Chapter 10

The convoy kicked up dust as it wound its way down the dirt track toward the camp, just past midday. I stood with Thandiwe near the perimeter, watching as the three open-sided vehicles slowed to a stop under the shade of the acacia trees. Another group. New faces, new names, new rhythms. The same questions and wide eyes I’d seen a dozen times now.

But something about this arrival felt different. Not better or worse—just ... quieter inside me. Like the sound of the engine turning over after a long pause.

We moved through the usual process: greetings, orientation, distributing gear. I recognized that mixture of excitement and anxiety in the students’ faces, and I knew my own presence—tall, American, a little sun-weathered—carried with it a certain expectation. The seasoned guide. The distant authority. I played the part, with the practiced ease that had begun to feel more natural with each rotation.

But beneath the surface, I was watching myself just a little more than usual.

I hadn’t realized how much Bliss’s presence had altered the shape of the last trip—how much of my energy had been pulled into managing not just the group, but the gravitational pull between us. Now, with her gone, I felt both lighter and emptier, like someone removed a weight I’d grown accustomed to bearing. It was a vaguely unpleasant sensation.

Still, the work grounded me. The field routines snapped into place: morning check-ins, briefings, coordinating with Joseph and the other staff. We reviewed the project scope for this group—more emphasis on large mammal behavior, less on ecology. I welcomed the change of pace.

That night, after the group was settled and the first meal had been shared, I found myself alone near the fire pit, watching embers dance on the breeze. My ankle was almost fully healed now, but I still moved a bit cautiously, as if the Delta were reminding me to stay humble.

Thandiwe passed by, gave a nod, and kept walking. There was no need for words.

I thought of Bliss—where she might be. Probably catching up on classes, maybe making plans for her upcoming graduation. It was strange not to have a fixed point on the calendar to look forward to. The days ahead felt open-ended, and that freedom brought both calm and unease.

I leaned back in the chair, letting the stars emerge above the trees, one by one. For the first time in weeks, I felt fully present—anchored again in the work, the landscape, the rhythm of the place that had quietly become home.

But even in the peace of that moment, I knew something had shifted within me. I could carry on without Bliss here, yes. But I couldn’t go back to before. The camp had changed me. She had changed me. And I had no illusions that it would be easy to keep that part of myself tucked away for long.

For now, though, there was a new group to teach. Tracks to follow. Data to gather. And a quiet hope I carried like an ember in my chest, waiting for the next wind to rise.

It was sunset in the Delta —the most spectacular part of the day, as far as I was concerned. I crossed the path toward the mess tent. A breeze stirred the grasses, and the day’s heat had finally begun to break. That’s when I saw Arthur coming in from the east, a canvas duffel slung over one shoulder and that signature Aussie stride — half-relaxed, half-ready for anything. I hadn’t had a chance to really talk to him for a while. He’d been at the social event the night before Bliss and her group departed, but he’d shipped out again the next day.

He spotted me, grinned, and changed course.

“Well, if it isn’t the Delta’s most dramatic patient,” he said, setting the bag down and clapping a hand on my shoulder. “The one who tried to wrestle a hole in the ground and lost.”

I laughed, shook my head. “Yeah, well, the hole came out on top. Pretty fierce opponent. Caught me just after sunrise.”

“Let me guess,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Solo patrol? Or did you have company?”

I hesitated just a second too long.

Arthur’s grin widened. “Oh no. Don’t tell me. Was this during a secret sunrise stroll with a certain fiercely intelligent student?” I was surprised that he hadn’t yet gotten wind of the full story.

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t secret. And it wasn’t a stroll. We ran into each other. She just ... joined me.”

“Suuuure she did,” he said, chuckling. “And then she just happened to be close enough to catch you when you heroically collapsed.”

“It wasn’t heroic. It was clumsy. And painful.”

“Ah, mate,” he said, slapping my back. “I’m only teasing. But I would’ve paid good money to see you hobbling back into camp with Bliss as your crutch. Bet that got a few raised eyebrows.”

“Some,” I admitted, “though everyone moved on quickly. I made sure to gut it out with the group that afternoon. But yeah ... it didn’t go unnoticed.”

Arthur nodded, the humor in his expression softening. “You alright now?”

“Ankle’s fine,” I said. “Better than fine. It’s everything else that’s a bit ... undefined.”

We walked together, veering off toward a pair of empty chairs near the fire pit. Dusk was deepening, with stars just starting to prick through. I stretched out my legs with a soft grunt. Arthur sat with a groan of his own.

“Still thinking long-term?” he asked after a moment. “About staying?”

I nodded. “More than thinking. I’ve been telling people — Thandiwe, Joseph — that I want to make it permanent. I love it here. The work, the Delta ... the rhythm of it all. Even the dust.”

Arthur gave a knowing hum. “And Bliss?”

I sighed, stared into the trees. “Still complicated. She graduates in a couple of months. Until then, it’s professional distance. After that ... I don’t know. I want to be in her orbit, but I’m trying to give it the time it needs.”

Arthur nodded. “You’re doing the right thing. But don’t be afraid to prepare the next steps. You’ve got allies. Dr. Ellington knows your teaching chops now. And Bessie—she’s better connected than half the people in Gaborone. You’ve been cagey about using those connections.”

“I know,” I said. “I guess I’ve wanted to prove something first — that I’m not just here for a girl. That this place is right for me, even without her.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “But don’t wait too long. Doors open for a little while, then sometimes they swing shut. You’ve earned a spot here. Start nudging the hinges.”

I smiled. “That your Aussie wisdom for the night?”

“That, and don’t fall in holes. But I figured you’ve got that one covered.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that comes easy between old friends — worn-in, earned. The stars were out in force now, and somewhere in the dark, an owl gave a long, low call.

“Thanks, Arthur,” I said quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. He followed the pause with some words of encouragement.

“You’re a good man, Ben. And you’ve still got some of your life’s best chapters ahead. Just make sure you write them on your terms.”

The next student group settled into camp life quickly. A few were nervous at first — their eyes scanning the Delta’s horizon with equal parts awe and apprehension — but within days, they found their rhythm. Under the thick canopy of trees, they hiked transects through tall grasses, recorded wildlife sightings, and took water samples at the southern bend of the wetland.

I fell back into a familiar groove — guiding, mentoring, gently correcting mistakes without discouraging enthusiasm. One student, a tall, soft-spoken young man named Tebogo, surprised me with a keen eye for predator tracks. Another, Lindiwe, asked dozens of thoughtful questions about water ecology and its links to community development.