Leatherback Sea Turtles

Conservation can be pretty depressing. We depend on nature, literally. We need it to breath, for our food, shelter, economy. It is therefore non-nonsensical that we are destroying it, without pause.

When people hear I have been involved in wildlife conservation for over 25 years, they say 'how are we doing?' or more commonly 'Is there hope for African wildlife.' I try not to be a buzz kill but facts are facts, well, at least in most parts of the world. We lost 25,000 elephants last year, how does one sugarcoat that? You don't. There are less than 24,000 African lions left in the world, over a century ago we had 200,000. Every great ape, is rare, threatened or endangered. You get the point.

So, when I am part of something that makes me feel hopeful, I hold it, I relish it, I savor it.

Kwa Zulu Natal. Known as the Wild Coast. Protected shoreline. Kilometers of untouched sand dunes, thriving coral, coastal forest and pristine beach. I am here for Christmas. Africa has some of the most incredible wild beaches and shorelines. It is after dinner and a group of us gather at 9 pm for the turtle walk. It is dark and rainy. Strangers, we gather in the hope of seeing turtles, loggerhead or leatherback. Our guide is Zulu. Sithembiso. He gives us all rain ponchos and off we go, together to the beach, in the dark and in the rain. Swiss, British, German, French and me, the sole American.

We are looking for turtle tracks. The turtles come out of the ocean at night to avoid predators and because the temperature is cooler. They lay eggs just beyond the high tide mark. So, we look for their tracks, the flipper marks going up the beach.

The sand is soft and we trudge along in the dark, in the rain, the walking is difficult as you cannot see where you are going, the sand soft and Sithembiso keeping a brisk pace. The sliver of the moon gives us a bit of light, the air is warm, waves crashing and smell of the ocean magnificent. Crabs dance along the edge of the waves.

We walk 45 minutes and do not see anything, so Sithembiso tells us to turn around. There is a six year old French boy. Blond hair. He jumps and giggles as the crabs dart through his legs. He is holding Sithembiso's hand. The contrast of a tall, handsome Zulu man holding the hand of a young, short, blond French boy, both draped in ponchos, together looking for turtles, is brilliant. It is a lovely scene in so many ways. The hand holding, the keen interest in wildlife, the waves, the smell and sea spray, young/old, black/white, who cares, no boundaries. I walk behind them in the dark with a smile, breathing it in.

But what about the turtles? Well, no luck that night. Those who know me well, know I become a bit crazy when it comes to wildlife. So the following night I wake at 2.10 am. Take a shot of coffee, bundle myself in warm clothes, despite the 25 degree temp, and make my way to the beach to meet Sithembiso. We need to cover more distance to find the turtles, so we jump into a safari vehicle with a family from the Netherlands and drive north towards Mozambique along the shore.

We see plenty of turtle paths in the sand and you can clearly see where they emerged from the sea and scampered up to the dunes. The first turtle we see is a loggerhead. A beautiful female who has finished laying her eggs and is moving back to the ocean. It is a privilege to see. I almost feel as if we are intruding in the dark. Turtles are very sensitive to light so we use no torches. Sithembiso has a red light torch he uses when she is moving back to the ocean, and he only flashes it behind her.

Further up shore we see bigger tracks. We hop out of the vehicle and carefully approach a large sand nest of sorts, in the dark it just looks like a big mountain of sand, and yet sand is flying off the top. I am having a difficult time in the dark understanding what I am seeing and then once I realize what I am looking at I drop to my knees in the sand, nodding my head in disbelief and saying to myself 'holy shit.' A six foot long turtle, a leatherback, has finished laying her eggs and she is now covering the hole on top of the mound with sand. She is huge, absolutely magnificent. She is using her massive flippers to shovel the sand into the hole to protect her eggs. It is awesome. I can hear her breathing, snorting a bit as she does her work. We watch, listen in awe. We are silent, barely breathing. It is like she is on an alter because she has build up a big mound to lay her eggs. Once done she slowly comes off the nest and heads back towards the ocean. I am literally flabbergasted at how big she is. We follow at a respectful distance to the ocean shore and off she goes into the water, gone.

