a guided, self-sufficient, multi-day walk through Big Five bushveld with a small group of guests, brought here by a sense of adventure, a longing to simplify, and the opportunity to experience the ancient practice of yoga in an ancient landscape.
By day, you walk the land as your ancestors did, enjoying the bushveld wisdom of the guides, and remembering your own. It’s magical, but it’s tough too. It’s often “inconvenient”. For a while, you feel irritated by the heat (or the cold), the aridity (or the humidity), by an unfamiliar pack and the way it sticks to your back. There are moments you wish it was over (and when it’s over, you wish it wasn’t).
You take solace in and satisfaction from the rhythm of the day’s rituals (walk, rest, cook, eat, sleep, move, breathe, meditate). You’re in community, as you were always meant to be. You have a clan. Everyone shares or helps, if you’ve forgotten something. Someone laughs at your over-the-top zebra safari socks; another commiserates as you rummage through your backpack, looking for a toothbrush or mug or headlight for the umpteenth time.
By night, you gather around the fire to chat or journal, before you head to your sleeping bag or take the first watch duty, with the night sounds for company.
The yoga practice shapes itself with the trail; this isn’t studio yoga.
You move responsively, based on your energy levels, on your needs, and on cues from the natural world, like the temperature and terrain. You ponder questions like: How is this ground holding me? What is my body telling me? How will I bring this experience into my life?
You tend to any niggles and aches, coaxing any stiffness from your limbs. During simple somatic practices, you expand your capacity for the heat (or the cold), the aridity (or the humidity), for the now-more-familiar pack and the way it sticks to your back. Gradually more at home in your body, and in this wildness, you explore creative movement and bushveld-inspired forms, integrating what you see, hear or sense around you. You feel strong and alive.
There is danger here, and your body knows it, yet you are safe too.
Slowly, you have settled into longer periods of stillness, where you are focused only on right now: the steady tread of the person ahead of you; the wonder of being in the presence of a herd of zebra; the befriending of your breath. Your eyes, so used to a narrow field of vision, have softened and widened. Meditation is no longer intimidating or dull, because you have experimented to find an approach that is right for you.
Group dynamics have shifted too. The extrovert has becomes quieter, the introvert revealed a naughty streak. Each person has brought gifts to this gathering and your gift—whether a shoulder to lean on; an easiness with vulnerability; a generosity with your snacks; or a previously unknown talent for spotting big cats—changes the way you see yourself. You have convened with self and friend and sky and earth and plant and sun and elephant.
Some of us will go on to experience more yoga trails together; the rest will spend only these precious four days together. Who knows what will come or go between the start and the end. One thing is certain: you will not come away the same person as when you began.
This article was originally published in Wild Getaways (edition 3, 2025). The magazine, a collaboration between Love Limpopo and Wild About Hoedspruit, celebrates the region I call home: Hoedspruit, Greater Kruger and the Kruger 2 Canyons Biosphere. On a personal note: enormous gratitude to Lisa Martus (co-founder and editor of the magazine) for her extraordinary support and brilliant editorial guidance.
PHOTO: Emily Whiting for Wild Yoga Africa
© 2025 WILD YOGA AFRICA
