Photos! Soon! Promise!
Lynn and I are now at the Cheetah Conservation Foundation (CCF), and as I started to type this, we were sitting on the veranda of Babson House, looking out over two cheetah brothers lounging in the afternoon sun while we sip wine from…appropriately…cheetah glasses.
Travel has its moments.
But first, a note on something we learned on the drive out to CCF. Our driver pointed out something that sparked a lot of conversation. We passed a massive property — roughly 85,000 hectares — that used to be a lodge where travelers could simply drive in, sit on the deck with a drink, and watch hippos, elephants, lions, and rhinos around the watering hole.
It was recently purchased by a private Mexican buyer.
Now the gates are locked, and no one can only enter with special permission. There’s growing concern locally that the property may eventually become a hunting farm.
The Namibian government apparently tried to purchase the land when it came up for sale, hoping to preserve the habitat and wildlife, but the price was simply too high.
Driving past it on the way to the Cheetah Conservation Foundation made the contrast very clear: one piece of land potentially closing to conservation, while another — here at CCF — is devoted entirely to protecting one of Africa’s most endangered predators.
Back to the veranda at Babson House. Babson House, where we’re staying, is absolutely gorgeous — thatched, comfortable, and more like a beautiful large private bush home than a lodge. The refrigerator is fully stocked, there’s wine waiting, and our chef has just headed out to gather the “fixins” for dinner.
This is clearly not roughing it.
Earlier today we watched the feeding of several cheetahs who were orphaned as very young cubs. These animals were bottle-fed as babies after their mothers were killed, and because they never learned to hunt from their mothers, they cannot be released back into the wild. So they live here permanently under CCF’s care.
But CCF also works with another category of cheetah — those that can eventually return to the wild.
Some animals arrive after being caught in traps or rescued from farms. In those cases the goal is rehabilitation. These cheetahs are kept far away from humans and exercised by running after mechanical lures so they maintain their hunting instincts before being re-released.
The most recent arrivals are two young brothers, both less than a year old.
They were rescued from a man who had killed their mother, trapped the cubs, and was preparing to sell them as pets — usually to buyers in the Middle East. When they arrived here they were dangerously thin and severely dehydrated. They’re recovering now, but still have a long road ahead.
Lunch at CCF was lovely (and included with the stay), and yes — I will admit to having a salted caramel milkshake.
I am on vacation, after all.
After lunch we were introduced to one of the foundation’s most important team members —one that H and I had actually sent specific donations in for eight years ago — one of the Belgian Malinois sisters who serve as CCF’s “scat dogs.”
Yes. Professional poop finders.
The dogs are scent-trained specifically to detect cheetah and wild dog scat. The scat team goes into the field, collects samples — carefully/not all of it, because the animals use scat for communication — and brings them back to the lab.
Which led us to what was honestly one of the most fascinating parts of the day.
We toured the genetics laboratory.
And wow.
The scientists working there are all pursuing highly specialized PhDs related to carnivore conservation genetics. The woman who showed us around is doing her doctorate on African wild dogs — and interestingly, she has never actually seen one in the wild.
I told her I would bring over my photos from Kruger National Park tomorrow.
CCF also houses one of only three specialized DNA machines in all of Namibia. The other two are used for human purposes — one in a hospital and one by the government for forensic criminal investigations.
We were walked through the entire genetic testing process step by step.
It was a big Wow moment.
I was so impressed that I immediately made another donation — specifically earmarked for the genetics lab.
Tomorrow evening we’ll have dinner with Dr. Laurie Marker, the founder of CCF. As a fun coincidence, she will actually be flying back to the United States the same day we are — headed to Santa Cruz to give a presentation.
Small world.
But perhaps the most unexpected moment of the evening happened because of…a broken stove.
Our chef, Joshua, was preparing dinner in the kitchen at Babson House when the stove suddenly refused to cooperate. While the staff sorted that out, we ended up spending quite a bit of time talking with Tracy, who is looking after us during our stay, and Himee, who is the assistant manager (Bianca is the manager) here at CCF.
What started as a simple delay turned into one of those quiet, meaningful conversations that travel sometimes gifts you.
Himee and I discovered that both of us had lost someone very important right around the same time — during the early days of COVID. His father. My husband.
We talked for a while about them.
I asked him what his father’s best attribute had been.
He said, without hesitation, that his father had been an amazing joke teller.
That made me smile, and it reminded me of something that has helped me think about loss.
I told him that sometimes I like to imagine that God needs people with very specific talents — and when He does, He calls them home because of that need. And during those terrible early days of COVID, Heaven must have been a very sad place.
Maybe Heaven needed someone who could tell great jokes and cheer everyone up.
At that point Himee’s eyes filled with tears.
I told him about H’s marbles — the small glass marbles made from my husband’s ashes that I’ve been sending out into the world so that he can keep traveling.
Himee immediately asked if he could help place one of the marbles here at CCF.
Of course I said yes.
Somehow the stove eventually decided to cooperate, and dinner appeared — and it was absolutely extraordinary.
Michelin-star level extraordinary.
Chef Joshua produced course after course with total calm and humility, and handled Lynn’s lactose intolerance without even blinking. Every plate that arrived felt like something from a high-end restaurant — except we were sitting in the Namibian bush with cheetahs nearby.
Lynn and I kept looking at each other and laughing.
How is this even real?
The people here are remarkable — kind, deeply knowledgeable, and quietly dedicated to the work they’re doing.
And all the while, just outside on the veranda, the two cheetah brothers lounged peacefully in the fading light.
Tomorrow morning we wake up early for the cheetah run, when some of the rehabilitating cheetahs will sprint after the lure across the reserve.
But for now, as I write this just before falling asleep, I’m still thinking about the conversations tonight — about fathers, jokes, marbles, and the strange and beautiful ways people meet each other in the world.
And somewhere outside, under the Namibian stars, two cheetahs are still keeping watch under the veranda.
(To be continued…)