She will not come back for her babies. Once they are born, they push themselves out through the sand, and assuming water mongoose and other predators do not get them, they will go into the ocean on their own to commence their lives.

We continue further up the beach and find another leatherback. She is just building her nest, so we stay far away, and wait. It is now about 4 am, still dark. We sit and wait, listening to the waves crashing as she creates the right environment for her eggs.

Sithembiso checks on her and once she has started laying the eggs, we carefully and quietly approach from behind. We can see the deep hole she has dug and in the hole are eggs. I drop to my knees again in awe in the sand, watching this enormous creature dropping eggs into the hole. The eggs are bright white, like ping pong balls, and they keep dropping. Now the sky is getting a little lighter so we can see this really well. When she is done, she uses her flippers to back fill the hole, every so often padding the soft sand so that it is firm.

We decide to leave her and as we make our way back to the lodge a sliver of orange is coming up over the ocean. I breath in the salt air as my mind races with images of the turtle and what we have just seen. The whole experience leaves a mark. The idea that in the dark, in the middle of the night, a bunch of people on vacation, so curious and interested in seeing turtles, are crawling along the sand to get a view of a turtle. Hope. There is hope. If people care enough to do this, surely, if given the right path, they will help to protect it. That is our challenge.

Beauty

Our CEO is leaving. In his farewell toast, he says two things that strike me:

'I have been paid in beauty.'

'Who gets to do this? Seriously? We are so lucky.'

He is so correct. Over the past ten years working in Africa I have seen such extraordinary beauty in wildlife, wild lands and people. My job entails visiting and working in some of Africa's most special places. Who gets to do this? I do. 

The picture below is in Amboseli. The commute from the airstrip to a meeting. Extraordinary Beauty.

Ceremony

I am in Amboseli landscape in southern Kenya at a board meeting for a conservancy I helped form. Three of the board members are from the local Maasai community. Joseph walks in and he is wearing traditional clothing, a red shuka (cloth), and his head is shaven and painted with shiny red ochre. Traditional clothing is still very common in this landscape, but for him to have his head painted today is unique. 'Sopa,' I say (hello in Maa, the Maasai language). We greet, ask about the weather, family, cows, the normal Maasai greeting. I then ask why his head is painted. He tells me with a huge grin that beams pride that today he becomes an Mzee, an elder. He invites me to the ceremony that afternoon. Says four cows have already been slaughtered and Maasai are gathering.

After our meeting we drive the short distance across the dry plains to the ceremony site, passing giraffe and zebra on route. A sea of red. Maasai in all directions. I am one of two Mazungus (white people) at the ceremony. Funny how I note that isn't it? It never really strikes me to be honest. I suppose on a special day like this it makes me realize how very fortunate I am to witness this and other events like this, and that it is not a tourist event, otherwise there would be floods of safari vehicles, mazungus and cameras.

The ceremony is called Enkang e-kule. Maasai warriors to this date have not eaten any meals with their wives or in front of their mothers. Today their mother shaves their head, they paint it red and prepare to eat for the first time with their wives. The cows that were slaughtered in the early morning are in the centre of the manyatta (the circular compound). Mzee sit in the middle, tending to the fire and the meat while sipping home brew, potent stuff. 

I am allowed in the center area and am offered a piece of meat. Of course I say yes with a huge grin. Now, the Maasai usually char their meat, but today for some reason it is blood red. I take the huge hunk of bloody meat and tear off a piece with my teeth. They all watch of course and as I gnaw on the meat I smile, trying to envision something else in my mouth.I keep the rest of the piece in my hand so that for the next hour, when I am offered more meat, I can point to the hunk in my hand, as if to say, I already have some, thank you.  

When we arrive the warriors are in one line and their wives in another. They are smiling, chatting and anxious. When they are called by an elder who has clearly had too much hoe brew, they enter a small hut together. Inside the wife feeds the man a piece of meat. The man then feeds his wife a piece of meat and then she feeds him another piece. This signifies his 'graduation' to being a junior elder. They exit the hut with large smiles on their face. There are over 150 men going through the ritual. 

Maasai outside the hut, peaking in, to watch the warriors being fed by their wives.

