There are moments — and places — that you feel in your soul. This was one of them.

This past fall I traveled to South Africa as a faculty leader on a study abroad trip. Eleven preservice teachers and two faculty made their way across the country together, and college students carry an energy that is genuinely hard not to catch. We learned to step outside our comfort zones — trying new foods, navigating a new culture, and doing a lot of laughing along the way.

Our home base for part of the trip was Nyosi Wildlife Reserve, and my time there was rejuvenating in ways I didn't expect. We drove across acres of private reserve in a Land Rover, wind in our hair — and often between us and our seats as we caught air over the bumps — tracking cheetahs, scouting for elephants, watching antelope, and marveling at the quirky, almost mechanical movements of giraffes. The landscape was stunning: not quite barren but certainly sparse, cut through with deep valleys and worn dirt tracks. I felt like a kid again, every sense fully alive.

We got within twenty feet of cheetahs. We held lizards. We drove alongside water buffalo and counted zebra. On our first evening, the elephant herd crossed our path, the matriarch raising her trunk in protest at our presence before they meandered on. It was thrilling. I think every kid dreams of going on safari someday — and I was living it.

On our last morning, we opted for a sunrise drive to squeeze one final look at a place that had stolen all our hearts. We were treated to another cheetah sighting, a giraffe casually chewing bones (apparently they do this for calcium — charming and horrifying in equal measure), and more zebra. The elephants, though, were elusive.

Breakfast was long overdue, but our guide Braden was persistent. His joy for the animals was contagious, and he wanted to find the elephants. We made one last pass along the river.

The road curved sharply — and there she was. The matriarch, eye to eye with me. I could feel her watching, not aggressively, but with a kind of focused intelligence that made my breath catch. I froze — partly because that's what you're supposed to do, and partly because I was completely entranced.

She reached out her trunk and began to sniff me.

I could have moved my hand an inch and touched her. I didn't. I just stayed still and let the moment be what it was: the sheer volume of her, the rough texture of her skin, the swing of her ears, the unmistakable sense of a mind behind those eyes. The experience left me feeling small and profoundly connected at the same time.

She eventually turned and walked away, glancing back once — almost like a goodbye. It was the perfect ending to an already perfect stay.