Spare

After a respectful period of time, I held her hand.

Next, when the road got flatter, I ventured a kiss.

Just as we both remembered.

My bodyguards, fifty meters behind us, pretended not to see.

As we got further into the bush, as we neared the Okavango, the fauna began changing.

There! Look!

Oh, my God. Is that…giraffes!

And over there, look!

A family of warthogs.

We saw a breeding herd of elephants. Dads, mums, babies. Hi, guys. We started along a firebreak road and the birds were going nuts, which sent a weird shiver down my spine. Lions in the area.

No way, she said.

Something told me to look back. Sure enough, a flickering tail. I shouted for Mike to stop. He hit the brakes, threw the truck into reverse. There—standing right before us, a big fella. Daddy. And there, four youngsters, lounging under a shady bush. With their mums.

We admired them for a while, then drove on.

Shortly before dusk we arrived at a small satellite camp Teej and Mike had made up. I carried our bags to a bell tent beside a huge sausage tree. We were on the edge of a big forest, looking down a gentle slope to the river, and beyond: a floodplain teeming with life.

Meghan—whom I was now calling Meg, or sometimes just M—was stunned. The vivid colors. The pure, fresh air. She’d traveled, but she’d never seen anything like this. This was the world before the world was made.

She opened her small suitcase—she needed to get something. Here it comes, I thought. The mirror, the hairdryer, the makeup kit, the fluffy duvet, the dozen pairs of shoes. I was shamefully stereotyping: American actress equals diva. To my shock, and delight, there was nothing in that suitcase but bare essentials. Shorts, ripped jeans and snacks. And a yoga mat.

We sat in canvas chairs, watched the sun set and the moon rise. I whipped up some bush cocktails. Whisky with a splash of river water. Teej offered Meg a glass of wine and showed her how to cut the end off a plastic water bottle and turn it into a goblet. We told stories, laughed a lot, then Teej and Mike cooked us a lovely dinner.

We ate around the fire, staring at the stars.

At bedtime I guided Meg through the darkness to the tent.

Where’s the flashlight? Meg asked.

You mean the torch?

We both laughed.

The tent was very small, and very Spartan. If she’d been expecting some glamping trip, she was now fully divested of that fantasy. We lay down inside, on our backs, feeling the moment, reckoning with the moment.

There were separate bedrolls, the result of much worry and many conversations with Teej. Didn’t want to be presumptuous.

We pushed them together, lay shoulder to shoulder. We stared at the roof, listening, talking, watching moon shadows flutter across the nylon.

Then, a loud munching sound.

Meg bolted upright. What’s that?

Elephant, I said.

Just one, from what I could tell. Just outside. Eating peacefully from the shrubs around us.

She won’t hurt us.

She won’t?

Soon after, the tent shook from a loud roar.

Lions.

Are we going to be OK?

Yes. Don’t worry.

She lay down, put her head on my chest.

Trust me, I told her. I’ll keep you safe.

7.

I woke just before dawn, unzipped the tent quietly, tiptoed out. The stillness of a Botswana morning. I watched a flock of pygmy geese fly upriver, watched impala and lechwe having their morning drink at the water’s edge.

The birdsong was incredible.

As the sun came up I gave thanks for this day, then walked down to the main camp for a piece of toast. When I returned I found Meg stretched on a yoga mat beside the river.

Warrior pose. Downward dog. Child’s pose.

When she finished I announced: Breakfast is served.

We ate under an acacia tree, and she asked excitedly what the plan was.

I have surprises.

Beginning with a morning drive. We hopped into Mike’s old doorless truck, went barreling into the bush. Sun on our cheeks, wind in our hair, we cruised through streams, bounced over hills, flushed lions out of deep grass. Thanks for making such a racket last night, boys! We came upon a large group of giraffes grazing the treetops, their eyelashes like rakes. They nodded good morning.

Not everyone was so friendly. Strolling by a vast watering hole, we saw a cloud of dust just up ahead. A grumpy warthog confronted us. He retreated when we stood our ground.

Hippos also snorted belligerently. We waved, retreated, jumped back into the truck.

We interrupted a pack of wild dogs trying to filch a dead buffalo from two lionesses. It wasn’t going well. We left them to it.