On our first full day we were familiarized with the staff and our surroundings.

We had free reign over almost everything. If there was anything we desired, we only had to ask. If it wasn’t readily available, someone would be sent on the hour-long trip to town to fetch it.

That morning we walked the perimeter of the giant clicking electrical fence. My husband Collin and I noticed the electric wire on the ground the entire length of the surrounding fence. We learned it was to keep out the deadly African snakes, and it mostly worked!

Despite the terrible drought South Africa was experiencing, the grounds were beautiful, the native grass was green and lush and, in the early mornings, dewy from the sprinklers. The orchard had trees decorated with apples and oranges. The sweet-smelling fruits dangled from the limbs, enticing me to pluck one as Eve did and bite into the sweet promises of the forbidden fruit.

In their best efforts, the professional hunters (PHs) tried to include me in the education process of the hunting.

Here, the hunters hunt from blinds. I would come to learn that these blinds were lavish. These blinds were The Four Seasons of hunting blinds.

They were large enough to stand up in without banging your head on the earth-made ceilings, tall enough to not get my ponytail caught in the chicken wire holding up the well-made African stucco. Clean, fresh cushions were delivered to the blinds daily, and were long enough for both hunters to make into makeshift cots to take turns napping.

Some of the blinds even had small fans, a small ironic battery-operated joke in the sizzling African heat. The fans were about as effective as I could imagine a fan in the pits of hell—laughable really. Actually, they probably were a joke at the hunter’s expense. Most had no batteries in them.

Upon being dropped at a blind apart from our equipment—his Bear bow, my Hoyt, his Maven range finder, and Maven binoculars—my husband and I were left with our lunchboxes. In them was usually a small apple, an orange, some resemblance of an American sandwich made with mystery condiments, a few waters, a small Coca-Cola, a candy bar, and a chip bag.

Rule No. 1: NEVER LEAVE YOUR BLIND.

There are several reasons for this. Best as I could gather, the two most important rules were so a hunter didn’t get gored by a charging Cape buffalo, and so the area outside the blind isn’t disrupted.

All urinating must be done in a Home Depot Homer-like bucket inside the blind. It is especially fun to squat in front of your husband.

After urinating, dried zebra dung is burned to cover the scent. If you’ve never smelled burning zebra dung, it is the most pungent, rancid of all African dungs to my knowledge.

As I mentioned that the South Africans are some of the most accommodating peoples in the world, they have graciously left ample amounts of zebra dung inside the blind.

In case a hunter needs to go number two, a walkie talkie is left to contact the PHs. I did have to contact my PH about 9 a.m. one morning because my insides were flipping.

Shannon, my PH, was unable to retrieve me. However, on another station, I was able to hear him trying to locate someone else so I could relieve myself back at the lodge. I heard Shannon trying to contact Nic.

“Nic, Nic! Come in, Stacy has to poop. Can you pick her up?” I could imagine Shannon thinking how high maintenance I am. “Come in, Nic. Stacy has to poop.”

In answer, Nic is nowhere near our blind. Nic radios for one of the trackers in one of the Land Cruisers.

“Eric, Eric, come in. Are you near the Kudu blind? Stacy has to poop.” Pause, then, “Come in, Eric. Stacy has to poop.”

This goes on until all the Land Cruisers have been reached with word of my emergent situation. I was pretty sure all Limpopo area was informed that I had to poop.

I got picked up, taken to the lodge, I pooped, then I was dropped back off to my amused, grinning husband, and the day went on.

Each day we woke up at 5 a.m., had breakfast and coffee, got dropped at our blind around 6 a.m., then picked up just before sunset, usually just after 5 p.m.

This went on for 8 days.

The sights at the water holes were amazing. Our phones became nothing more than cameras.

We sat without words for days, read books we never would have read, mastered puzzles we taught ourselves, created our own sign language, took naps while the other stayed awake, we burned dung, gave each other massages, we rediscovered each other in our blinds (figuratively and intimately) after 15 years of companionship. We peed in a bucket in front of each other and shared lunches we were happy to never eat again.

We lived the best 8 days of our lives.