My Second Luv Letter to the Munywana Conservancy

Dear Munywana Conservancy,

I quite literally stayed true to my word.

I came back.

Sooner than expected, to be honest. But when you know, you know.

The moment I touched down in the Netherlands after our last goodbye, I felt… off. Like something wasn’t finished. Like the chapter was left hanging on a comma instead of a full stop. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. While I was reading on the couch, watching series on the couch, occasionally cooking (only to return to the couch)… the only real thought looping in my head was: “What would they be doing there right now?”

So, I decided, why wait? With a little persuasion, a lot of longing, and some parental sponsorship for my birthday (thanks, Mum and Dad), I booked a ticket and gifted myself the one thing I truly wanted: to return to my new happy place. It wouldn’t be a Mamma Mia summer, but a Munywana one. Same syllables, same soundtrack of laughter, just fewer Greek men and significantly more cheetahs.

Day 1: Up, up, up

It felt like I’d never left Schiphol. Same road closures (seriously, again?!), same rushed goodbyes, same airport nerves. But this time, luck was on my side. I glided through security in under 15 minutes; record time. And just like that, I was off.

The flight was smooth, the food surprisingly okay, and naturally, Love Island UK carried me through. The final three hours always drag, that awkward purgatory of being nearly there but not quite. Luckily, I had a window seat, and as the sun painted the clouds in layers of tangerine and lavender, it started to feel like a proper welcome back.

Landing in Joburg was weirdly comforting. Passport control, baggage claim, the sleepy stroll to the airport hotel, it was as if I’d done it all yesterday. And in the grand scheme of time, I kind of had.

Feeling confident, I texted my mum that I had packed everything. Called myself a “packing genius.” Then karma cleared her throat and said: “Are you sure?” Because of course, I had forgotten the most essential connector: the EU charger plug. I had the cables. I had the South African adapter. But no bridge between the two. Some power bank gymnastics later, I was charging again. Mental note: suspiciously light tech pouches are never a good sign.

Day 2: Back with a Bang at the Munywana Conservancy

Another plane, another sleepy alarm. Shower, breakfast, a call home, and off I went to buy an eSIM, and yes, the charger. Sweet, sweet redemption.

Seeing Sheena again with her ACE sign felt like hugging an old friend. I met two UK girls joining the program, and we clicked instantly. I probably overwhelmed them with stories from my last trip, but it seemed to work, they were buzzing by the time we boarded.

The quick flight to Durban disappeared in a blink. Then came the four-hour drive through the bush, where we dropped off the other girls at Aloe Camp. As the sky turned dark, the headlights bounced off the gravel road, and suddenly an elephant in musth blocked our way. We detoured… right into the three cheetah brothers. Dramatic entrances all around.

By the time we arrived at Swilley’s Camp, it was already 18:30. The house was packed and buzzing with energy, which hit me like a wave. New people, unfamiliar dynamics, lots of voices, I felt a little out of place, but was comforted by seeing Andrew, the same monitor from last time. After a quiet unpacking session and some one-on-one chats, the edge started to lift. But sleep? Not yet.

Day 3: Back in the Bush, Baby

At 7:00, we set out into a bush that looked like it had been dipped in fog. Mist swirled around us as we followed the tracks of an elephant herd. One young male, clearly not a morning person, put on a bit of a show when a tractor tried to pass. Ears flared, trumpets blared. Andrew read the situation like a parent dealing with a toddler meltdown, and the elephant sulked back to the herd.

Later, we tried to track cheetahs in the sand forest, but no luck. However, then came a spontaneous geology lesson from Andrew. I learned that the Munywana Conservancy contains 14 distinct geologies. Fourteen! The land here holds ancient coral reefs, fossil-rich dunes, and minerals washed down from both the mountains and the ocean. These geological contrasts explain the conservancy’s rich biodiversity; with each terrain offering its own microclimate, vegetation, and therefore, different homes for wildlife. So maybe I was right that this place is magical, it’s already in the soil.

