A day in the desert
A day in the Deep Dive Aanwezig
You wake in a simple camp, in the middle of a desert-like landscape. In the tent beside you: your father, your daughter, your son, your mother. Someone who has known you your whole life, and whom from today you might start to see differently.
The day begins gently. Breakfast by the fire. No phone, no meetings, nothing pulling at your attention. We set out together, sometimes on foot, sometimes in an open jeep. The guide teaches you to read tracks in the sand. How do you know if an elephant passed here last night, and which way it went? How old was it? Was it alone, or with its family?
Along the way there are moments of sharing, and moments when no one says a thing. Both turn out to be equally valuable. Sometimes there's nothing that needs to be said. Sometimes a conversation arises that at home — between the dishes and work and the evening news — simply never found a place.
Johan provides the gentle thread through such a day. A question at the right moment. A playful idea that suddenly opens something you hadn't counted on. The chance to write something to each other, or to share something that never comes up at home.
As the sun softens, the rocks turn terracotta. We eat together around the fire. The guide tells stories from his own culture, about what it means when a child grows up and what that does to the parent. No one has to play a role here. The desert makes everyone into who they simply are.
And suddenly — not for everyone at the same moment — you look up at the other and see someone you didn't quite know yet. And you feel gratitude for that presence in your life.
