The San have lived in southern Africa’s arid lands for millennia, reading terrain through signs rather than fixed markers. The San are often quoted the Skeleton coast calling it “The Land God Made in Anger,” Here the wind lifts the sand like crystalline dust and lays it back down in new sentences, hour after hour. Ridges sharpen, bowls soften, lines disappear, then return somewhere else. The landscape becomes impossible to rely on, because the map is always late. The dunes look eternal, but they change faster than memory. From a distance it looks pure, almost minimalist. Up close it can be a trap, a field that behaves like liquid, beautiful but indifferent. The space is temporary and the only constant that holds is the force that shapes it. Some cultures learned to survive these spaces by reading them like a living text, without forcing certainty onto it. On the Skeleton Coast, that humility becomes the only compass.