Oh dear, my writing skills seem to be be broken, which is part of the reason why I haven’t posted much lately, the other part is that I don’t really like the word ‘blog’, still this is my journal and it’s important to store and save thoughts and memories. I’ll whisper this post because I don’t really want to ‘advertise’ Mabibi, it’s magic would fade if the unspoilt beauty were commonised, (this is my space I can make up words, as a poet I claim poetic license). popularised and glamorised
Leading up to my 50th birthday Cliff arranged an extra special trip. We stayed at Mabibi Camp and Rocktail, close to Mozambique way north on the Natal north coast. Only 4 x 4 vehicles can get to Mabibi and once there you only have what you took in, nipping to the shops is not an option. You even have to take in drinking water.
Up until a few years ago only camp sites were available but now there are a few rustic chalets. Mabibi is a no frills kind of place and I wouldn’t want it any different. Almost 6 months after the holiday memories still luminesce like pure sunlight on water. Just thinking of our stay, liquid stars light up dark inner spaces. I don’t think I’ve felt as healthy for years, not that I’m particularly unhealthy but there’s generally a little ache or niggle somewhere. Maybe it was the exercise walking to the beach and back more than once a day, maybe it was the vitamin D, or the tranquility, the lack of cell phone signal or the inner peace, whatever. I radiated pure health.
We happened to be at Mabibi during the season when humpback whales migrate. Every day we saw them, a distant spurt or a hulking mass breaching the worlds of water and sky. One day there must have been 10s in scattered groups (is it a pod?) I can’t put words to the wonder, but I gasped over and over(f*&k 50 shades so murdered that word) still there were gasps and exclamations expressing joy way beyond what Mr Grey could ever inspire. I gave up trying to take photos from the shore. I would have got a good one or 2, some came so close but a whale in the metaphorical hand is worth more than 2 sitting on a hard drive).
Among those who know, the snorkeling at Mabibi is legendary. For many hours, all that I saw of my husband was a plastic tube poking (ah no, now I see innuendo where it has no right to be) through the water. When visiting the world below the reflective surface, the sound of your own breathing heightens the appreciation for the gift of life.
The language of the place will keep calling me to return, crashing waves, a fish eagle’s cry and stars which blinked a code only which only the spirit can comprehend. Infinity beyond, whispering to infinity within.