At another base camp, we ran into the UK girls again, which sparked happy surprise squeals and reunion hugs. The afternoon gifted us a golden-hour buffalo herd, some side-eyeing zebras, and one particular zebra who farted so loud as we passed that we all cried laughing (we literally scared the shit out of him). Later, we watched two young bull elephants mock-fighting, which prompted Love Island-style commentary from the back seat. “He definitely coupled up with her too soon” and “Not him stealing the water bottle!”

Day 4: Leopards, Laps & Late Braais

Car 9 had made a miraculous comeback (RIP revoked from last letter), but while it was in for a check-up, we took trusty old Car 20.

Word on the reserve was that a leopard had been spotted nearby. She was walking away, the lighting was terrible, and I barely snapped a photo. But I saw her and it was magical. They really are that beautiful.  

We stopped for water at Mountain Lodge, where we sipped coffee with a view over the whole conservancy and casually slipped into an F1 debate. What started as “Do you follow the races?” escalated into a full-blown defense of teams and tactics. I might have gotten a little too passionate. But we all left friends, so I call that a win.

In the afternoon, we drove into town to stock up for the braai. The Spar and local butcher were exactly as I remembered, great prices and shockingly good quality. On the way back, I found myself explaining the difference between Afrikaans and Dutch, and even demonstrated the infamous “wet T” of Rotterdam dialect to everyone. There’s nothing more patriarchal than a Dutchie outside of the Netherlands…

The evening was cozy, Kat brought pre-drinks, the conversation was warm, and I caught up with Andrew properly. But the fire didn’t get going until 21:00, and by the time we ate at 22:15, my hunger had clocked out. We postponed the initial wine lessons until next time.

Day 5: Gloves On, Glasses Up

We started the day clearing Chromolaena odorata, an invasive plant that outcompetes native grasses and is resistant to controlled burns. It might not sound glamorous, but this kind of work is essential. Without native grasses, the ecosystem collapses, especially for grazers like wildebeest and impala. It turned out to be the perfect morning for it; cool, sunny, and strangely meditative.

That afternoon, we skipped the drive and stayed at camp. I took over the camera trap footage from Brooke, which mostly featured shadows, rustling bushes, and one jump-scare mongoose.

In the evening, it was time for Braai 2.0, and I finally delivered my promised wine lesson. No, I’m not a sommelier, but after a few hospitality internships, I’ve learned my way around a tasting note. We sampled a few bottles I picked up at the store and discussed tannins, acidity, and structure like the cultured bush-dwellers we are. We all learned a few things, and I promised a round two, with better reds next time.

Day 6: A Typical Dutch Day in the Bush

I finally had a good night’s sleep… until I didn’t. Around 3:00 a.m., the wind flung one of the windows open with a bang and startled me awake. I got up, closed it, crawled back into bed, and realized it was one of those nights; sleep had left the building for good.

And to make things more poetic? The rain had rolled in. Cold, grey, and drizzly. The kind that soaks your socks and your soul. It felt like the Dutch autumn had followed me to the southern hemisphere. All I was missing was a stroopwafel and a hot chocolate.

The morning drive was more functional than fabulous. We had to drop off some equipment at another base, but on our way back through the reserve, we hit a streak of luck. There, lounging in the light drizzle like they were on the cover of Savannah Vogue, was the northern lion pride. I didn’t even have my camera with me (blame the rain) but I didn’t mind. For once, I just watched.

In the afternoon, we ventured into a part of the conservancy that had become so lush it was practically trying to reclaim the road. The greenery was dense, and many of the trees had been broken or half-toppled by elephants. You could see where they’d fed and bulldozed their way through. One tree in particular was wedged tightly across the road. Andrew and Collin tried shifting it, pushing, pulling, but nothing. That’s when they turned to us girls with a playful smirk and said, “Geez, thanks for the help girls…”

So, we climbed down, examined it like a puzzle, and realized one large branch was twisted the wrong way, jamming the trunk. A quick flip and twist, and the whole thing shifted. Road cleared. Who needs brute force when you’ve got female brainpower?

