A Love Letter to the Sandhof Lilies

A Love Letter

to the Sandhof Lilies

It was as if the land itself had been waiting for this moment, and now that it had arrived, it was celebrating in the only way it knew how – by blooming in full, glorious splendour.

Text   Suné van Wyk   |   Photographs  Suné van Wyk

From the Autumn 2025 issue

It’s hard to put into words the kind of beauty that makes you stop, take a deep breath, and realise—right there, in that moment— you’re witnessing something rare, something fleeting, something utterly magical. But I’ll try. I made the drive from Windhoek, chasing whispers of the Sandhof lilies. These extraordinary flowers bloom only when nature grants them the perfect gift: rain, and lots of it. They don’t follow schedules or care about convenience. One day they’re there, standing proudly in shallow pools of water, delicate yet resilient, a sea of white and pink stretching into the distance. The next, they could be gone. If you hear they’ve bloomed, you don’t think twice— you go.

THE JOURNEY

Maltahöhe was my gateway. After dropping my bags at the hotel, I wasted no time. The lilies were calling. The road to Sandhof Farm was gravel, dotted with shallow pools of rainwater—silent evidence of the life-giving storms that had swept through the land. The drive was easy, peaceful even, the kind where the hum of the tyres on the gravel and the vast openness of Namibia’s landscapes make you feel like you’re heading toward something special.

Then, a sign. “Sandhof Lilies.” A simple direction, but it might as well have said, Welcome to Wonderland.

THE FIRST SIGHT

About 500 metres in—maybe a kilometre—I caught my first glimpse. A flash of pink in the distance, a tease of what was to come. Then, as I rounded a bend, there they were. An entire pan, brimming with lilies, standing tall in the water. Some white, some pink, all of them reflecting the golden afternoon light. It was breathtaking.

I stepped out of the car, camera in hand, but for a moment, I didn’t even think about taking photos. I just looked.

The scene was surreal. These flowers, delicate as they were, had risen from the cracked earth, floating in water that barely seemed to touch their stems. It was as if the land itself had been waiting for this moment, and now that it had arrived, it was celebrating in the only way it knew how—by blooming in full, glorious splendour.

THE PEOPLE WHO CALL THIS PLACE HOME

As I drove around the massive pan, taking it all in, I stumbled upon a scene that made the experience even richer. A couple of cars were parked, camping chairs were out, and dogs ran freely through the shallow water, laughter carried across the open space. The kind of scene that makes you realise how lucky some people are to have this in their backyard.

One of those people was Hendrik, the owner of the farm.

Friendly, warm, and clearly passionate about this rare spectacle, he greeted me like an old friend. Without hesitation, he shared his insights— where to go for the best views, what paths to take, where the lilies were most concentrated. He wanted me to experience the lilies in their best light, and thanks to him, I did.

SUNRISE AT THE LILIES

If the lilies were stunning in the afternoon, sunrise was something else entirely.

I arrived just as the world was waking up. The sky stretched out above me in soft hues of pink and orange, and the lilies, as if greeting the new day, stood fresh and dewy, their petals open wide. The still water reflected the sky, creating a seamless blend of land and air, of light and bloom.

Barefoot, I stepped into the pan, feeling the cool mud squeeze between my toes. It was messy. It was cold. And it was perfect. Hendrik appeared again, checking in, making sure I was getting the experience I’d hoped for. He answered every question I had with patience, with the kind of knowledge that only comes from truly loving a place.

And then, just like that, it was time to go.

A FLEETING BEAUTY

The Sandhof lilies don’t wait for anyone. They don’t last long—maybe a week, maybe two, maybe less. They rise from the water, dance in the wind, and then fade, disappearing as suddenly as they arrived.

But for those lucky enough to witness them, even just once, they leave a mark. A reminder that some things in life are precious precisely because they are fleeting.

If you ever hear that the lilies are blooming, don’t hesitate. Pack a bag, fill up the tank, and go. Trust me—it’s worth it. TN

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