This spring, the campus has been treated to a blossoming of new life. Saints is a green lung in Johannesburg and as such, the wildlife on campus seems to gain new energy as the temperatures warm up and the winter drear fades away. One of these animals which has drawn much attention from our community has been the family of Spotted Eagle-Owls that took up residence in the nesting box near the Matric Carpark at the Girls’ College. Cars, walkers and cyclists have all taken an interest in the lives of these birds, slowing down when they go past just to get a glimpse of the nocturnal parliament.
Initially three chicks were raised, one being forced out of the nest fairly early on and unfortunately this chick did not survive, being mauled by a dog (one of the reasons why we insist that dogs are kept on a leash). The other two, however, flourished. What is interesting about owls is that they tend to leave the nest and then spend up to five weeks on the ground and in the bush where they are still fed by the parents as they learn to fly and become independent. This posed a bit of a problem because of the nest’s location so close to the road (it will be moved to a safer space after this brood). When the fluffy grey owlets jumped from the nest, concerned Saints families gave me a call about putting them back or at least moving them to a safer place. So most of my days were spent monitoring the owls in the evening as they explored the ground away from the owl box in the cover of night, and then tracking them down in the morning and putting them back into the box for the day. This is easier said than done because an owlet can be carried like a chicken, but their talons are sharp, and they don’t tend to enjoy the journey, particularly when it means being carried up a ridiculously high ladder. I managed to do this without breaking my neck, climbing one-handed whilst the owlets tried scratching me to bits! One morning, though, I put both chicks back in the box and they clearly had had enough of each other or were suffering from cabin fever. They fought beak and talon, one eventually pushing the other one out. No matter how many times I collected the fallen chick, made the treacherous journey up the ladder and then put it back, a few seconds later in an eruption of feathers, one of the owlets would end up back on the ground. Their time in the nest was over. So, I found some cover in the grassland away from the road, and wished the two chicks good luck on their journey to adulthood. The owls have been very easy to find since then…all one has to do is listen to the arm calls of the other birds. They are still being fed by the parents, and can be seen in the branches of some of our acacia trees trying to get some sleep whilst the louries and bulbuls shout at them. It is a wonderful story about the wonder of nature and how our campus is able to sustain some of it. There is a delicate ecological web around Saints which is most visible in spring, and by keeping a look out for our wildlife, driving a bit slower, holding pets on a lead and sharing this space with them, we can be privilege to a piece of the bush not far from one of the biggest economic centres in Africa.
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Derek and Beverly Joubert, the renound National Geographic filmmakers have long been an inspiration to me. Their philosophy around wildlife management is remarkable, and it comes to life in the last pages of their book "The Africa Diaries":
There is one overriding message that we must bring back from the wild. While it's an untame and unpredictable place, when we crawl up onto the razored edge of our civilization and consciousness and look beyond, we do see hope. Almost my default, but perhaps by being open to following the wind, we have seen further inside nature and our own natural ways than most people have the chance to. We've stumbled along a path that has led to the individuals we see locked within the animals we work with. We see each individual animal's unique point of view: the mischievous glint in a lion cat-eye whenever a hyena is in the distance, the look of complete despair as a young bull elephant stands at the rotting carcass of its mother. Science still denies this, but we have seen it over and over again. Animals have emotions, and a consciousness that at least parallels our. We have seen them thinking about their choices, struggling with their moods, frustrations, fears, and more. On another level, we have seen that unless we reconnect the broken line between us and animals, between a privileged class, and all the rest, unless we throw out the "us" and "them" concepts we live by, we will forever live as we are now...conflicted and alienated by such beliefs. Recently we approached a community in Botswana with a proposal: "We can help you get long-term but slow benefits from your area that will allow wildlife to grow and your people to prosper." I went on to describe how this could happen and why we wanted to help. It was an emotional speech because Beverly and I passionately believed in what we were saying. The key would be in their acceptance of the fact that hunting these animals and the further depletion of the populations was shortsighted and did not include a vision for the future: Continue hunting and leasing the land to professional hunting companies, and the wildlife will slowly disappear. The chiefs went off to speak to their communities. What are the chances that a traditional hunting culture would listen to this proposal for their future? A month later we heard the answer: Eighty percept of the community voted to shut down hunting in favor of our plan! Clearly, they had understood that something needed to be done to ensure their natural heritage and a traditional family life. As a result, our foundation, The Wild Places Foundation, hopes to secure other wilderness areas and stop over-hunting, poaching and over management The foundation raises money to secure wild places because it is ultimately important to all of us, not because we will all get a chance to visit wild Africa, but because it is important to know that somewhere out there, there is an untamed place, wild and remote for to dream about. Ultimately we want to link these places by corridors, bringing lifelines of new blood to isolated populations and new genes to lion cultures. In the process, unused ancestral elephant paths will once again feel the beat of gentle footfalls. As reward, the new benefits from all of this will go directly back to those intelligent and bolt villagers who support the plans. Even coming from the untame other world we prefer to occupy, we can relate Western civilization to what we know in the lion and elephant world. It would be foolish and glib to say that the real jungle is in Los Angeles or New York or any other big 21 Century city. Among the many things that our civilization has taught us, w have learnt to question everything, to understand as much as possible about everyone and all things. Right now we have the chance to question ourselves and the way we deal with wild places, animals who are individuals, people who are different from us, ideas and philosophies that are not ours. I ended our first book, Hunting with the Moon, with the words: " Is it possible that this is the last place in all time and space where the elephants will rumble and the great flocks of quelea will dance? Are these the last shapes to slither through the silver grass, from the dappled shade of one tree to the next, hunting with the moon?" I know the answer now. No, it won't be. Sitting at Savute's water hole again, with huge beasts towering over us, Beverly and I each find our soul, as we have before in this place. It seems that the elephants hardly noticed our absence. Dark shapes shuffle and bump around us; a huge rump scratches the front of the Land Cruiser gently. An eye opens just four feet away from our faces and blinks intelligently. Do they sense our complete acceptance of them and the moment shared? Can they sense our happiness now that we have returned home, read our faces, our body movements? I reach out to stroke the elephant's skin and see a shiver spread from the place I have touched... I have been back at work for just over a week and I feel that I am changed. Repainting and rearranging my teaching space has definitely had an impact, but I also think that my direction is far clearer. I have to steady myself to keep to some of the things that I want to maintain going forward, though, because the pace that I had forgotten about is sometimes consuming. I need to consciously walk a little slower, because I have realised that not everything is urgent and some people can wait. There is a trap that I fell in before, trying to keep to my copious lists and get everything done all at once, and that frantic aptitude is not always a good thing. So instead I try to savour small moments. I try to notice the blossoms that are developing on the trees near the quad, the trio of crows performing their aerobatics in the sky or a particularly imaginative cloud.
