THE CURRENT OF LIFE

How rivers taught us to slow down and see

There is a certain reward – both mental and physical – that comes with the effort of breaking new ground. Travel experiences reveal what we did not know, and in the process, we become new and find truths we did not know before. Journeys do that. They give birth to new insights. They return us to the simple things, to real beauty –unmanicured, uncurated and often unnoticed. They remind us that the perfect travel experience is not just found in a photograph of an elusive animal, or a sunset over water, or a well-prepared meal. It is found in the quiet, in the people and in the slowness of things.

When the familiar is stripped away – when our usual sensory experiences are replaced by the call of a Fish Eagle or the rhythmic splash of a mokoro pole in deep water – we begin to see differently and to feel differently. As Gustave Flaubert wrote, “Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory.” But somewhere in between – in that fleeting space where we are fully present – is where the magic truly lives.

Our journey took us on an 11-day expedition through Namibia’s Kavango East and Zambezi regions, where we drifted down ancient rivers on countless boat rides, added extraordinary birds and animals to our checklists, and returned home with full hearts and rested minds.

The northeast of Namibia is a remarkable region – wild and alive, drenched in water and wonder. Whether it is dusty roads framed by thick green vegetation or giant riverine trees rising above winding waterways, the pulse of life is visible in every direction. And through it all, the warm, generous people who live here – resilient, rooted and deeply connected to the land.

IT STARTED WITH WATER…

The recent floodwaters not only raised the river level – bringing a glistening sparkle to floodplains and resulting in lilies blooming in vibrant celebration – but it also raised the deep, buzzing current of expectation. Before we left, there was that unmistakable thrill that hums just beneath the skin when you sense real adventure ahead.

We came searching for wildness, for the unknown, and what we found was a land generous beyond measure, wild in ways that surprised us, and full of moments that felt too vivid to belong in guidebooks.

A QUIET KIND OF TRANSFORMATION

The northeast did not just show itself; it pulled us into its rhythm. It carried us from river to river, from misty mornings where fog lay low and still over rushing waters to starlit nights punctuated only by grunting hippos and the unmistakable call of lions. The region slowly showed its hand – quietly at first, until the adventure we had hoped for became something far greater. It was a gradual transformation.

We began at the Okavango River, where water flows steadily and the river is wide. Here, the air carries the scent of wet earth and green things.

The floodwaters that arrived brought with them the water lilies – hundreds of them, adorning the shallows with bright, delicate plumage, opening to the morning sun in quiet reverence of the new day.

We followed the main artery of what was once known as the Caprivi Strip, a ribbon of tarmac threading through forests, floodplains and national parks. Every stretch of road promised something – an elephant crossing, the vibrant flash of a Lilacbreasted Roller or herds of Nguni cattle wandering across at their own pace.

The land shifted subtly as we travelled along, from the Okavango’s gentle moods to the wilder pulse of Bwabwata National Park, where the national road cuts through the park. Here, the road signs warn of potential elephants rather than curves ahead. We drove along the strip with the intention of meandering back slowly. This meant that our journey first took us to the furthest tip of the Zambezi Region, where the Chobe River forms Namibia’s border with Botswana’s wild north.

At Chobe, the world became a mirror of water: boats floated across the floodplain, and crocodiles glided like shadows just beneath the surface. The lush, flooded environment drew an impressive array of animals to its banks – giraffes, elephants

and buffalo. And then, of course, there were the ones you would expect, such as hippos, Fish Eagles and water monitors. The latter scurried in large numbers along the shoreline, basking on every sun-warmed rock, sometimes in very close proximity to their mortal enemies, the crocodiles.

After a few days on the banks of the Chobe, we set off towards the shores of the Zambezi River – the longest eastflowing river in Africa. Along the Zambezi’s banks, it is hard not to become a bird lover. From the skilled precision of the Giant Kingfisher to the sudden flash of a Swallow-tailed Beeeater’s wings, this is a birder’s paradise. But it is not only the birds that draw your attention. There is so much life to witness and explore. Local people paddle gracefully in mokoros, their dugout canoes gliding through what were once roads, now transformed into waterways. Children fish with practiced ease, while women move with poise, balancing baskets on their heads as if weightless.

Here, water does not interrupt life; it shapes it, carries it and nourishes it. We spent days here, drifting, listening, unwinding…

DRIFTING INTO ANOTHER WORLD

Time moves differently on the Zambezi – more slowly, more deliberately. The river runs with incredible pace, yet at its surface, you would think that it knows no hurry, and soon enough, neither did I. Sunset boat cruises on the river left one calm, connected and in awe. Fishing attempts were futile as the waters were too high for much catch-and-release success. This was also true for the hippo sightings – they were simply too well hidden in deep waters.

There are so many rivers to explore here. And so, we reluctantly dragged ourselves away from the region’s namesake river and journeyed towards Bwabwata National Park, where we found ourselves along the banks of the Kwando.

It was in Bwabwata, at the looping bend of the river, known as Horseshoe Bend, that I first felt the true immensity of life supported by this place. We arrived as the sun bled low across the floodplain, and the air was filled with birdsong. As far as the eye could see, elephants gathered, their grey hides dusted gold by the last light of day. Beneath the tall legs of the older adults, young calves played and rolled, spraying dust into the lowering sunlight.

Here, red lechwe leapt across the water, and kudu strolled calmly past, far less skittish than usual, as if the peace of the place had settled into their bones. I remember thinking: this is what Earth looked like before us.

THE RETURN, COMING FULL CIRCLE

The final loop of our journey brought us back to the Okavango River, to Divundu, where the river reasserts itself with strength and grace.

Popa Falls – not so much a waterfall as a series of elegant cascades – seemed to babble as if telling stories to those who paused long enough to listen.

We spent a day exploring Mahango National Park, and again I was humbled by the life moving quietly beside me: elephants, lechwe, impala, warthogs, crocodiles, herons and the everwatchful eyes of nature.

And then it was done. The journey had brought us full circle –from river to river, through sight, silence and sound.

NEVER THE SAME AGAIN

Somewhere – in the shimmer of the sun on waterways, in the swirl of lilies on the surface of a swollen river, in the cry of the Fish Eagle or the call of lions – a part of me was left behind. The verdant northeast gave us more than adventure. It left us changed in the subtlest yet most permanent ways. It made us look at things with a newly found attention, a deeper kind of wonder, and a lasting sense that the world, in all its wild and quiet glory, is far richer than we often allow ourselves to see.

Now, back home, I still hear the rivers – not necessarily their sound, but their presence. I hear the way they moved through the land and through us. And I noticed that my fellow travellers were different too. Quieter, perhaps, but somehow more alert. Roads we had travelled before now seemed more beautiful. Landscapes once passed without much thought now pulled our eyes towards them.

It was as if the journey had awakened something in us – a way of seeing, of noticing, that had not been there before. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment, the right adventure, to come alive. The northeastern wetlands of Namibia is not a place you simply visit. It is a place that visits you – softly, insistently – and never leaves you.

And so, the rivers flow on… Never forced, never repeating themselves, just quietly awaiting our return.

Kirsty Watermeyer