The Wilderness Within: Africa August 2025
- October 21, 2025
- by Raad Ghantous
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There are journeys you take to see the world. And then there are journeys the world takes in you. My trip to Africa this past August was the latter.
When I boarded the plane, I had a sense that this would be meaningful. I’d seen the pictures, heard the stories, and imagined the sweeping landscapes. But nothing prepares you for the way Africa doesn’t just show itself—it works on you. The continent does not whisper politely. It moves through you, shakes you awake, and rearranges how you see yourself.
From the very first morning, I knew I wasn’t in familiar territory. The light was sharper, cleaner. The air smelled of dust and rain and something ancient, as if time itself lingered in the breeze. There was no hiding here, no comfort in distraction. Africa looks you directly in the eye and says: this is who you are, stripped of pretense. What will you do with that truth?
The Falls
Victoria Falls was my initiation. Locals call it Mosi-oa-Tunya—“the smoke that thunders”—and that name says everything. Standing at the edge, I felt the ground tremble beneath me as the Zambezi hurled itself into the gorge below. The spray rose in clouds, drenching us in seconds, as if the river was baptizing everyone who dared come close.
I expected beauty. What I didn’t expect was the sense of eternity. The roar of water that has been falling for millennia, long before I was here and long after I am gone. In that deafening sound, I felt both small and sacred. My life—its worries, its ambitions, its heartbreaks—suddenly looked like threads in a far larger tapestry. And instead of feeling diminished, I felt placed, grounded, recalibrated.
And then, I did something I never thought I would: I jumped. Off the bridge at the Falls! Tethered by a bungee cord, I leapt into the abyss off a UNESCO cultural site’s historic bridge connecting 2 lands, at one of the 3 largest waterfalls in the world. For a breathless instant, there was no past, no future—only surrender and full presence in the now. The rush was primal, terrifying but, yes, also exhilarating. As the cord snapped me back into the air flawlessly as if the lightest of feathers on the end of a fully supportive life thread, I understood something: sometimes the only way to truly live is to let go of control, to trust the line that holds you, and to give yourself fully to the moment. That leap became a metaphor for more than the jump itself—it was a declaration of trust in uncertainty, of freedom, of saying yes to life in all its risk and embracing its unpredictability.
The Rhythm of the Land
Days on safari carried their own tempo. At home, I am used to alarms, schedules, notifications—the artificial pulse of modern life. In Africa, dawn announced itself differently. Birds burst into song before the first streaks of light cracked the horizon. The air was cool, still, full of anticipation. By mid-morning, the plains shimmered in heat, and time seemed to slow.
Elephants lumbered across the land, steady and deliberate, each step guided by an ancient instinct. They didn’t rush, and yet they always arrived where they needed to be. Watching them, I wondered about the pace of my own life—the hurry and the hustle I carry, the urgency I manufacture. What would it mean to move with that kind of certainty, that kind of trust in my own rhythm?
Lions lounged in the shade, bodies draped over the earth with the unapologetic authority of kings. Their very stillness radiated power. They didn’t need to prove strength by constant action; their presence said enough. There was a lesson in that, too—about sovereignty, about steadiness resting in who you are without needing to force it on the world.
At night, the sky was a revelation. Without city lights, the stars revealed themselves in dizzying abundance. Entire galaxies spilled across the heavens, constellations I had never truly seen with my own eyes. I lay awake, staring upward, humbled by the reminder that human history has always unfolded under this same canopy. Those stars have watched over love and war, over the rise of civilizations and the quiet moments of countless lives. And here they were, watching me, too as I listened to the nocturnal sounds of hippos feeding on river grass in the delta.
Encounters with Belonging
The land was not the only teacher. In the cities and villages, I met people whose wealth was measured not in possessions, but in connection. Children moved freely from home to home, embraced by an extended family of neighbors. Meals were shared, stories told, laughter rising from small courtyards and gathering places. Elders sat at the center—not forgotten, but revered as the keepers of memory.
One afternoon, a local guide told me, “Here, we don’t ask what someone does. We ask who their people are.” It struck me. At home, identity is so often tethered to occupation, to titles, to accomplishments. Here, identity was rooted in belonging. You were known, not for what you produced, but for the web of relationships that held you.
And then there were the happy accidents: a conversation with a stranger that turned into hours of shared stories, an unplanned stop that revealed a hidden view, a delay that brought laughter instead of frustration. Again and again, I saw the gift of allowing things to unfold instead of orchestrating them. Life opened in ways I couldn’t have scripted—and perhaps that was the real lesson. That sometimes, the best way forward is not to press, but to release.
The Echo Within
Coming back, I noticed that Africa did not leave me when I left it. The red dust clung stubbornly to my shoes, as though the land itself wanted to travel home with me. And in a way, it has. The experience echoes through my days in quiet shifts.
I walk slower in the mornings now, less eager to race into the day. I find myself stepping outside at night, searching for the stars, remembering that vastness. I measure my worth less by what I accomplish and more by how present I feel in the moments that matter.
Africa reminded me of something I had misplaced: that life isn’t meant to be forced into shape like a blueprint. It’s meant to be engaged, surrendered to, trusted. The Raad Life ethos has always been about freedom—the freedom to reinvent, to belong to yourself, to choose your path again and again. But Africa showed me another side of freedom: the freedom of surrender. The freedom of knowing you are not in charge of the universe, but you belong to it.
Reflections from the Road
Some roads lead outward, showing you places you’ve never seen. Others lead inward, showing you parts of yourself you’ve forgotten. My journey through Africa did both.
It showed me the grandeur of a land that refuses to be tamed, and it reminded me of the wilderness still inside me—the parts that don’t need proof, the parts that simply are. It invited me to trade urgency for rhythm, striving for presence, control for belonging.
And perhaps that is the truest reflection from the road: that the point of travel is not to collect sights, but to collect shifts. To allow the world to leave its mark on you in ways you carry forward.
Africa left its mark on me—in the leap I dared to take, in the conversations I stumbled into, in the surrender to moments I could not plan. And I intend to carry it—not as a postcard memory, but as a living reminder of how to be fully alive, fully free, and fully human.
About the Author:
Raad Ghantous is a hospitality design visionary, creative strategist, and founder of Raad Ghantous & Associates, a boutique firm known for transforming luxury environments into timeless experiences. With over two decades of global expertise spanning interior architecture, branded guest experiences, and high-end hospitality, F&B, Wellness, and residential projects, Raad brings a bold, narrative-driven approach to placemaking—where aesthetics, function, and emotional resonance meet. As the founder of The Raad Life, a lifestyle platform and forthcoming magazine, Raad leads conversations around reinvention, longevity, and generational culture. His voice is grounded in wisdom, edge, and unapologetic authenticity—traits that carry into every space he designs and every story he tells. Whether consulting for iconic hospitality brands or redefining what it means to age with style and purpose, Raad’s work stands at the intersection of legacy and innovation. Learn more at raadghantous.com and follow The Raad Life for curated content that inspires life beautifully lived.