A warrior asks me if I want to go into the hut, to see. I thank him but already feel as if I am intruding on a precious time. Imagine your wedding and people you really do not know, come and they take pictures, and they witness your day, and sit at the head table with you, eat your cake. Its strange. 

After all the warriors has gone into the hut with their wives and been fed, they gather together for song and dance. The guttural rhythm, the high pitched yelps, the fluid movement. I am so fortunate to have heard and seen Maasai singing and dancing, but on this day I say to myself 'drink this in, absorb it, relish it.' An ancient culture facing a changing world. 

They all leave the compound and line up again in two lines, male and female. It sounds like wind chimes from the metal jewlery clanging as they walk and stand in the breeze. The Wazee, the really old Maasai, wait at the entrance and as the Maasai enter, they smear goat fat onto their heads as a blessing.

The man in black is an elder, the fat is in the gourd. Note the Maasai with the selfie stick in the back, classic display of ancient tradition blended with modernity.

They then all get on their knees and the elders pray for them. The elders walk through the kneeling group and spray them with milk as a final blessing. 

After the final blessing there is more song and dance. One of the warriors sits on the ground. He is shaking in a fit. I ask my colleague if he is ok. He is emotional, he is no longer a warrior, he has graduated to be a junior elder, with responsibility and no turning back. He is overcome with emotion that he is unable to handle.

We bid farewell to the Maasai we know, congratulate them and thank them. We thank them for giving us the privilege to witness their ceremony, their tradition. The drive back to the lodge is quiet. We are covered in Amboseli dust. Without words, relishing the afternoon, the fortune of being here, this day. The next ceremony of this kind for this Maasai clan will be in 10 years. I wonder how different it will be, if the numbers will have dwindled and if the youth will still embrace this rite of passage.

An Invitation

An Invitation to Climate Skeptics

 

Last week, thousands of people took to the streets in defense of science. People of all walks of life raised their voices demanding that the new United States administration consider and utilize scientific knowledge in decision making and policy design. While only 100 days in office, the new administration has discredited science and discarded facts. The mere suggestion that alternative facts exist is symbolic of the charade taking place in Washington. 

The call for inclusion of science hails from various disciplines, from those working on endangered species to clean water. The effort to dismiss the irrefutable scientific evidence on climate change is central to this discourse and this weekend, more will march to raise awareness about climate change. While the voices were loud and clear at the global marches, the voices that should be heard are those from the people living with the impacts of climate change. These are the people who bear the brunt of the consequences of decisions ignorant of scientific evidence. So, please, those few skeptics of climate change and there are only a few, come and meet the people in Africa who are already suffering from the impacts of climate change. Listen to their stories. Feel their pain. And then, I dare you, tell me climate change is not a reality. 

Please come and meet Ole Sambu, a Maasai pastoralist in southern Kenya. In 2008 during the drought he and the Maasai community lost 80% of their livestock and he is losing more livestock in this current drought—his livelihood. Droughts are becoming more frequent. Combined with more intensive and unpredictable rains, this makes it extremely difficult for farmers to grow crops and pastoralists to maintain healthy livestock herds. 

Come to northern Kenya and meet Lekutan, a Samburu pastoralist woman, who now walks twice as far to fetch water because the wetlands that were are no longer and the rivers that ran year round now dry up. Women are more vulnerable to climate change impacts across Africa as they take on additional duties as caregivers. 

Please come meet Ole Kinei in Tanzania whose mother was killed by a hippo while she was trying to fetch water. When water is scarce, human wildlife conflict escalates as competition for resources between people and animals intensifies. Conflict between people is also escalating. Access to water is projected to be the biggest cause of conflict in Africa in the next 25 years. 

And with climate change affecting weather patterns, too much water all at once is a problem. Come to Mozambique and meet Mr. Machel who lost his family in the 2000 floods. Southern Africa is experiencing more cyclones and extreme weather patterns, resulting in severe flooding. The 2000 flood in Mozambique, worsened by two cyclones, caused 800 deaths, affected approximately 2 million people of which about 1 million needed food, 329,000 people were displaced and agricultural land was destroyed. This very same region was writing from drought in 2015 and 2016. Time between and frequency of extreme weather events is increasing.  

