I was afterwards sorry for this, though, if I ever travel again

John Hanning Speke, the English explorer who sought the sources of the Nile, once reflected with humility: “I was afterwards sorry for this, though, if I ever travel again, I shall trust to none but natives, as the climate of Africa is too trying to foreigners.” These words, simple on the surface, carry the weight of trial, error, and hard-won wisdom. They tell of a man who learned, not from books nor maps, but from the merciless reality of life in foreign lands—that the earth itself favors her own children, and that those who would journey into her depths must humble themselves before the knowledge of the people who belong to her.

The origin of this thought lies in Speke’s great expeditions through Africa during the 19th century. As part of the age of exploration, Europeans often ventured into lands they scarcely understood, guided by ambition, science, and imperial visions. Many came with confidence in their own systems, their medicines, their methods of travel. Yet the land itself, vast and untamed, revealed their arrogance. Disease, heat, unfamiliar terrain, and countless unseen dangers claimed lives again and again. In this crucible, Speke came to understand that the true strength of survival lay not in foreign methods but in the wisdom of those who had dwelt upon the land for centuries. Thus he confessed his regret, his sorrow, and his newfound resolve to trust the natives.

The ancients would recognize in this a familiar truth: the stranger who scorns the wisdom of the land’s people walks toward ruin. Recall the tale of Xerxes, king of Persia, who in his arrogance sought to subdue Greece by bridging the Hellespont. He ordered the sea itself to be whipped, as if nature could be mastered by command. Yet storms destroyed his works, and his hubris was mocked by the very elements he thought to control. Speke, unlike Xerxes, came to humility: he saw that in Africa, the climate itself resisted the foreigner, but aided its own. He learned, as many before him had not, that wisdom belongs to those who live in harmony with the land.

This is more than a tale of one explorer. It is a parable for all who journey into the unknown—whether in lands, in ventures, or in the deeper travels of the soul. To walk into new territory without humility, without listening to those who know its ways, is to court destruction. Just as Speke recognized that no foreigner could withstand Africa’s trials without the aid of its children, so must we recognize that in every field of life there are those whose lived experience surpasses our bookish knowledge. To ignore them is folly; to trust them is strength.

Consider also the wisdom of Hernán Cortés, who though remembered for conquest, survived in Mexico largely because he allied with native peoples who guided him, translated for him, and revealed the land’s secrets. Without them, he and his men would have been lost to jungles, disease, and hunger. His story—like Speke’s—teaches that survival is not born of arrogance, but of acknowledging that others hold keys we do not.

Thus the lesson comes clearly to us: respect local knowledge, respect the wisdom of experience. Wherever you journey, whether across lands or into new endeavors of work, relationships, or personal growth, seek out those who belong to that place, who have walked that path before. Do not let pride or foreign confidence blind you to the guidance of others. Even the strongest are undone when they refuse to learn, but even the weakest may endure when they walk with the wisdom of those who know.

Practical action follows from this truth. When you face a new challenge, do not begin by boasting of what you know—begin by listening. If you travel, learn from those who call that land home. If you enter a new craft, honor those who have practiced it for years. And if you seek to grow in spirit, listen to those who have endured the trials of life. In humility, strength is found. In trust, survival is ensured. In respect, the path forward is revealed.

So let Speke’s words echo as a teaching for the ages: the world is vast, and no one man can master it alone. Trust the natives, trust the experienced, trust those who belong—and in doing so, you will walk more safely, more wisely, and with a heart attuned to the eternal rhythm of the earth.