As we drove on, I was once again struck by how quickly the landscapes change here. Within one hectare, you can pass through sand forests, floodplains, acacia thickets, and open plains. It’s no wonder the wildlife is so diverse, every few steps, the habitat reshapes itself.

Day 7: Serene Sunday

Today was our half-day. Which meant a glorious, luxurious sleep-in… until 7:30. After so many early mornings, that felt like noon. I stayed in bed for a while, reading, watching a series, calling home; just letting time stretch.

At 14:00, Andrew picked us up for a short drive. This place has a way of silencing everything, even my ever-chattering internal monologue. I’ve realized that back home, I often feel boxed in, by concrete, buildings, and busy schedules. But here? You can breathe wider. You look out, and all you see is space, it feels like a privilege.

On our afternoon drive, we found the northern pride again. This time with the lioness who has a blind eye. It was beautiful to see how the pride still protected her, even though she likely couldn’t participate in hunts. Her disability didn’t exclude her from the family. It felt like something all of us could learn from.

Later, we spotted a cheetah mom with three cubs, though they were tucked too far away for a proper sighting. Still, it was a sweet moment, three little bundles of spots nestled in the grass. Toward the end of the drive, we found a rhino with a rather unfortunate tick growth in an equally unfortunate spot. So much for the bush life of a male rhino…

That evening, the Australians and I decided to give the Americans their first proper Eurovision education. It involved some mild embarrassment, some surprisingly good songs, and a lot of laughter. I wouldn’t call myself a superfan, but the camp of it all? Iconic.

Day 8: Drips, Drama & Drainage Disasters

Just when I thought I had reclaimed my sleep cycle, the bush said not so fast. At 4:00 a.m., I was woken by a cold drop of water landing squarely on my forehead. My first panicked thought: “The roof is leaking.” But no, just good old-fashioned condensation. Since our camp doesn’t have ceilings (so bats don’t nest in the rafters) cold air and warm air meet and… voilà. A built-in midnight shower.

Despite the early wake-up, the morning had its own kind of magic. We picked up the ecologist, she was brilliant, warm, and so full of knowledge it’s almost intimidating (but in a good way). Not long into the drive, we spotted two cheetahs, a mother and her cub, grooming each other by the roadside. It was quiet, gentle, and so tender I nearly forgot to breathe.

They kept glancing toward a nearby drainage ditch, which piqued our curiosity. After they wandered off, we went to check and found a small, injured monkey curled up in the reeds. It wasn’t moving much, just watching us with heavy eyes. There wasn’t anything we could do. It was a quiet, helpless kind of heartbreak. One of those reminders that the bush isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes, it’s just honest. That’s the circle of life for you…

On the way back, we stumbled on two giraffes in an intense sparring match, necks swinging, legs lunging. The official Giraffe Fight Club.

Three volunteers were leaving the next morning, so we planned a little sundowner cocktail during the evening drive. The sky turned soft as silk, the marshlands shimmered in gold, and we spotted birds, rhinos, and one majestic elephant on the horizon.

Day 9: She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named Strikes Again

The group had thinned out; 3 volunteers had left in the morning. What remained was a trio: me, Kat, and Andrew. We began with tracking, the animal in question now playfully referred to as “she-who-shall-not-be-named,” because every time we closed in on her, she vanished into bushland like a whispered rumor. Still, the search gave us a solid workout: ducking under branches, and scrambling over logs like some bush version Twister. At one point, I was practically doing acrobatic stunts to avoid the thorns.

Eventually, we ran into the Aloe group and teamed up for a second attempt. But the area we were tracking into was known to be risky; thick bush, low visibility, and potential rhinos. So, the boys went in; we stayed behind with flasks of coffee and swapped stories instead. A good trade, honestly, let the men work.

