At a restaurant in Cape Town, South Africa, my handsome guide, Johann, cuts my meat for me. After dinner, Johann opens the sugar packets for my coffee.

I wonder if I’m getting special treatment, or if he’s this attentive with all of his clients. I hope the former, although I’d better be prepared for the latter. Either way, I appreciate the help. See, I have rheumatoid arthritis, or RA. It forces me to walk with a cane, and often confines me to a wheelchair. Simple tasks, like opening sugar packets, can prove difficult for me.

But I don’t have time to dwell on all that. It had always been a dream of mine to safari in Africa, and I did it. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as choosing my travel dates, booking the trip and then heading to the airport.

The logistics of going to Africa in a wheelchair left me treading water in a worrisome sea of what if? What if the expenses of the trip would leave me reeling for years? What if I couldn’t keep up with the tour group? Or worse, what if I couldn’t even find a group that would accept someone with my condition? What if I had to go it alone?

I have no control over this debilitating disease that attacks my joints. I want to be “normal,” but I’m just not. Still, I always try to remember to accept my situation, to remind myself that I am who I am. I may not be able to move the way healthier people do, but it doesn’t keep me from experiencing the joys of travel. In my life I’ve been to Israel, Australia and Europe, all of them by myself. Each of these experiences has been gratifying and fulfilling, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After checking my financial status again and again (and again) and discussing options with my bank, I decided that I could afford my safari. But just barely – I’m on a fixed income.

Much of which would have to go to the next month’s phone bill, for I began to call every African tour group I could find and asking them, Will you take someone who has difficulty traveling and is often confined to a wheelchair? The answer, across the board, was a resounding, ‘Yes.’ Provided, of course, that I bring my own caregiver. Well, I don’t have any caregivers stashed away in my house. And even if I did, there is no way I could afford to pay for another person’s travel. I could barely pay for my own.

My safari was doomed, I thought.

But just when I thought all hope was lost I stumbled across the website of Endeavour Safaris, a company which specializes in providing travelers with wheelchair-accessible tours.

I emailed back and forth for several months with Endeavour’s owner Sylvia, who assured me that I wouldn’t have to bring my own caregiver, and, better yet, that I could be part of a group and wouldn’t have to be alone.

I would embark in December of 2010 as a member of a group of physically-challenged travelers bound for Botswana, then traveling to Cape Town with several stops in between. Botswana. Just the name made me tingle.

So I bought my plane tickets, safe in the knowledge that I had finally found a group tour that would accept me. Except that later, a call came from Sylvia telling me that the other members of my travel group – all of them – had to cancel because of various issues.

What was happening? Was the universe telling me not to go on this trip? And why couldn’t it have told me before I bought non-refundable plane tickets?

Through dozens more calls and hundreds of emails, Sylvia worked with me to keep down the cost of my new itinerary, and she assured me again and again that I would have a guide available to me at all times. Botswana was out, but I would still travel to Mala Mala and Cape Town. And she told me, over and over, to stop worrying.

After all the hassles, the various trials and tribulations and letdowns, I finally took her advice and, ultimately, embarked on my journey with great excitement. Of course, it wasn’t without it’s challenges – life with RA never is.

Although the Mala Mala Lodge is an hour flight from Johannesburg, getting there turned out to be a saga all its own. The twin-engine eighteen-seater had a six-step stairway. And by “stairway” I mean shaky, rickety ladder. The first step was way too high for my comfort level, so the captain and another man fashioned a makeshift step with wooden boards. I was basically carried onto the plane, but in the end it wasn’t so bad – both the men assisting me were young and single.

I was liking Africa already.

Once on the plane, I had the best seat in the house. The best and smallest. Jammed directly behind the cockpit, I needed an extender belt. But so what? I was already getting used to being a bit embarrassed on this continent. And the seat next to me was unoccupied, so I could put my feet up on the cooler, stretch my legs, and watch the scenery through the Captain’s windshield.

When we landed at the Mala Mala Reserve, adjacent to Kroger National Park, I was told that the other tour groups had gone ahead, meaning that I would have my own personal guide, Don.

Over the next four days Don showed me some most amazing sights. I witnessed a giraffe munching on leaves, so close I could hear it chew. Exotic birds called to me from overhead. I saw a herd of impala, a dazzle of zebra, a pride of lions, a parade of elephants, and a lone cheetah. With each new sighting of these animals – animals I had only seen on TV or in photographs – I couldn’t keep myself from exclaiming, “They really exist!”

Those days in the wild provided an incredibly spiritual experience, and it made me feel very small and very important at the same time. I felt connected to a higher power.

The same two fine gentlemen from the first flight helped me board the plane out of Mala Mala. I was exhausted from the adventure, but ready to face the next one.

I flew into the small town of Knysna and there met my next guide, Johann, who showed me more of Africa’s greatness. In addition to more exotic wilderness, we went to Table Mountain, a prominent landmark featured on the South African flag. And I enjoyed the city itself – once I recovered from the embarrassment of falling as I was getting out of the van.

The diversity of the tourists and townspeople was thrilling, and on a daily basis I would hear a variety of languages: German, French, Hebrew, English, native African dialects. And every night, Johann and I ate at a different ethnic restaurant on the pier – South African, French, Italian.

Wheelchair or not, I had the time of my life.

On the plane ride home, as I reminisced about my journey, I realized that all of my fears were unfounded. What’s more, I realized that if I can do Africa alone, I can do anything alone.