COME HOME TO THE WILD
You don’t arrive here.
You exhale.
The gate closes behind you and something inside you finally goes quiet.
No traffic. No deadlines. No noise.
Only wind through grass. Hooves in the distance. Fire waiting to be lit.
This land doesn’t impress you. It recognises you.
This isn’t a farm., It isn’t a lodge. It isn’t an investment.
It’s a place you’ve been looking for without knowing its name.
LAND THAT STILL BREATHES
Game moves freely. Calmly. Confidently.
Nothing is forced. Nothing is staged.
Eland drift past like old souls.
Giraffe watch from above the acacias.
Zebra cross the veld in quiet lines.
Kudu, Nyala, Waterbuck, Wildebeest, Impala, Blesbok, Bushbuck — all part of the same ancient rhythm.
Rhebok, Duiker, Steenbok, Bush Pig and Warthog fill in the details.
It is fully game-fenced.
It is hunting-ready.
And it has not been hunted in over ten years.
Because some places ask to be respected first.
THE LODGE — WHERE THE WORLD WAITS OUTSIDE
The lodge doesn’t dominate the land.
It belongs to it.
Mornings begin with light pouring through open doors.
Evenings end on the deck, glass in hand, fire crackling, stars arriving one by one.
Four bedrooms hold tired bodies and long conversations.
Two full bathrooms and a guest cloakroom serve comfort without excess.
The kitchen is where meals stretch into stories — gas stove, electric oven, walk-in pantry, island worn smooth by use.
This is not luxury that shouts.
It’s luxury that lets you breathe.
A place for weekends that turn into weeks.
A place that quietly becomes permanent.
A PLACE PEOPLE ARE DRAWN TO
People don’t come here because of advertising.
They come because someone told them, “You have to feel this place.”
Weddings unfold under open skies.
Music drifts from the hall and disappears into the dark.
Children fall asleep smelling smoke and grass.
Strangers leave as friends.
An entertainment hall that holds 120 hearts at once.
Six guest cottages — each private, each warm, each ready.
Camping spaces where fires burn low and conversations run deep.
Two bomas where time forgets itself.
FREEDOM THAT RUNS DEEP
Here, the lights stay on because the sun says so.
The water flows because the earth allows it.
Solar power. Generator backup.
Boreholes. Windmill. Dams.
Tank after tank of stored water.
No dependence.
No panic.
Just quiet certainty.
A LIFE THAT WORKS
This place is sold as a running concern — not an idea, not a dream, but a living, working rhythm.
It earns while you sleep.
It welcomes while you rest.
It functions whether you are present or away.
Run it as a game farm with a lodge.
Open it as a destination and events venue.
Or keep it as your private weekend escape — and let it quietly sustain itself.
Butchery. Cold room. Freezers.
Hammer mill. Sheds. Workshop.
A manager’s home that keeps the heartbeat steady.
Everything here has a purpose.
Nothing is pretending.
THIS PLACE IS NOT FOR EVERYONE
It’s for someone who understands silence.
Someone who values space more than status.
Someone ready to be the next custodian — not just the next owner.
You don’t buy this land.
You take responsibility for it.
And if that sentence stirs something in you —
then this place is already calling.