Come to northern Cameroon and meet Mr. Magashi a Nigerian who crossed national borders in search of pasture for his livestock. The impacts of climate change and loss of access to natural resources in Africa has resulted in more than one million climate migrants. As the number of migrants escalates, so do conflicts.

These people, these stories, these voices should be heard. These are the people suffering as a result of climate change. Yet politicians lacking connection to the reality on the ground have the gall to insinuate their plight is not a result of climate change.

Climate change is a global problem, requiring a global solution. African Governments showed their commitment to addressing climate change by joining 175 nations in signing the Paris Climate Change Accord and preparing country level climate change action plans. The unification displayed in Paris was powerful and positive. A political voice for positive change. Yet today, despite the scientific consensus on climate change, countries like the United States are not supporting Africa in attaining climate resiliency or energy independence; they are intent on halting progress on what is the most crucial issue of our time, a changing climate. By committing to reopening dirty coal mines, rolling back environmental regulations, and slashing funding for alternative energy and other climate programs, the US Government is committing to a path that will hurt Africans and global citizens for generations to come. It is time to fight back against actions that will impact the global citizenry negatively. It is time to support the signatories of the Paris Accord who recognize that our economies and communities are entirely dependent on a healthy planet.

 

You have got to be kidding

You have got to be kidding me.

This is a common phrase, right? And generally associated with something negative happening.

Something you say after someone cuts you off in a car. Sometimes followed by 'Seriously?' and your arms up in the air with a gesture of 'what gives.' 

Said when you are listening to the news, and you hear a statement by a politician, which you know is completely false.

Or maybe you say this after you open your credit card bill and hold your head in your hand.
Or when you are trying to fix the font and spacing on this blog and it simply does not work. 

It is something said after a long week of work, when you have come home, pour a glass of wine, set your self up on the couch to watch a movie and the power goes out....you have got to be kidding me!

It is something you say after you have been on a 1.800 line for more than 30 minutes, trying to get help to your simple query and just when you are about to get the solution, the line drops. 

This week I used the phrase while snorkeling in the Indian Ocean. Warm, clear, aqua colored water. I spent hours with a snorkel, fins and mask, floating across coral, sea-grass, fish and a kaleidoscope of colors. I tried not to think about the demise of global coral reefs and our government's criminal denial of the cause. I tried not to think about coral reefs as the protein factories for the world and the millions of people dependent on healthy reefs for their own health. For me, when faced with such beauty, I often think of the ramifications of their loss, the 'what if' it goes.

So, I tried not to think about the recent report on the demise of the Great Barrier Reef. In the salt water of the Indian Ocean I focused on the riot of colors below me. Blue, pink, orange, black, magenta, red. Orange and white striped clown fish, yellow, black and white angel fish and brown and white blowfish. Fish of all colors, patterns, shapes and sizes. Darting about looking for food. Within arms reach, but never able to touch. Black, sharp urchins hidden in the coral. Listening to the cracking of the coral, I relished the buffered sounds of the under-water world, trying to let the thoughts of work and stress leave my mind like a wave. 

As I swam I spotted a fish that made me say to myself 'you have got to be kidding me.' Followed by 'seriously?' The pattern of this fish was meticulous, magnificent. How can such a creature be so striking? The colors poignant, the royal blue and black strips between its eyes perfect in alignment, its soft looking fins, yellow plump mouth, an incredible species. A trigger fish.

The beauty of nature is endless. Irreplaceable. If we'd only open our eyes. See the colors. See the brilliance. Notice the patterns. Perhaps then, and only then, will we choose to reverse the decline. For it is a choice, a distinct choice, in our control, and we are now making the wrong choice. 

'In the end we will conserve only what we love; we will love only what we understand; and we will understand only what we have been taught.’ – Baba Dioum, Senegalese Poet.

If we do not open our eyes and notice these amazing creatures, we will not understand them, nor will we love them; therefore, we will not protect them. The time is now.  