My teaching has changed as well, and I feel invigorated from my small long leave adventures. I try to tell stories in class more and get the students to share their own in return. I feel my imagination develop and lessons seem to have a bit more spark. Getting my difficult Grade 10 class to write poetry whilst I played sounds of the Kruger at night, complete with a thunder storm, all the while waxing lyrical about being out there in the bush. The results of their written efforts were a just reward and formed part of one of the many lessons which reinforce that I need to be in a classroom. I do must my bush fix, though, and planning a hike through Schoemanskloof with Brindy is topping me up with anticipation and excitement. I just hope that walking with everything we need in our packs amidst breathtaking views, sleeping out away from people, roads and lights, watching the stars, sharing intimate conversations around a campfire and if I play my cards right skinny dipping in the shaded rivers, will be as soul quenching for her as I know it will be for me. I also have to make time for the important things. Unfortunately the South African teaching climate is perforated in places with paperwork and window dressing, which I have increasingly less time for. As far as I am concerned, teaching is about building boys into the sort of men that lead by example, have real values that are not founded on materials, wealth and status. Boys that are intensely passionate about living a full and balanced life. It is also about creating a space where the skills that they have learnt at school can be used for the greater good: the community and the environment. It is not about placating parents, developing email trails and ticking boxes. In line with all of this, I have realised that I am a better teacher, father and husband when I exercise, when I take time to breath, when I make space to kick off my shoes and read a few pages of a book with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine at my fingertips. I think more clearly when I give myself a moment to reflect. It means being unencumbered by technology and speaking instead of emailing, listening before responding and taking time for relationships. And finally, after a chat with one of my colleagues, I need to embrace what she said was my greatest asset as a teacher and as a person: dreaming big. These words were something that I have not thought about in much detail before, and I just think that what is the point for settling for small? When I chose to become a teacher, like many others in my lectures, I was idealistic and passionate. I was going to change the world. My perceived reality up until now watered down that conviction, but it has always been there, and long leave has allowed it to germinate again. So what do I take forward: Move a little slower Take time out Exercise Keep dreaming big dreams And after all of that, I need to take time to write. Because it is in the moments where I spontaneously allocate words into text that I create the reflections that I need. Tomorrow, after five months of leave, I go back to work. This time has been a space for some serious introspection, and I have forged some ideas about what I would like to do with my life and what needs to be prioritized in order for my family and I to be fulfilled and sustained. I have treasured every moment of this space to think, do and be...and hopefully I am a slightly different person coming out of it. Hopefully I will be more invigorated, energized, passionate, romantic and certain. The difficulty in creating convictions about the decisions that need to be carried through in my life is around actually doing them...so here's raising a glass to the future, and although I feel a bit like this: I am so excited for the future. It is going to be epic!
Although it has become quite a cliche, spring is one of the most invigorating times of the year. Browns turn to green and a myriad of colours start to form at the tips of trees as they blossom. I find myself feeling positive and healthy with the change in temperature, and all of this LIFE was celebrated as I took to the skies on Friday. In our flimsy biplane, I arched and ebbed a few hundred feet over the undulating Magaliesberg mountains. Iridescent yellows caught my eyes in their valleys and the winter-dormant trees celebrated the sunshine with their new flowers. The drone of the engine and the wind in my face reminded me of sailing, or perhaps riding a motorcycle, but the freedom that flying oozes is still something that is unsurpassed. Beneath my wings, I followed the animals: herds of dazzling zebras, serious buffalo, elegant Sable and nervous wildebeest. Acacia trees drew long shadows on the ground, and beneath them I saw the shapes of dozing lions. Summiting the peak of a rocky outcrop, I joined a family of Ostrich on the other side, and then made my way towards a sheet of bontebok and springbuck. The sun curled its arms through wispy clouds and began to lick hues of red and orange and it began to set. I decided to make my way homewards, indulging in a brief detour over the Johannesburg mine dumps, leaving the animals behind to pretend that I was flying over the stretches of the Namib Desert. Waves of snaking sand meandered over the dumps, as if they were once part of an ancient lake bed. The Tiger Moth's shadow grew and faded beneath me as the ground rose and fell away, and i felt an utter sense of peace. It is incredible what is on our doorstep if we only take a moment to open our eyes to it. Nobody would believe that I was flying over part of South Africa's 'big smog' and it wasn't much of a stretch to think I was pioneering pilot flying over the uncharted wilderness of Africa.
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