Lessons from the here, the now and everything in between
In the extreme weather patterns, thorny briars and washed out walls of the Karoo lie many lessons. But they aren’t the kind of lessons you can complete online in “your own space and at your own pace”. These are not the lessons you can learn in a classroom. The Karoo’s teaching methods are as old as the land itself. So quiet, they almost pass unnoticed. Most times, you’ll only realise you’ve learnt its lessons in that liminal space called “retrospect”.
So much on the other side of signal
The first thing many people notice when they visit the Karoo is how quickly the mobile-phone signal becomes uncertain. One moment you are connected. The next, the bars fade, the road opens and the world begins to feel a little further away.
Frequent travellers to the region often learn to let people know they may be harder to reach before they head into more remote stretches. First-time visitors aren’t always that lucky and that first pocket of disconnection brings a brief moment of panic: you had so many things to tick off the to-do list before fully checking out. So many people to notify. A meeting that might be missed. A potential crisis to manage. And the list goes on.
The panic usually passes quickly. In parts of the Karoo, limited connectivity does something quietly useful. Attention narrows. With fewer distractions, thought itself begins to slow . What follows is quite outside of the norm.
You may just finish something you didn’t realise you’d started. If you step off the runaway train of your thoughts and just watch it pass by for a while. You may discover something that ignites that child-like curiosity you lost somewhere, somehow. You may even have that long-overdue conversation with yourself that you were scared to have…
Silence isn’t empty
The second thing you will come to find is that the Karoo teaches in silence.
Ours is a noisy world, not only in terms of sound but in terms of frenetic energy: notifications traffic, conversation, obligation. Most of the time, it’s not until you step outside of the noise that you notice just how loud and demanding it was.
In the Karoo, there’s silence in abundance. And contrary to what many may project, it’s not a silence that can be defined as just the absence of noise, or the absence of anything really.
It’s more likely to make you feel filled than empty. It’s more likely to make you feel held than alone. In the silence there is both substance and space in the perfect proportions. Enough to allow your mind to recalibrate and enough to make you feel like breathing is actually refreshing rather than just something you need to do in order to survive. Perhaps that’s the lesson here: that living trumps survival. Every time.
In the Karoo, there’s silence in abundance. And contrary to what many may project, it’s not a silence that can be defined as just the absence of noise, of the absence of anything really.
Simplicity is sweet
Then of course there’s the lesson you’ll learn in simplicity. People always say that “it’s the simple things that matter”. It’s a beautiful saying, and true. But it can sometimes feel like a concession. Like it’s something people say to make you feel better about what’s lacking or missed. The Karoo can help alleviate some of the inner conflict within those moments.
In the small towns that dot its expanses, you may be fortunate enough to stumble upon a few gems. An intimate theatre house, a dusty carpentry shop, a bookshop-cafe, the weathered but still-standing-strong walls of a Dutch Reformed Church. Nothing shouts for your attention, and perhaps that is the point.
This simplicity is no consolation prize. It’s a long-awaited encounter with what that time-old phrase truly means: “The simple things matter.” Because in the Karoo, simplicity doesn’t fill a gap. It reveals that there wasn’t one to begin with.
