Wildlife Beyond the Lens

The Art of Loyalty, Lattes, and Low Expectations

I’ve just touched down in Cape Town. On approach, it looked like a scene straight out of an afterlife animation—the kind where the protagonist wakes up in the clouds, dead but delighted. And then we broke through the fluff, and Cape Town reminded me: Nope, not heaven. Just wet, windy, and cold. Lovely.

Today’s utterly pointless dispatch—Vol. 3, if anyone’s still counting—comes to you live from smack-bang in the middle of Cape Town. One of the last places I ever thought I’d be again. Not for any deep meaningful reason—just, you know, geography, inflation, and emotional damage.

The morning started early. Painfully early. I usually take late-night flights, because they’re cheaper, emptier, and, frankly, come with fewer people. This morning was the opposite. A full-blown airport circus, complete with screaming kids, sprinting Karens, and more luggage drama than a Turkish soap opera. I’ll be going back to night flights, thank you very much.

The High Court of Cape-Town, a couple of blocks away from my accomodation.

But I digress—again.

Last week was glorious. I got to name a leopard, had some top-tier sightings, lived the kind of week people stick on vision boards. And by Monday afternoon I was back in Pretoria, overdue for a bit of personal decompression. What do I do? I head out for coffee and groceries. Because I’m cultured like that. And because I have a deeply toxic loyalty to Starbucks and Checkers—thanks entirely to FNB.

Let me explain.

You see, for years FNB and Checkers were the power couple of local banking perks. There was harmony. There was synergy. There was a Starbucks and a Checkers next to each other. You earned eBucks, got your free cappuccino, and everyone was happy.

Then came the divorce. A bitter one, the kind where even the kids take sides. And in a move no one saw coming, FNB rebounded… with Pick n Pay. The worst kind of step-parent. Not abusive, just chronically underwhelming.

Now if you’re not from South Africa, this might all sound silly. But if you are—you know exactly what I mean. Pick n Pay’s fresh produce is edible if you squint and pray. The meat? Dubious. The vibes? Expired. And to make matters worse, none of the places I frequent—Rustenburg, Langebaan, Pilanesberg, Mars—have a Pick n Pay nearby. Checkers, on the other hand? Practically a spiritual home.

So, I gave up on eBucks for a few months. Let it go. Grieved the loss. Moved on.

But then, this past Monday, I made my familiar pilgrimage to my local Starbucks. The one near the Checkers that used to be part of the holy trinity of my reward ecosystem. Only to discover a fresh betrayal. Gone is the beloved free cappuccino. Replaced by a “discount voucher” worth R50—if you spend R75.

Now I don’t know what sort of capitalist clown came up with that, but let me be clear: if I need to spend money to save money, I’m not saving money. I’m just spending more of it while being lied to. It’s textbook consumer manipulation, and I am deeply, irrationally offended.

Fast-forward to Tuesday morning. I was headed to Hartbeespoort for work. I wanted coffee. But after the Starbucks trauma, I refused to reward them with my business. So I stopped at a Mugg & Bean near my parents’ place. And would you believe it—there was a Pick n Pay right next door.

Now, curiosity may kill cats, but I’m a field guide. I can survive worse. So I went in. And to my absolute shock, it wasn’t bad. The Waterkloof Ridge branch has a surprisingly good bakery, an acceptable on-the-go section, and a few niche items that didn’t make me weep. Still wouldn’t buy meat there, but credit where due: it’s not entirely useless.

And now, dear reader, we arrive at this morning. A crisp, calculated 4 degrees outside. I was at the airport by 6AM for an 08:30 flight—because if there’s one thing bush life taught me, it’s that punctuality is sexy. Despite travelling with the entire contents of a tech shop—drone, camera, lenses, laptop, cables, batteries—I was done checking in by 07:20. Miraculous.

I watched at least three people miss their flights. One woman even tried to demand they re-open the plane for her. Because, clearly, 102 other passengers should be inconvenienced due to her poor time management. Karen, please.

Anyway, I had 40 minutes to kill before boarding. So I wandered into the Slow Lounge. And this, dear FNB, is the only reason I’m still with you. Lounge access. Free. Comfortable. Quiet. Decent food. The holy grail of pre-flight sanity. Caramel latte. Bacon and cheese omelette. Muesli cup. All before 8AM. It almost made me forget you betrayed me with Pick n Pay.

So here’s the thing: You mess with my lounge access, and I’m out. I don’t care if Capitec opens a Starbucks in every branch and hands out avocados as loyalty perks. If you take away my airport serenity, I’m done.

So, what’s the point of today’s pointless write-up? It’s simple: We are all incredibly predictable. Our loyalty, our money, even our emotional wellbeing can be manipulated by the pettiest conveniences. A free coffee. A slightly less chaotic supermarket. A comfy chair at the airport.

And I’m no different.

Here’s to Kirstenbosch, some penguins, and—yes—more Vida-e this week.
Catch you in Volume 4. Probably from a dusty road, a cold hide, or a lukewarm cappuccino.