Chimpanzee

Southern Senegal. We are on the border with Guinea, in a gallery forest, tracking chimps. We hear a branch break in the distance and move in that direction. I am in a full sweat. It is hot, humid in the forest of Dendefelo Reserve. It is rainy season, so we are soaked. My shoes are like sponges after crossing through a river. The rain has made the forest emerald green, lovely, however it makes tracking chimps difficult. Our guide from the local community walks quietly, with focus, listening, watching. I am following him closely because I do not want to miss the chance of seeing the chimps. We are walking up a loose scree slope, covered with vines, bamboo and debris. Trying to not make a sound while traversing this slope is a dance of sorts, a balancing act. With the crunching of leaves under our feet and the sound of the scree tumbling down the slope I cringe thinking the noise will scare the chimps and they will move further away. Above our heads we see their nests, small clumps of branches and leaves in the tree canopy. They make a new nest every night. We see their droppings under the tree, orange in color reflecting the fruit they eat. Filled with termites. We pass a termite mound and find the sticks they use the fish for termites. The sound of breaking branches is close, I crouch low to see through the forest. I see the branches move and then a flash of black drops from the tree—an arm, back, leg—it’s gone. We follow but not fast enough. After four hours up and down the slopes, listening, stopping, moving cautiously, the sun is starting to set and we surrender to the fact that we will not see the chimps today. A pit in my stomach of disappointment, but given their status, I am happy to know they are here, in this healthy forest. Chimpanzee, Pan troglodytes, is endangered. Like all of Africa’s other great apes. Habitat loss and bush meat poaching is causing their decline. Here in this forest, we are working with partners to ensure that these chimps continue to thrive in a safe haven.  

Elevator

We are at a Ministry building in Yaounde, Cameroon. There is an event taking place in the front, so we enter at an odd entrance in the back. Dim hallways with old carpets are filled with piles, I mean piles, of paper folders reaching the ceiling. There is old furniture and boxes littering the hallways. Some ceiling panels are missing and wires hang in various locations like Christmas lights. We have a meeting on the 17th floor, so we head to the elevator.

In the hallway we wait with dozens of people for the elevator. Now, personal space is something Americans cherish. Here, in Central Africa, forget it. Getting onto a bus, plane, elevator, you name it, there is no personal space. You push, shove, press and find yourself pressed against strangers in a way you would get yelled at for in the USA. Meanwhile, if you try to create you own space, fine, go for it, but you will never get on that bus, plane or elevator in this case.

The elevator doors open, and my colleague yells over the heads of many, get in! The four of us shove and push our way in. There are at least 25 of us now squeezed into this tin box. It is hot, like 90 degrees hot. Little air. Dingy. I wonder if the elevator is even going to be able to move from the ground given the weight. It does. Needless to say, not a high speed elevator, we creep our way up. Sweat is dripping down my back. A woman in a beautifully printed dress is pressed on my one side and a man in a grey suit on the other. Power outages are quite common in Cameroon and most certainly, this place does not have a generator. As we crawl to the 17th floor I pray to whoever is listening that the power does not go out and leave us stuck in the elevator.

The Luxuries When Traveling

I am walking down the hallway of a hotel with a toilet seat.

I am in Yaounde, Cameroon. Staying at Marli Palace Hotel. Now, you must appreciate the term 'palace' in the name of the hotel, and then consider that there is nothing palace like about this hotel. The last time I was here I had to negotiate hard with the hotel staff for a towel. This time, a toilet seat.

So how is it I found myself walking down the hallway with the toilet seat?

Once settled into my room, I realized I had no toilet seat. Given I was at the hotel for five nights, well, a toilet seat is a luxury for which I thought worth negotiating. After some sweet talking, a maid showed up at my door with one. Later that afternoon, after meetings with the Minister of Environment, I got back to the hotel and my air conditioner had spewed water across the room. So, management moved me to a new room. In the process of moving I locked my room key in the room.

Ok, no problem, I went to the front desk to get the extra key, only to learn, there are no extra keys, none. The key I had is the only key and it was locked in my room, along with my wallet, passport, computer, you name it. Also consider that all these discussions are in French. So while I may think I know what is going on, chances are I am totally off base given my rudimentary French, despite the years of study.

