Where the Red Sand Knows Your Name

People often tell me how “brave” I am to go camping alone as a single mother. But to me, there is no greater peace or joy than being out in nature, sharing the quiet magic and raw beauty of South Africa with my boy.

It feels like a gift I get to leave him, a memory of red sands, fiery skies, and the comforting songs of night insects. A lesson that peace can be found under a canopy of stars, and that joy lives in the freedom of wide, open spaces.

If I never do anything else right in this life, I know I did this right: giving him moments where the world slows down, where he learns to trust himself, and where he feels the deep, steady calm that only nature can bring. Because being surrounded by this serenity could never be wrong.

September 2024 will forever live in my heart as a time when life felt both wild and deeply peaceful. We took the scenic hour-and-40-minute drive from Johannesburg to Sondela in Bela Bela, an easy road that gently leads you from the highveld into the savanna, where the air shifts, the sky widens, and the acacia trees begin to dot the horizon like old friends waving you home.

Sondela is a place that wraps you in warmth and nostalgia. It’s where I spent precious moments of my own childhood, and returning there with my boy felt like opening a memory box I didn’t know I’d been carrying. It was more than just a trip; it was a bridge between generations, between the little girl I once was and the mother I am now, both of us finding freedom under the same endless African sky.

The scent of the bush, a heady mix of dry grass, sweet thorn, and the faint smoke of distant fires, welcomed us as soon as we stepped out of the car. The quiet wasn’t really silence at all; it was the screaming silence of the bushveld, alive with insects and rustling leaves, punctuated by the far-off calls of nightjars and jackals. And every evening, as the sun sank below the acacias, the sky lit up in flames of orange and crimson, the kind of sunsets that set your soul alight and make you forget the world beyond.

My boy threw himself into every part of camp life. He carried the ice to the cooler with proud, determined steps; helped me set up our simple camp under the sprawling branches; fetched pieces of wood for the evening fire with wide eyes and sticky hands. His joy in these small tasks reminded me how much children crave purpose and how much they thrive when trusted.

Between our simple activities, drawing silly faces on paper plates, cutting out masks, pedaling his bike in excited loops, he was busy from sunrise to sunset. When darkness finally wrapped around us, the iPad came out for a few quiet minutes before bed, giving us both a chance to unwind beneath the star-filled sky.

Our meals were beautifully simple: eggs and avocado for breakfast, pasta salad with fresh fruit for lunch, sweet corn and cheese grillers sizzling over the fire for dinner. Each meal felt like a celebration of the day’s discoveries. I bathed him in the sink under an acacia tree, his face often streaked with red sand, and I let him be. Dirty. Free. Unburdened. I let him be a child without any mold to fit or image to uphold.

Every night, after the magic of an African sunset faded and the silence settled, I realized something profound: inCase was already with me. Even then, it was growing quietly alongside us, born from these nights of adventure and the countless moments when I needed an extra wipe, a sharp knife, or a comforting cup of coffee at the ready.

Watching him run barefoot in the red sand, dropping to the ground in a happy heap, I saw a calm, confident nervous system in motion, a child feeling safe, loved, and fully alive. His curiosity makes my world spin, and his laughter brings me home to myself.

I am a proud mom whose heart bursts at the sight of a boy so smart, so kind, so willing to learn. And every adventure we take, big or small, inCase is there.

Because as a mom, it’s not just my responsibility but my sacred duty to give my child the world, or at least as much of it as I can fit in a bakkie.