A Safari of the Soul: Remembering Who I Am in the Wilds of Tanzania

I’ve dreamed of going on safari since I was a little girl, visiting the zoo and standing in awe of the majestic elephants. Even back then, I wondered what it would be like to see them not behind bars, but free—roaming the lands where they were meant to be. So when my business mentor, a gifted wildlife photographer, told me she was curating a journey to Tanzania, I felt an immediate soul yes. This was more than a trip. It was a calling.

I took a night in London to ground myself before the adventure, then flew into Arusha just in time to feel the energy of the land before our group journey began. What followed over the next ten days would awaken something ancient in me—something wild, intuitive, and deeply alive.

On our first day, we entered Arusha National Park and were met not with spectacle, but serenity. A giraffe bending gracefully for a drink. A mother warthog guiding her babies through lush grass. Skulls of water buffalo and impala scattered along the path of a waterfall hike, reminding us of the cycle of life and death that pulses constantly through the wild. This was no zoo. This was nature, honest and raw. And it invited me to remember a part of myself that doesn’t strive or perform—she just is.

Lake Manyara was next, and its magic was immediate. A lioness and her cubs, faces smeared with the remnants of a fresh kill, leapt in and out of the trees. Elephants shielded a newborn calf within their circle. A godfather baboon barked his warning cry while a Nile monitor slipped silently into the lake. Each moment carried its own sacred rhythm—sometimes violent, often tender, always real.

That evening, I collapsed into bed with the kind of exhaustion that only awe can bring. Observing wildlife may seem passive, but the level of presence it demands—of silence, attention, reverence—asks everything of you. It empties you out, but not in a way that depletes. It makes space for wonder.

And then came the Ngorongoro Crater.

At dawn, we descended into the caldera. The world around us was hushed, cloaked in mist. Out of the fog emerged a group of giraffes, silent and slow-moving. Their tall necks were wrapped in the morning fog like scarves billowing in a breeze. Their grace felt otherworldly, like a dream I didn’t want to wake from.

Moments later, as we crossed the crater’s threshold, the fog spilled over its rim and down into the vast bowl of land like a tidal wave of light and cloud. It was as if the earth itself was exhaling. In that moment, I offered a silent prayer—to the universe, to the ancestors, to the land—for the beauty I was witnessing and the encounters still to come.

We watched a hippo meander toward its safe water home. Zebras kicked and played in the golden marsh, their bodies catching the early light. The deeper we went, the quieter I became. These animals weren’t trying to be anything but themselves. And their authenticity invited my own.

Safari life requires patience. Sometimes the animal is far away, and all you can do is wait. You watch. You wonder. Why did that elephant stop and sniff the air? What made that lion choose that patch of grass? My usual urgency softened into curiosity. Curiosity melted into reverence. And reverence transformed into presence.

The lionesses were a lesson in feminine power. Resting without apology. Hunting when needed. Providing for their pride with instinctual certainty. They weren’t loud or dramatic. But their power was unmistakable. I didn’t just admire them—I remembered myself through them.

Later, we turned a corner on a wooded trail and found several female elephants surrounding a calf. One stepped forward, her body still, ears flared, trumpeting. She was strong and soft all at once. That moment struck something deep in my bones: true strength doesn’t require force. It comes from grounded knowing. From presence. From love.

A few days later, as we traveled from Ndutu to the Serengeti, I had a strong intuitive hit that we’d find a lion family at a rocky outcrop. Our guide told me these formations were called kopjes, and he agreed to take a detour. Sure enough, we found a lion couple perched on the rocks—and nearby, several lionesses with cubs tumbling and playing in the grass. It was a thrill, yes—but also a spiritual confirmation. When you trust your inner knowing, life meets you with magic.

Each day followed a similar rhythm: waking early to catch the cool morning air, scanning treetops for the flick of a tail, bumping along dirt roads while birds, jackals, and mongoose darted past. We saw impala and gazelle, hyena and wildebeest. And always, zebras—so many zebras, their stripes like sacred codes of contrast and clarity.

On one of the final days, after a long morning chasing glimpses of a shy leopard hidden in a bush, the rest of the group opted to rest at the lodge. But I felt a surge of energy and followed my instinct to head back out. Hours later, we were rewarded with the sight of a female leopard lounging in a tree. We watched her for over an hour, our breath held in anticipation. She never came down. But she didn’t need to. Her presence was enough. I returned late, covered in dust and awe, heart full.

That’s the thing about being here—everything belongs. The sunrise doesn’t ask permission to rise. The lion doesn’t question its roar. The zebra doesn’t wish for spots. Nature doesn’t hustle for worthiness. And neither should we.

Closing: Safari as Sacred Rebirth

This is what the Radiant Rebirth journey is all about. The soul's remembering. The sacred return. The wild reawakening. You don’t have to earn your place—you already belong. Your longing to grow, expand, and shine isn’t selfish. It’s your soul calling you home.

I came away from Tanzania not just with photos and stories, but with a cellular shift. I remembered what it feels like to be fully myself—guided by curiosity, moved by instinct, anchored in peace.

One afternoon, watching a herd of wildebeest stretch across the plains, I felt it again—that sense of infinite potential. That everything I am becoming is already encoded within me.

And that transformation doesn’t always need to be loud. Sometimes, it’s as quiet as a lion’s breath in the grass. As soft as fog rolling over the rim of the crater.

Change doesn’t have to roar. Sometimes, it’s the quiet shift of sunrise. Still powerful. Still true.

I returned home with a deep commitment to live more like the wild—attuned, trusting, unapologetic. This safari wasn’t just an adventure. It was an initiation. A remembering of who I am, and a promise to live it fully.