Hong Kong

It is humid. The salt air smells like home, but I am far from home. Not Nairobi home, which my mother still says is not my home, but home-home, Marblehead. I am running in Aberdeen, on the south side of Hong Kong. The path takes me through a fish market. Men with rubber boots carry buckets of fish. The ground is wet and the air smells of fish and I am concentrating so as not to slip on the slimey ground or crash into any of the fishermen. A white women jogging through the back alley market is probably not a common site. The fishermen go out at about 4 am and return around 7 pm. At night the lights on the ships are lovely to watch as they return after a hard day of work into the harbor. Its a whole fish market, so stacks of styrofoam coolers line the market, ready for packing and shipping. The main catch are hairtail, mackeral, scad, big eye, pomfret and croaker, names unfamiliar to me. In 2013 the Government banned trawling because of a major decline in fish. Unsustainable fishing methods has led to a radical decline in stocks, a decline we see globally.

As I run around the harbor boats come in and out, new and old. The rice barges reminds me of my time in Bangkok and the car tire bumpers dangling on the side of the boats bring back memories of the boat I worked on in the Chao Phraya River. Drumming fills the air and I see red and yellow flags flapping in the wind. A crowd gathers and as I nudge my way through to see what is happening the smell of incense becomes strong. A group of young men dressed in colorful silk uniforms carry an elaborate dragon, his head made of huge, delicate feathers. A group of older men in the classic grey Chinese suit are clearly the honorary guests, they lead the crowd to a pile of offerings and a great red satin ornamental house. The drum and tambourine fill the air. An ancient looking man in a long cape, which looks like an oriental rug, and wise looking face with a wispy long goatee leads the band with methodical steps.

I carry on running and notice red and yellow flags in the water, dragon boats--beautiful, long wooden crew boats with an ornate and dramatic gold dragon at the bow. I think of my nephew, wishing he were here to see these historical and ornamental boats. There are 24 people in the boat. Their oars are short. The coxwain beats a large elaborate drum and the paddlers go to the beat. As I sweat and run, I pass men and women doing Tai-Chi in the park. They move thoughtfully, with focus, slowly, with their breath. Perhaps that is what I should be doing. Slowing down, taking pause, following the way. Oh, I will do that later, the perpetual pledge to pause and breath, ha, keep making the pledge. Another group are doing Tai-Chi with shiny silver swords, together, they follow a routine, their movements in unison, their swords shimmering in the sun. They move like birds.

Later that day I make my way to Repulse Bay, a lovely cove on the south of the island. The story goes that the bay was used by pirates, but they were 'repulsed' by the British Army; thus, the name. Now it is a beautiful cove, with light color sand and a view of tropical looking volcanic islands. There is a strip of stores that make you feel like you are in California. I get a fresh juice at the yoga store and watch the people pass. At the end of the bay is a Taoist shrine with a huge statue of Kwun Yam, a goddess associated with compassion and kindness, and Tin Hau, goddess of the sea. I like a religion with female gods and one cannot argue with people kneeling, praying and lighting incense to compassion and kindness. An ornate, small red bridge connects another section and is known as the bridge of longevity. Two beautiful elephant adorn a pagoda. People rub the trunk, close their eyes, murmur works of prayer and touch their praying hands to their forehead thoughtfully. Praying to the elephants, another thing I like about this religion.

From my very limited knowledge, and trust me, it is limited, Taoism is a religious tradition of Chinese origins, which emphasizes living in harmony with the Tao, the way, in harmony and movement with nature. Taoist ethics vary, but in general tend to emphasize We Wei, (effortless action), "naturalness," simplicity, spontaneity, and the three treasures "compassion," "frugality," and "humility." I was just discussing with my parents the book 'Living Buddha Living Christ.' An excellent book that draws the obvious and distinct parallels and similarities between the two religions and leaders. It is the same with Taoism--compassion, frugality and humility--the three treasures, and yet, aren't these the core of what Jesus taught us? If only we'd remember, not focus on the 'who' that taught us but embrace the core principles, especially today, in this mad world we live, where we discuss barriers, not bonds, differences not commonalities, walls not welcomes, hubris not humility.

