The Day I Met These Animals Twice

I first met these animals in the middle of New York City.

Not alive, but cast in bronze.

Walking through the heart of Manhattan, I stumbled upon The Wild Couch Party by Gillie and Marc. Right among the city's historic buildings and bustling streets sat a lion, rhino, giraffe, gorilla, and other wildlife gathered together in a lifelike bronze sculpture. It stopped me in my tracks.

At the time, I simply admired the artistry. I appreciated the craftsmanship, the remarkable scale, and the intricate textures that made each animal feel almost alive. I knew the installation carried a message, but I couldn't have known how differently I would experience it months later.

When we think about impact, our minds often jump to conservation campaigns or "save the planet" initiatives. I have to admit, this made me smile because the history of art has always been much deeper than that. Art is the expression of the artist asking something of the observer.

What is the message?

Gillie and Marc have dedicated much of their work to giving endangered wildlife a voice. Their sculptures aren't meant simply to beautify public spaces. They are meant to interrupt them. To invite people rushing through their day to pause, to notice, and ultimately to care.

At the time, I understood that message intellectually.

I hadn't experienced it emotionally.

Months later, I found myself in Tanzania.

There's something about a safari that is unlike any other travel experience. You don't decide what you'll see or how the day will unfold. Mother Nature decides. The animals determine when they appear, when they sleep, when they hunt, and when they simply exist.

As the days pass, something unexpected begins to happen. You slowly remove every layer of expectation, stereotype, previous belief, and assumption, and simply become present. Nothing and no one is asking anything of you, and neither can you ask anything of them.

Then we descended into the Ngorongoro Crater.

Until you've been inside it, it's difficult to explain. It feels less like entering a national park and more like stepping into a world protected from time. This vast, enclosed ecosystem seemed to breathe with its own rhythm. I remember becoming emotional as we made our way down. There was something almost Eden-like about it. Peaceful. Abundant. Whole.

It was here that an elephant quietly crossed the road in front of our vehicle.

There was no urgency. No audience. No performance. We simply waited while it continued on its way beneath the breathtaking backdrop of the crater. For a few moments, we all existed together in this remarkable ecosystem, moving according to its rhythm rather than ours.

Later, a troop of baboons casually made their way down the road. Baboons have quite the reputation. They're intelligent, opportunistic, and bold enough to jump into safari vehicles or snatch belongings from unsuspecting visitors. I even have my own near miss baboon story, but that's one for another day.

This time, though, there was no mischief.

There was simply a mother carrying her baby securely on her back.

Later still, I watched lions mate after an afternoon nap with an instinct as natural as breathing. I watched mothers resting with their babies nestled beside them. There was nothing extraordinary about what they were doing.

They were simply living.

It was in those very natural moments that the six degrees of separation seemed that much closer.

I wasn't watching a performance put on for tourists. I was watching families. Mothers caring for their young. Animals resting, protecting, nurturing, and moving through life in ways that felt surprisingly familiar.

I carried my own babies on my hip and on my back.

I've watched my children curl up beside me for comfort.

I've crossed busy streets without giving it much thought.

The more I observed, the smaller the distance between us seemed.

When I think back to The Wild Couch Party, I don't see the sculptures the same way anymore.

What once felt like beautiful public art now reminds me of real moments.

The elephant is no longer simply an elephant. It's the one that calmly crossed the road while every vehicle patiently waited.

The baboon reminds me of a mother carrying her baby.

The lions remind me that family, instinct, and survival are shared more deeply than I once realized.

The sculptures never changed.

I did.

Perhaps that's what Gillie and Marc understood all along.

Recognition creates empathy.

Empathy inspires stewardship.

Maybe that's where conservation truly begins.

The Value of Friction | The Trendie Tribune

What if convenience is changing the way we travel? Discover a travel philosophy that explores resilience, curiosity, hospitality, and why meaningful journeys reveal as much about ourselves as the destinations we visit.

The Trendie TribuneLynai Mufungizi