A man with excellent red shoes and matching red underwear, classic low hanging jeans to reveal them just a smidgen, arrives at my locked door in the stifling hot hallway, with a dinner knife to open the door. For the next 40 minutes on his hands and knees he tries to pry the door open, trip the lock, all with a kitchen knife. Now remember the hotel is not a palace, so the knives are not strong sterling. The man went through a number of knives, bending and snapping many as he tried desperately to open the damn door. Also consider the temperature in Yaounde, hot and humid. So the poor man is drenched in sweat trying to open the door.

After some time, we start to consider rappelling off the roof to get into the window, yes, I am serious, how else do you get into a room? We had identified the route to the roof, the window etc... Just as we were exploring this option, the red shoe man successfully cranked the door open. After slipping the guy some cash, moving my luggage to the new room, I realized there was no toilet seat in the new room; thus, returned to the old room and found myself walking down the hallway with a toilet seat.

Laughing Baboons

It is a hot day. We are driving in Kruger National Park. We drive down a hill and start to see flying baboons. They are jumping, spinning, swirling and leaping. They are splashing in the water, playing tag and chasing each other. We stop, sit and watch as these baboons have the time of their lives. No purpose, just simple playing. As we rolled across the bridge slowly these two wet baboons were sitting on the edge of the bridge catching their breath. Needless to say the one on the left continued to have a grand old time as he flashed his smile in delight.

Delight

July 18 is Mandela Day.

George Hallett, South African photographer, captured this picture which illustrates sheer joy and delight. Look at the grin on these ladies' faces when Mandela arrives. Sheer joy.

Elephant Graveyard

Have you ever visited an elephant graveyard?

It's not like the graveyards you and I know. No neat rows, no gravestones, no tulips.

Stark white bones on dusty soil.
Stark white bones juxtaposed against green vegetation.
Stark white bones spread across the landscape.

Stark white bones—that is all that is left.

An elephant skull is the size of an arm chair. Imagine four.
The elephant bones the length of a broom and thickness of a rugby players' thigh. There are piles of them in mounds littered across the land.

25,000 elephant were killed last year. 25,000.

There are elephant graveyards across Africa.

This graveyard is behind a lovely pond.
The crocodiles, hippos, impala, nyla, baboons and other wildlife eat, drink, run, jump, play, fight and live, simply live.
But the elephant bones lay silent…….still…….without life.

The mopani trees surround this graveyard.
Their leaves look like two hands praying.
The wind blows them together, in prayer for the elephants.
They need the prayers.
 
Hands in the soil I kneel amidst the bones in prayer.
Hands on the bones, I try to feel the life of these three ton animals that once roamed and shaped this great landscape.
Hands gripping the bones I pay tribute to their magnificence, bearing witness to herds that once were.

They need more than our prayers.......more than our tears......more than our anger.
They need our perseverance.
They need our focus and they need our commitment to stop the killing.

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela

1918-2013. Madiba*

Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990. I was a sophomore at University and recall watching his release on TV. Mandela was in jail for 27 years. I was 19 years old when he was released. From the day I was born through my sophomore year at University Mandela was behind bars, without rights. He was released in February—a bone chilling time of year in the Northeast United States. In South Africa, Mandela walked into the warm, ocean sea air of Cape Town to embrace freedom for the first time in his life.

My sophomore year at University, behind a comfortable desk, I had the luxury of studying African Studies with amazingly challenging professors. We studied democracy in Africa, colonialism and the struggle for independence. I studied Swahili in preparation of a semester abroad in Kenya, an incredible and privileged opportunity that shaped my future. Meanwhile, Mandela, from prison, was negotiating the rebirth of South Africa, which resulted in the end of the apartheid system and a one man one vote system.

Today, it is 23 years later, and Mandela just passed away. I have lived in Africa since 2007. The country is vastly different as a result of Mandela’s leadership.

Today in South Africa and around the world people are saddened to the core about the loss of Mandela. A leader like no other. Today, in a world where we long for leaders and role models, Mandela’s passing is felt deeply.

Mandela said ‘A good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination.’ He had both.

Humble. Inspiring. Courageous. Extraordinary. Genuine.

“During my lifetime, I have dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons will live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for. But, my lord, if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."

This was the famous statement he made in April 1964 from the court dock at the opening of his defense case in the Rivonia trial. His defense team thought him mad, he was sealing his fate, confessing to breaking the law. For Mandela it was a law he would not respect and he spoke what was true to his heart.

