As we drove along the familiar stretch of road from Maitum to Kiamba having come from a whitewater tubing adventure, just moments before sundown, an unsettling feeling crept over me. It wasn’t the winding curves or the worn-out pavement that made my stomach churn. No, it was the silence—the kind of stillness that felt too thick, too heavy. The usual sounds of nature, the distant hum of life, had all faded into an eerie quiet.
The trees along the roadside stood like silent sentinels, their shadows growing long and deep as the sun dipped lower. There was no breeze, no chirping birds, not even the rustle of leaves. It was as if the world had pressed pause, holding its breath. In that silence, every mile seemed stretched, every shadow a little darker, and though I knew the road, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching, waiting—just out of sight.
As we turned off the main road and onto the unpaved path leading to Nalus Falls Farm and Forest, the air seemed to grow colder, more biting, as though the trees themselves were exhaling a chill. The gravel crunched under the tires, echoing sharply in the silence, and the once-familiar landscape now felt like a world apart. The road was narrow, stretching straight through the rice fields, with scattered houses and burial sites dotting the landscape. The fading light cast long shadows over the weathered tombstones and the quiet homes, making everything seem more distant, more uncertain.
I glanced ahead, my eyes straining to make out the route, but it was hard to judge how much farther we had to go. I wasn’t sure how long the drive would take, or if we could even reach the resort before the last of the sun slipped beyond the horizon. The uncertainty added to the tension in the air, and each minute felt like a countdown to the inevitable darkness. The sinking sun cast eerie shadows that seemed to stretch on forever, and with each passing moment, the quiet seemed to swallow everything—every thought, every sound, every sense of direction.
As we reached what appeared to be a dead end, we saw a man struggling to pull a massive gate shut. The setting sun casts a dim light over his figure, making him look almost like a silhouette against the backdrop of trees and fields. Uncertain, I peeked from our tuk-tuk and asked about Nalus Falls Farm and Forest, wondering if we had somehow missed the turn or veered off course. He paused, then gave us a reassuring nod. His voice was steady as he confirmed that we had indeed arrived at our destination. A wave of relief washed over me. The tension that had held me tight in its grip since we turned off the main road began to ease.
The man quickly ushered us through the gate with a welcoming gesture, his movements swift and efficient. Once inside, I felt an odd sense of isolation since we seemed to be the only guests for the day. While it stirred mixed emotions, I found comfort in the peace and solitude. Sensing my unease, the man reassured me that a staff member would watch over us for the night, ensuring our safety. His words, though simple, had an immediate calming effect, easing the tension in my chest. Slowly, I began to relax knowing that we were not entirely alone in this quiet, remote place.
We slowly made our way toward the main campsite as the darkness settled in around us. As we reached a clearing, the man quickly set to work, building a bonfire. The flames cracked to life, casting long, flickering shadows. Meanwhile, we set up our tent facing Nalus Falls. Its constant rush of water offered a soothing backdrop to the otherwise still night. With the fire nearby, the air grew warmer yet unease lingered within me. It’s one thing to find comfort in the silence but it’s another to feel it press in, heavy and suffocating.
As the night deepened, we found ourselves grilling pork over the fire, the sizzling sound cutting through the otherwise quiet air. It was an ignorant choice as we were not aware that the man and owner of the land were Muslims. Soon, the man left us to patrol. We spent hours drinking and talking, our soft laughter echoing into the night. The darkness, though heavy and all-encompassing, wrapped around us like a protective cloak, with only the stars above offering any light. Despite the lingering unease of being surrounded by towering coconut trees, I began to feel a strange peace in the silence. The solitude, in all its intensity, had a way of softening the discomfort. Somehow, the night felt less menacing than it had before.
The following day, I woke up to the faint sound of children’s voices. The morning light filtered through the coconut trees as I slowly woke up. The air was fresh, cool, and invigorating, and Nalus Falls, now bathed in daylight, looked even more inviting. Its water cascaded down the rocks in a mesmerizing flow. Though there was no clear pool at the bottom to swim in, the sight of the rock formations alone was enough to leave me in awe. I spent the next hour exploring the six levels of Nalus Falls, each one unique and with a character of its own. The entire landscape felt alive, as though the falls themselves were breathing, pulsing with the rhythm of nature.
As I returned to the campsite, I couldn’t help but marvel at the lushness surrounding us. Coconut trees dotted the area. Their tall trunks swayed gently in the breeze, offering a sense of calm and beauty that seemed to stretch endlessly. The sight of it all was so soothing and refreshing. It felt like we had stumbled upon a hidden sanctuary. But as much as I wanted to abide in this peaceful place, there was a pull within me. We had to leave as there were other waterfalls to explore in the area, and other sights waiting to be seen.
The decision to pack up and go felt almost like a betrayal. The thought of staying another night, of letting the fire burn just a little longer, lingered in my mind. But duty called, and reluctantly, we knew we had to continue our journey. As we drove away, the beauty of Nalus Falls, the lush campsite, and the quietness of the night remained in my heart, a memory I knew would stay with me for quite a long while.
