Deserts and mountains of Namibia, Botswana and South Africa
Arrival – Learning to Slow Down. The journey begins quietly, as most meaningful journeys do.
Upington, in South Africa, is not a place that demands attention. Sitting on the banks of the Orange River, it feels functional rather than romantic, a practical gateway rather than a destination. And yet, for me, it marks the moment when the rhythm of everyday life back home begins to loosen its grip.
The surrounding land is dry, almost severe, but the river tells a different story. Along its banks, irrigated fields stretch into the distance, heavy with grapes destined for export — raisins, wines, and fruit grown from soil that only appears inhospitable at first glance. It is an early reminder of Namibia’s recurring theme: life persists quietly, often invisibly.
I spend the evening doing a final check of my camera equipment. Then I immerse myself in a first bedtime story of the trip, taken from the heritage of the local tribes and initially were passed down orally. Before dawn becomes my norm again, sleep feels like a resource that needs to be rationed.
Whispers of the Grootslang
The locals tell stories of the Gootslang, the ‘great snake’, an ancient creature. The gentle guardian of the river, hidden deep in a cave in the riverbed.
An underground grotto filled with sparkling diamonds, magically glittering like fireflies. But these diamonds are not treasures to be recovered; they are the dreams of the river, and the Grootslang keeps them safe.
Sometimes, when the night is particularly quiet, the Grootslang leaves the cave and glides along the river. She watches over the cattle on the nearby farms and makes sure that travellers find their way home unharmed. Some say that she occasionally guides boats gently back to shore when they have drifted too far.
And so the Grootslang lives on – ancient, friendly and powerful. She protects the river, guards its sparkling dreams and watches over all who sleep under the stars of Africa.
Kgalagadi – The Discipline of Scarcity
The next morning starts early. Very early. Long before sunrise, when the air is still cool and the sky carries only a hint of colour, we head north toward the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, the joint national park of South Africa and Botswana..
*Kgalagadi* means “place of thirst.” You feel that truth immediately.
This vast, shared park between South Africa and Botswana lies deep within the southern Kalahari. Geologically ancient, shaped by the breakup of Gondwana and millions of years of erosion, it is not a landscape that reveals itself quickly — or generously.
Red dunes, scattered acacias, and the wide, dry riverbeds of the Nossob and Auob define the terrain. These rivers may flow only once every hundred years, but underground water keeps the ecosystem alive. After rare heavy rains – like those a week before my arrival – the desert bursts into life with surprising speed.
The landscape is suddenly green. Grasses push through red sand. Shallow puddles reflect the color of the sky. And with them come the animals.
For a wildlife photographer, this is not a place of constant action. There are no endless herds rolling across the horizon. Instead, there is waiting. Watching. Anticipating.
Oryx antelopes appear, sculptural and calm. Ostrich families move awkwardly through the grass, chicks everywhere. Springbok pause briefly, then vanish again. Predators are present, but rarely obvious — here, nothing wastes energy.
The smaller life fascinates me most. Birds, lizards, tortoises, butterflies — creatures often overlooked — thrive in this short-lived abundance. I spend hours photographing details rather than drama, learning that in the Kalahari, survival is quiet work.
This is Africa without spectacle — and precisely because of that, deeply rewarding.
The creation myth of the African Bushmen begins with all humans and animals living beneath the earth’s surface. They believe that the god Kaang created a magnificent tree with branches that stretched across the entire earth. At the foot of the tree, he dug a hole that reached down into the world where the animals and humans lived.
The Birth of the Kalahari
Kaang then led the first man from the old world into the new world. Soon after, the woman came, and then all the animals. Kaang told the animals and humans to live in peace.
Kaang told the man and woman not to make fire, as this would bring great harm to the new earth. The man and woman promised Kaang they would not make fire, but when evening came, they were so cold that they forgot their promise and made a fire. The fire frightened the animals and they all ran away.
Because the man and woman broke their promise, humans have been unable to communicate with animals ever since.
The Namib Desert – Light as the Main Subject
Further west, the heat intensifies. The air becomes sharper, drier. We enter the Namib Desert in Namibia – the oldest desert on Earth..
Here, wildlife becomes secondary. Light takes over.
The colours are almost unreal: orange, red, violet, pale yellow. They shift constantly with the sun’s angle. The ground alternates between cracked, hardened surfaces — like dragon skin — and soft dune sand sculpted into perfect ripples by the wind.
My days now follow the sun. Early starts. Long, exhausting hours. Midday heat that drains energy and patience. And then, the slow reward of late afternoon.
And so life in the desert gets a structure: Day belongs to light, dust, effort. Night belongs to stories.
Climbing dunes is brutal. Each step sinks back half its height. Sweat runs into my eyes. Camera gear feels twice as heavy. But reaching the top is always worth it. The view stretches endlessly — dunes rolling like frozen waves, shadows carving depth into the land.
From the air, everything changes again.
A helicopter flight over the dunes reveals patterns invisible from the ground. Fairy circles appear — thousands of them — mysterious, crater-like marks scattered across the surface. Wind becomes visible. The land looks ancient, almost alien. Beautiful and unsettling at the same time.
Long before the dawn of time, Namibia’s desert was soft and young, still forming like a child stretching out under warm blankets.
The Dragon who Dreams under the Desert
Deep beneath the newly formed earth, a dragon slept – older than starlight and gentle, as only ancient beings can be. The Himba said the dragon did not roar or rage. Instead, it dreamed.
When it exhaled in its sleep, small bubbles of fire gathered in its chest – slow, glowing impulses like the embers of a hearth. With each breath, these fiery bubbles floated upwards through sand and stones.
They rose, reached the surface and burst into warm flames that kissed the grass above. Where the flames touched the vegetation, it melted into steam, leaving perfect circles – clean, bare and strangely beautiful, as if the earth were sleepily blinking at the sky. People began to call these shapes fairy circles. Some said they were not dragon dreams at all, but footprints of the ancient gods – footprints so sacred that even the desert winds did not dare to wipe them away.
But the elders whispered the ancient truth: that each circle is a breath of the dreaming dragon beneath the earth, each ring a reminder that even the earth sleeps, and even sleep can leave its mark on the world.
Skeleton Coast – Where Life and Death Share the Same Frame
From above, the Atlantic coast looks calm. On the ground, it is anything but.
In Namib-Naukluft National Park, dunes slide directly into the sea. Further north, pale beaches emerge — beautiful, empty, and scattered with the remains of old diamond mines. Rusted machinery, collapsed huts, ox carts half-buried in sand. Human ambition, slowly erased.
Then comes the Skeleton Coast.
Cold. Damp. Windy. Foggy – most of the year.
After days in the desert heat, the temperature drop is shocking. The Benguela Current pushes cold ocean air inland, creating thick fog and treacherous seas. It is easy to understand why so many ships ran aground here.
The wildlife is overwhelming — and confronting.
Seal colonies stretch along the coast. Thousands of pups are born within days. The noise is constant. The smell unforgettable. Life and death exist side by side in the same frame.
Many pups never find their mothers again. Gulls attack. Males trample the weak. Carcasses lie everywhere. As a photographer, this is difficult — ethically, emotionally. But it is honest. Nothing here is hidden.
Scavengers thrive: jackals, hyenas, seabirds. The ecosystem wastes nothing.
Continued….. Read A Journey Through Earth’s Memory – Two
All images © Silke Hullmann
Read Silke’s other articles – Perspectives on Wildlife and Aerial Perspectives
To see more of Silke Hullmann’s photography visit her website
Or follow her on instagram @silkehullmann
Read other features on Eye for the Light about our planet and photographic techniques