After lunch, Kat and I stretched out our spines in the sunshine with some improvised yoga. My lower back (affectionately known as my “grandma back”) was especially thankful. The afternoon drive was slow, wildlife-wise, but peaceful. Still, I did find my first tick and didn’t spiral into panic. I think that counts as character development. Two new volunteers arrived as well, so let’s see how this week will go!

Day 10: Cheetahs in the Sun & Rhino with Rainbow

We left early for the mountain region in search of cheetahs and luck was on our side. We found a cheetah mother and her cub warming themselves in the golden light, their bodies lazily stretched in the sand. The cub tried to climb a nearby tree, paws scrambling against the bark before gravity won. It was like watching a toddler try ballet, ungraceful, but heart-melting.

Nearby, a wildebeest had an entire meltdown, snorting and braying and running in frantic loops. The cheetahs? Completely unbothered. That’s the cheetah magic, grace under pressure. It’s no wonder they have the highest success rate of all the big cats. Up to 60% of hunts end in a kill, compared to 50% for leopards and just 30–40% for lions. They don’t waste energy on drama.

After a warm pitstop at Mountain Lodge (where I finally bought a sweater, thank god), we helped map out a fenced-off grazing area. And yes, I got sunburned. Again. Despite wearing SPF. Again.

That afternoon, we joined another rhino dehorning, a delicate, emotional task. The team was a mix of professionals and first-time visitors, including kids. The reserve manager did a wonderful job in incorporating the kids during the briefing. As we worked, the light softened into pinks and golds, and a faint rainbow stretched over the horizon, making the moment feel unreal.

Andrew and I were in charge of measuring the removed horn, using a soft tape, carefully recording dimensions while Kat was writing everything down. The kids helped, wide-eyed and curious. I honestly think one or two of the kids would actually be interested in working in conservation later on in life, and this might have been the start for them.

And of course, I had forgotten my jacket. Again. The reserve manager offered me his sweater, which was probably the nicest gesture I’ve had all year. Who said chivalry is dead?

Day 11: Branching Out & Braaing In

We kicked off early again with tracking, which led to a tree-climbing moment to hang up a new gateway. Andrew scaled it like a pro; I gave it a go, scratched my legs, laughed, and flashed back to my childhood climbing the same trees back home. I loved it though!

Not long after, we spotted a cheetah mother with four cubs, a jackpot sighting. One cub attempted to climb a tree and, like yesterday’s cub, failed magnificently. Bush babies in training.

After lunch, we made a supply run to town, playlist blasting. Kat had created a full group soundtrack with everyone’s favorite songs. Car karaoke has never felt so joyful, it was also good to get to know some new songs, especially Irish music (#shashasha). We grocery-shopped like pros and were back in time for the afternoon drive.

In the dark we had an incredible leopard sighting. Not a gentle glimpse through the trees, no, this leopard almost ran into the car. Andrew braked hard. We all froze. The leopard locked eyes with us, then strutted off like a runway model before casually scent-marking a tree. And that’s when we smelled it again: buttery popcorn. Yes, that’s what leopard smells like. Next time I go to the movies, I’ll only think of leopards.

That night we gathered around the fire for Wine Lesson: Round Two, this time with a much better bottle, a soft Merlot. We talked late into the night about conservation models around the world. I fell asleep full, of food, wine, ideas, and something that felt a lot like peace.

Day 12: Spreadsheets, Scratches & Sunset Showdowns

We picked up Ross, a firecracker of an ecologist who could probably name 300 grass species in his sleep. His excitement was infectious. We conducted a grass species survey using digital sheets and data entry, something I initially botched, but eventually redeemed myself on (the English alphabet can be hard sometimes…). We talked afterward about how the system could be improved with better tools and apps, and I felt a flicker of interest in tech-for-conservation solutions. Even though we are just some volunteers, we could take part in real managerial meetings.

