It’s Sunday evening. I’m sitting with my wife in the back of a Land Rover trundling along a dirt track. Cyril, the ranger, is taking us on a game drive on the reserve we are staying at in KwaZulu-Natal. Cyril doesn’t talk much. There is no need. There were blesbok to the left of us, wildebeest to the right and, for a short moment, there were springbok stuck in the middle of the road with us, confused as to where they needed to be and how to get there. Pretty much the Springboks of the past few years, actually. My iPhone buzzes. There is signal in this part of the reserve. There is none at our cottage. Nor is there TV. Sometimes you just need to get away from everything, to shut the world out and let go. But, it’s Sunday night. Liverpool are playing Manchester United. I check into the Guardian’s live updates on the match. Sadio Mane has scored for Liverpool. We’re all over United, the man on the updates says. The signal fades as we drive on, down a lane that is marked by trees plante...

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