My Bittersweet Reality
I currently reside in a bittersweet reality. As I experience the utterly awe-inspiring privilege of being in the bush, seeing majestic African wildlife in its natural habitat and meeting such interesting and passionate people, I am constantly reminded of how threatened this lifestyle is. As I sit here, writing this blog, animals are being poached. That is the harsh and ugly reality that I simply cannot get used to, and it casts a ghoulish shadow over every beautiful moment that I am honored to participate in, here in South Africa.
On the evening of June 12, I left snazzy LA and set out on my almost twenty-six hour commute to Johannesburg. I’ve traveled to many places and have endured many long flights, but New York to Johannesburg takes the cake in being the biggest and “baddest” flight of all. But I didn’t mind. I was going to Africa to see animals, and I was going to make a difference.
As I boarded the plane I quickly scanned my fellow journeymen and women. I didn’t see any cute guys, so I began to settle into my seat and set up my little home for the next fourteen hours; but then I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw three middle aged men clad in camo. That could only mean one thing: they were going to South Africa to kill.
The harsh reality of the battle I face as a conservationist pierced me like an arrow to my heart. I wanted to interview them to see what they were doing and who they were planning on killing, but I bit my tongue and decided to take my seat. On the plus side, the rest of the flight was uneventful and passed by relatively quickly.
As the captain announced our descent, I hustled to an empty row to find an available window seat and stared out of the window, excited to finally be in South Africa. I was like a kid pulling up to Disneyland, (or how I imagine I’ll be when I finally go to Harry Potter World!) I had a big smile, a warm heart and so much hope, despite my sighting of the geriatric GI Joes.
But then, once again at baggage claim, as I giddily, albeit tiredly, waited for my luggage, I was reminded of the harsh reality: I saw an airport baggage attendant wheeling out a cart stocked full of hunting bags, and I was especially disturbed by the shape of hunting bows.
I experienced the most ironic blend of emotions, knowing that I had arrived to save animals and that there were people alongside me who were here to kill them.
Now, three weeks into my program-adventure-journey, I understand how complex the war is in which I am fighting. For example, this morning we did our first bush walk. It was thrilling to be deep in the bush and to track animals. After some time, we found a herd of four rhinos. At one point we were probably 200 feet away from them and they had no clue that we were there. Instead of feeling the expected glee, I was overcome by sadness. If we were able to sneak up on these rhinos undetected, it must be all too easy for the poachers to do the same.
And the stats support my conclusion. Everyday, three rhinos are poached, and every hour, four elephants are poached. As I sit here, writing this blog and trying to raise awareness in order to save these species, I know that these precious animals are being murdered for their horns and tusks. This knowledge gives me the ickiest feeling and unsettles me deep within my soul.
I can’t do anything about it. I can’t save these lives. But come hell or high water, I will try.
Back while I was in Johannesburg, I had a titillating bar conservation with a local Afrikans bloke about rhino poaching. He had extremely strong opinions on the issue and basically told me that I know nothing about it and nothing about the way that Africa works. He even said that with the current laws, what I’m doing is pointless. T.I.A. “This Is Africa,” he kept repeating. My response to this all was that I have to try because I have hope.
Hope is what I live by. Hope is what I have for the world. Hope is what I hold onto for humankind and the way it can develop perspectives towards the earth and all its inhabitants -plants, animals and people alike. If I didn’t have hope, I wouldn’t be here. So, although I know how enormous and powerful the “enemy” is, I push forward with the beautiful hope that I, and all of us, can make a difference.
Roar, Kate Bowen