After the survey, I randomly decided to climb the camp tree. It took three tries, a few bruises, but I made it. No boomslang. No regrets. A perfect pre-birthday win for some yearly reflections.

In the afternoon, we explored the marshlands, where a massive rhino bull gave us a warning bluff. Not a full charge, but a loud, confident stomp. We took the hint, respect is non-negotiable here.

The sun dipped behind the horizon in bright pinks; the kind of sky that makes you go quiet without realizing it.

Day 13: Quiet Days, Secret Sightings

At last, a perfect night’s sleep. In the morning, we monitored an injured cheetah, and in the afternoon, we tracked another priority species.

It was one of those days where things ran smoothly, but felt a little muted. Maybe because the end was creeping closer that everyone was a little quieter. I felt the same, getting mixed feelings about anything and everything in life again. It was a very interesting day; however, some things are better left unsaid so this was a very short day.

Day 14: Feathered Friends & F1 Feels

We left camp at a criminal 4:10 a.m. for bird ringing. It was freezing, the kind of cold that seeps through five layers. We arrived early, classic us, and waited for the ringing team, who were, as expected, on “Africa” Time.

Once they arrived, the morning flew by (no pun intended). We rang around 32 birds across 16 species, including a few that technically aren’t supposed to be here, bird migration maps are more suggestion than science, apparently. The star of the morning was a Pygmy Kingfisher: no bigger than my hand, painted in pinks and oranges and purples.

Back at camp, we watched the Spa Grand Prix, which involved a lot of red flags, delays, and F1 debates. I think I may have recruited a new fan. In between the red flags it was a perfect moment to catch up on life and get to know each other even better. Who knew F1 could double as a fun background series?

We ended the day with a group dinner and the kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt.

Day 15: Sunset Cheers & Cheetah Stares

The last full day. Already.

The morning drive was gentle, perfect sunbeams through the clouds, casting a magical glow over the horizon. We saw the three subadult males of the northern pride, practicing independence. In lion society, coalitions of brothers will eventually break away from the pride to form their own territory. These three were right at that edge, still boys, not yet kings.

After lunch and a failed nap, we went out for one last drive. We checked on the injured cheetah, who had held his ground after a visit from a rival coalition. It made for perfect entertainment, trying to see when the cheetahs would try and attack again. Would they be as stubborn as we thought they would be? Nope, unfortunately no drama.

No one was quite ready to say goodbye, so we ended the night with a final braai and cocktails. I got spoiled with the clearest night with the brightest stars straight from my bedroom window as a silent goodbye already.

Day 16: Bittersweet Goodbyes

And just like that, it was over.

Two weeks disappeared in the blink of an eye. I had come back to see if the magic still existed or if my memory had over-romanticized it. But the truth is… it was all still here. Different, but still so special.

The hardest part wasn’t leaving the animals or the nature. It was the people. Stories that still felt unfinished (or had just begun) had to come to an abrupt halt.

Sometimes, all you get is a 7-minute goodbye, the kind that feels both perfectly timed and painfully rushed. A farewell that hugs you and haunts you all at once. The kind of goodbye you wish had been a hello. Maybe it was always meant to be this way; another lesson to grow from, another reason to work harder and find my way back here next year.

Because, again, I’ll be back.

And I’ll end this like I did the last time (as cliché as it may be), but I know it like I know the path from Swilley’s to Shabalala Road.

Upcoming year I’ll work on my Zulu clicks, especially the Q, X, and C. (One day, I’ll get there.)

I’ll pack better next time. (I won’t be as stubborn again with the cold.)

And I’ll carry this place with me until I return.

So, just like last time:

Sanibonani, I’ll see you again.

Spread the Luv,

Isabella

P.S. Just as smitten with the wild beauty as I am? Have a peek at my storefront to grab your own digital print of these unforgettable faces and fuzzy encounters.

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