Wildlife Beyond the Lens

The Gospel According to Caffeine and Capitalism

It’s Wednesday morning in Pretoria—11:39 AM, to be exact. I muttered obscenities at the unforgiving reality of 7:09 AM, also known as Etosha’s gate opening time. Bloody German precision. Honestly, the only thing more efficient than that is FlySafair’s birthday sale server crashing under the weight of  50,000 desperate souls trying to buy R11 flights with the same chaos and dignity as the 1886 Johannesburg gold rush. Except this time, it’s done from your couch, wearing yesterday’s shirt, and fuelled by hope, caffeine, and lies.

But that brings me neatly to today’s real topic: coffee. The dark nectar of our capitalist rituals. The blood of the bush gods. The legal drug that keeps us (barely) human.

While I waited in the virtual queue—a delightful purgatory somewhere between hope and mockery—I fell down the Lightroom rabbit hole. Again. I’ve now thoroughly nitpicked my own photography work back to 2019, and I can confidently say: it’s all crap. Not because it is, mind you, but because I’ve had time to look at it. And as we all know, the more time you have, the worse everything looks.

Anyway. I’ve been in this Safair queue since 8AM. Haven’t scored a flight yet, and probably won’t. But hey, that’s just legal gambling with a pink logo and a call centre. In the meantime, I’ve done more stairs than your local gym class. So there’s that.

The last two days in Pretoria have been… good. And that’s weird to admit. I’ve been on the road and away from everyone that matters for a while now. And while bush life has its charm, one of its few consistent horrors is this: decent coffee is rare.

Now, I—being a man of dubious wisdom but excellent taste—once bought myself a very respectable coffee machine. Because if I’m living in a tent under the stars and dodging buffalo for fun, then by god I will at least start my day with a proper espresso. Not this Jacobs/Nescafé nonsense. If your “coffee” dissolves with boiling water and comes in a tin, it’s not coffee—it’s a cry for help.

Now, being an FNB customer, I’m technically entitled to one free cappuccino a week from Starbucks. A noble perk. I used to give my mom the vouchers because, frankly, my own machine makes better coffee. Always has. Always will. But recently, while unpacking from my last stint in Namibia, I realised I never took the machine out of its box. A crime against caffeine.

So I made the humble pilgrimage to Starbucks. It was fine. Not offensive. Better than Vida-e… or so I thought.

See, I’ve held a longstanding prejudice against Vida-e. Mostly because they only seem to exist in Cape Town, where everything is somehow smugly artisanal and nobody wears socks. In Gauteng, it’s nearly extinct. And that worked for me—until it didn’t. Until, back in my Black Rhino days, I bought a bag of Vida’s Devra Dark Roast on a whim (and at a laughably pretentious price) because, well, Cape Town and guilted optimism.

I never used it. Not until this morning.

And let me tell you: it was the best damn cup of coffee I’ve had in years. Genuinely. Smooth, rich, maybe even… transformative. Maybe it’s because I’ve been drinking airport sludge for weeks. Or maybe it’s because I wanted it to be good. Maybe I wanted to forgive Cape Town for once. But for whatever reason, this Vida roast brewed into something dangerously close to perfection.

Which brings me, finally, to the actual point—because yes, there is one, even if it’s not particularly useful.

You never really know what’s good until you try it for yourself. Prejudice—like Vida coffee—is often groundless, bitter, and weirdly overpriced. I’ve spent so long trying to be the best, trying to win at an industry that doesn’t exactly hand out medals, that I forgot why I started. Somewhere between the obsession and the burnout, I stopped being kind to myself.

So today I’m learning to run at a different pace. To brew slower, metaphorically and otherwise. And yes, maybe Vida-e is actually good coffee. And maybe Cape Town, in all its barefooted, almond-milked arrogance, had a point all along.

But no, I’m not playing the R11 flight lottery for the coffee. That, my friends, is a secret I’ll take to the grave.

P.S. About an hour after writing this—with all the grace of a swan landing on a frozen lake—I actually got one of those mythical R11 tickets. Miracles do happen, apparently.

Now, all of the above should have been the write-up. But then, as always, life happened. I boarded a flight later that same afternoon and disappeared for a while—off to somewhere quiet, somewhere I could switch off, unwind, and finally get around to the things I’ve been meaning to do for ages.

As you’ve probably seen by now (unless you’re reading this from a cave), I’ve launched a website, a blog, and a brand called Wildlife Beyond the Lens. And if you’re reading this—thank you. Genuinely. Your time, support, and shared curiosity are more appreciated than you know.

A while back, I wrote a tabloid titled Of Busy Beasts and Broken Things, where I touched on burnout, a bit of personal chaos, and the brutal reality of trying to live a normal life in an industry that eats routines for breakfast. I also admitted that I must be clinically insane, because I’d still do it all again. And then, not long after, the Namibia trip happened—and as you may have read in The Namibian Detour, it was the most fun I’ve had in years.

But this trip—the one sparked by an R11 flight and a coffee-fueled emperical spiral—was something different. It was my first proper attempt at building something of my own. Writing about it made me realise what I truly love more than anything else: photography, content creation, and storytelling. Especially when it brings someone else joy, or just makes their day suck a little less.

Of course, the bush is still my first love. Being a field guide is basically my entire personality. So yes, I’m still guiding. But now, only on my terms.

Which is where you come in.

I still want to take people on safari—but only the kind of experiences that truly matter. The kind that stay with you. So if you’ve ever been on safari with me and had a great time, good news: we can do it again, anywhere you want. Just send me your wish list, and we’ll make it happen. And if we haven’t yet shared a game drive but you enjoy reading these write-ups—well, you already know who I am. The offer stands for you, too.

I’m in a transition now—shifting towards a life of writing, storytelling, content creation, and more meaningful time in the wild with people who genuinely want to be there.

Exciting times ahead.

As I type this, I’m heading back to Pilanesberg tomorrow for a stint in the bush. Very excited, I must say. Mission Leopard is back in full swing.

Thanks again for your support. If you’re enjoying the ride, feel free to subscribe—every time I post something new, you’ll get an email straight from the bush gazette.

Until the next one—expect a few entertaining tales from the Pilanesberg.