After 27 years in prison Mandela did the unthinkable, he forgave, he reconciled, he broke bread with the ‘enemy’ and he brought South Africa together as one nation. The world watched in awe.

Today I am in Pretoria, South Africa. I am standing with 100,000 people who have come from far and wide to bid farewell to a leader who stood for freedom and integrity. For three days here in Pretoria Mandela’s body rests in the Parliament building for the public to view. The diversity of people is staggering—all colors, ages, and walks of life. A fitting tribute to the man who helped shape the Rainbow Nation.

The number of people gathered is incomprehensible. For over six hours we stand in the hot sun, patiently waiting to say a proper thank you to the man who gave up so much for his country and his people. The umbrellas we brought for rain are used as sun umbrellas, shielding us from the fierce sun. A woman stands in line ahead of us. She is dressed elegantly in a black dress, black heals and a lovely black hat. She has the South African flag draped over her like a pashmina. A South African family of five is directly behind us. The three children are under the age of seven. The father wants his kids to remember Mandela and if it is by remembering the day Daddy made them wait in line for hours, so be it. I sit under a tree at one point to rest while my husband holds our spot in line. An elderly gentleman sits next to me. He says ‘The man waited 27 years in jail, we can wait in a cue”.

Mandela is someone who showed us what true leadership is all about—he lived what he preached, he thought of his people and country, before himself.

“For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” – Mandela.

I am privileged to have been a part of the 10 days of recognition for Mandela in South Africa. Earlier in the week I was in Cape Town. Cape Town is an incredible city that starkly demonstrates the difference between rich and poor. Under its soil lies a long history. Walking along the waterfront is a clear view of Robben Island, where Mandela spent most of his jail time. One evening we participated in a memorial at the beautiful city hall, where Mandela gave his first public speech after leaving prison. Today there are mountains of flowers at the base of the marble stairs. There are flags from all over the world, pictures, cards, poems, candles, stuffed animals, tributes and love. It is evening and the salty Cape Town air graces the crowd. Again, a diverse and large gathering is here, paying their respects. The memorial host walks through the crowd with a microphone asking people to share why they are here and what it is they want to say to Madiba. Young and old say thank you. Some cry, in appreciation for what he did for them, testifying that they would not have had the opportunities in their life that they did without him. Others celebrate his amazing life. A man from Chile thanks him for setting an example for other countries. A girl from Soweto, where the struggle took root, thanks him for her education. The tributes last through the night.

“The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." –Mandela

Earlier in the week, the day after he died, I visited his house outside of Johannesburg. I parked the car a half mile from his home in suburbia Johannesburg and joined the crowds walking the street towards his home. A pilgrimage. People carried flowers. Families with strollers. Children with flags. Elderly women with canes, walking, to pay their respects. Women walking, singing, never have I witnessed the spontaneous outburst of song. Struggle songs, freedom songs. At his house, piles of flowers spilled out onto the road. People sang, danced, laughed and cried. People paraded through the street in song, holding framed pictures of him. A 10-year old boy gently placed a South African flag over the flowers, adjusting it to make sure it was perfect. An elderly woman said a prayer a laid lovely purple hydrangea on the flowers. Others stood, stared, and soaked in the scene. The vigil continued through the night.

Mandela lived a full life. 97 years. To think that he lived that long after spending so much time in prison is another remarkable aspect of his life. Mandela is the first to admit his was not a saint. 'I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying.' He reminds us of what it means to be human. To strive for greatness, what is right, and the reality of tripping, falling and getting up again. He taught us to live life to its fullest. Not to shy from challenges. And to fight for what is right, nothing less.

“There is no passion to be found playing small—in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” – Mandela.

“It always seems impossible until it is done.” – Mandela

The void is palpable in South Africa. Despite him being ill for the past few years, his absence is felt deeply. People wonder what will happen to South Africa. What will happen to his legacy? It is now upon all of us to ensure his legacy lives forever and to continue his life’s work of making this world a fairer and better place. To strive for excellence and extraordinary outcomes, nothing less. As the globe spirals with tribal, ethnic, religious, environmental and racial conflict, Madiba’s life should teach us how to walk a path of reconciliation. We owe it to him.

*A Xhosa term used for Mandela, indicating a great sign of respect and endearment. Madiba is what he is commonly referred to in South Africa.