Belonging to the bush | Livingstone, Zambia

In conservation, we often talk about release as if it’s the neat end of a story. An animal goes back to the wild, the job is done. But sometimes the middle is a little less tidy.

This little bushbuck, affectionately known as BB to all at the lodge on the banks of the Zambezi, encroached into my life quite organically. A lucky near escape from a baboon attack, umbilical cord still wet such was her ‘newness’ and very wobbly on her legs. What followed was several months of life alongside one another; late night bottle feeds, office companionship, cozying up to the chefs in the kitchen for scraps and plenty of bush walks.

She was cautious and curious and learning to navigate the blurred edge between a human world before the wild bush. She became accustomed to sitting on my sofa and always appeared at my door, moments from returning from a trip away. It’s an uneasy space: nurturing independence while knowing that intimacy may perhaps work against survival. At what point does help turn into interference?

There’s beauty in it too, that connection with a wild being.

But in time she did return to the bush, and to the life of a bushbuck. But for a brief moment, our paths crossed.