In the afternoon I am in a Tao temple in down town Hong Kong, on Hollywood Street--one must appreciate the irony of being in an ancient temple in Hong Kong on Hollywood Street. The air in the temple is filled with incense, literally. People are wearing masks because of the smoke. You can buy a batch of 20 sticks of incense for about 10 HK Dollars. People light the whole batch, say a prayer, bow and stick the incense in a gold bowl filled with sand at the base of the various statues. People bring fruit, flowers and prayer papers. I stand to the side and watch, the devotion, the prayer. Breath in the incense feeling the burn in my nostrils and eyes. Built in 1847, the Man Mo temple houses the God of Literature (Man) and the God of War (Mo). Again, I am struck by the similarities in religion as I am reminded of the incense that the priest carried in the catholic church in an ornate gold chamber. He would swing it side by side and as children, I remember dreading this moment in mass as I did not like the powerful smell.

I wander the city, getting lost in the chaotic streets, passing markets along cobble staircases, restaurants filled with people eating noodles out of big white bowls, gardens filled with fig trees and stores filled with everything from cheap souvenirs to Gucci. The simple act of walking is a treat for me, not something one does in Nairobi. Just wandering, without thought, without caution, is a privilege.

I make my way towards the water and come upon a square filled with women, literally, filled with women. I look in every direction for a male face, but just see women. They are all sitting on cardboard, they have taken card board boxes, flattened them and they are laying on them, sitting on them, picnicking on them. It is a peculiar site as I picture people picnicking on comfortable blankets, outside. These women are on cardboard, on cement, in the central city square. My friend explains later to me that they are 'the workers,' the house help, mostly Phillipinno. It is their day off. And they gather on Sundays, to spend time together in this central space.

This week, Wednesday, is International Women's Day. I suspect it will go unnoticed for these women who sit on their cardboard on their day off. I hope somehow the compassion of Taoism, or whatever religion of their employers, will seep in and make their days a little bit better.

I walk through the flower market, bird market, fish market, gem market and the ladies market. Its as if there is a market for everything. The colors, smells, sights are invigorating, perplexing and stimulating.

The goldfish market was fascinating. Walls and walls covered with bags of fish. What is it with humans and wildlife. I found everything. Turtles, tortoises, chameleons, snakes, birds, fish of all kind.

In the evening I have a bowl of noodle soup (yes, there is a more ornate name to it in Chinese) and some dim-sum. I am grateful that Hong Kong is a large city because the catastrophe I create with my chop sticks is epic and at least nobody knows me, nor will they ever see me again. I have splattered everything around me with the broth as the noodles go flying out of my chop sticks and mouth. My face is so close to the table so that I can simply shovel the food into my mouth, I literally could rest my chin on the table. Elegant.

On my last day I take the metro to Lantau Island to see the big Buddha. This Buddha is giant, 34 M high and weighs over 250 metric tons, it is bronze and beautiful. Whatever your religion, standing at the base of this Buddha one feels a sense of awe and a recognition of something bigger, something greater, whatever that may be for each person. This Buddha is called the Tian Tan Buddha. He sits on top of a bronze lotus flower on top of an alter. He is surrounded by six beautiful bronze statues referred to as the 'Offering of the Six Devas' because they are offering him flowers, incense, lamp, ointment, fruit and music. These gifts represent the Six Perfections of generosity, morality, patience, zeal, mediation and wisdom, all of which are necessary for enlightenment.

To reach the Buddha you climb 268 steps. The Buddha is enormous, impressive. There are tons of visitors and I am curious watching each one, to understand why they are here. From the Spanish ladies that leap on the count of five to get their photo in front of the Buddha as they are mid-air, to the Asian who is being filmed for a documentary at the base, to the older Chinese woman on her knees praying. The Buddha's right hand is up and facing outward, this a position symbolizing protection, peace and dispelling of fear.

Next to the Buddha is the Po Lin Monastery a colorful and ornate Buddhist monastery founded in 1906 by three monks. Inside are incredible gold Buddhas, dozens of them. Similar to the other monasteries, people come with offerings and light incense. I purchase a stack of incense and join a group of Chinese women. We light the incense, say our prayers, place the stick in a large lotus shaped bowl and slowly back away as the smell and smoke carry our prayers into the air.