Socializing

I’ve mentioned that Maun mainly exists to cater to the safari community, and it’s been said that it’s a drinking town with a safari problem. I would have to agree. There are few choices of outings so people tend to frequent their favorite, the bridge backpackers being one of them, great burgers, it is a wonderful mix of locals and tourists mingling together, this is Graham enjoying a beer while a local enjoys the bar.

The ex-pat community enjoy a lot of Braai’s (that is what they call BBQs here) a popular choice of Braai is Peri Peri Chicken. Graham has mastered this process and I’ve enjoyed many a peri peri chicken braai, so much so I think it’s all he knows how to cook. The BBQ’s are not traditional (or on the contrary they are way more so then our modern contraptions) and often wood collected from along the river is used to cook. The other night we had a Braai at our friends Crispen and Lisa’s house and the BBQ was made out of an old wheel rim and leaf springs (Uncle Bob and old mechanic boyfriends take note at pic below, too cool). And Van and Justine, who’s house we live at has a BBQ made out of an old gyser.

911 radio's

Comparatively (to South Africa) crime here is low. However as a visitor, or “north american” we are automatically seen as wealthy and therefore that you will be generous. I didn’t mention it before we left camp but will now. One of our temporary camp hands decided to target me for this reason. Often asking me for money and a jacket. Later to find out that he cleaned me out, he took quite a few items of clothing with him when he left. This was particularly upsetting as he lived with us for some time. And paid close attention to the items of clothing I wasn’t wearing in camp and therefore may not notice right away as missing. While I try not to be attached to things I still from time to time think about it, what he took (there is someone wearing a lovely Lu Lu lemon yoga top) and it burns my ass so much that as I make my way around town I am on the look out for my distinct items of clothing that might be on the back of a local walking around. What I would do if I saw it, I don’t know, probably nothing, but still I look.

Security is high here as it is in South Africa. All the homes are fenced in. We are staying in a beautiful home of a friend of Grahams which is on the river with the most beautiful fig tree in the back yard. Fenced in. The view to the river is lovely though obstructed by this electric fence. As I sit here and the goats roam munching on grass outside the fence to be shocked into horror every time they touch the fence in hilarity. I have come to quite like the goat. They are sweet little things, the babies especially adorable and one day will have a pet goat. I find this fenced in life claustrophobic and I don’t know that I’ve had a good nights sleep since we’ve been here.


























911 here isn’t what it is at home. Everyone has a “911” radio. It’s a walkie talkie type radio and is more of a neighborhood watch sort of thing. When I asked the number for the police no one seemed to know. Apparently most of the police don’t have cars, and when they get a call have to arrange a “ride” to the scene. Comforting. So these 911 radios are tuned in every night to your neighbors and should something go wrong everyone gathers to save and protect you. It is also a form of entertainment and conversation for the next day. Did you hear last nights 911 call....etc. In the first week we were here there was a 911 announcement that three criminals had escaped from prison (this not too surprising as a conversation earlier that day was of someone who had to pay a fine at the police station to see two criminals being held in a room by a mere broom stick across the door way) and to be on high alert that evening and until they were found and captured. Evidently these particular criminals were beating people quite brutally for cash and cell phones. Needless to say, even within this electric fence, high alarm system and locked doors I was on edge all night. And every night until the announcement came over the 911 radio that they had eventually caught said criminals. About a week after escape and re-capture, the escape part of the news made the local paper. The Ngami times, and a week after capture, it was only then in the paper.


Here is an example of the 911 radio in use the other night as we had some friends over for a Braai. (BBQ)

Maun, Botswana

First I apologize for the lack of updates, internet is a hassle at best here in town, I've lost connection several times already while trying to load this post, and to be honest, it's not as inspiring here as it was in the bush. That and it is so hot by 11am one can barley move! I kid you not, you would think living in a hot climate is so exotic and wonderful, it's just really really hot.

I realize that all my talk about the bush and I’ve barley if at all touched on Botswana as a country. Landlocked, it is a country of contrasts. 80% of it is referred to as desert, but as you know the Kalahari contains substantial woodland and other vegetation and water. Botswana is the worlds biggest producer of gemstones, diamonds being the most common. Population, 1.2 million. The gap between rich and poor is evident in examples of expensive cars and big houses, excellent roads and modern buildings but high unemployment and rural villages with dwellings built traditionally of natural materials without sanitation, electricity or water. There are over 20 different tribes and languages, the most common language spoken is english then Setswana. The most common and universal greeting is “dumela” followed by “rra” (ar-ra) if speaking to a man, or “mma” (MAA) if speaking to a women. This is something I have now become accustomed to saying to everyone, as soon as you walk into a shop it’s “dumela mma”. Greeting is very important here, and it is considered very rude to not respond to a greeting, even if from a wave of someone as you drive past them.

In 1966 Botswana gained independence and was one of the poorest countries in the world, as well one of the most traditional and conservative. Since 1966 the country has made enormous strides and makes international news in it’s success in comparison to other African countries. It’s government is Parliamentary democracy.

I’ve talked about Maun in past posts, merely just a weekend over night run for supplies. This consisted of a rushed in and out trying to get back to camp as fast as possible. So it was hectic and I can’t say I really got the feel for the town. Until now I hadn’t actually spent an extended amount of time in Maun. I’ve gone so far as to try to get myself aquatinted with the fitness community anxious to get exercising again I’ve been running with a sense of such freedom.. not far 5km at most, but it feels so good to run again. I’ve gone to the gym a few times, it’s far from fancy, the equipment somewhat resembles that of what the Flinstones may have used, but it’s all one needs. So my first day all excited to work out I head to the gym at 9:15am. “Dumela mma please may I have a day pass” I say smiling. “Pula 30” (about $4 canadian dollars) she says and I hand over my money. “Mma we close at 9:30am” she says. Hmmm. And so the conversation goes like this....

Penny: “but Mma it’s now 9:15 and you took my pula, what will I do for 15 min?”

Lady smiling sheepishly “mma I don’t know maybe you can carry some weight”

Penny: “Mma you took my pula so I can carry some weight from here to there just once?”

Lady still sheepish “Mma we open at 12 again, we need to clean the gym, maybe you come back then yes?”

Penny: “Mma, is it busy early morning?”

Lady: “ah yes very busy”

Penny: “ is it busy at lunch and after work?”

Lady: “ah yes it is very very busy”

Penny: “when is the best time to come to the gym?”

Lady: “ ah but now Mma!”

This is Maun.

Before I go on to tell you about my dealing with the local cultures and customs there are some things that are essential to understand. It is much more difficult to generalize here then it is in other places. Botswana is only 40 years from nationwide poverty and a practically nonexistent economy. In that short space of time the economy has expanded: cell phones, the internet (in Maun this has only happened in the last five years) corporate governance, big houses, consumerism have all become a part of life. For some, but not all. This is where the complexity in the huge disparity between those who have and those who have not. The “rich” and the poor. The “rich” have acquired such a status very quickly and participate in excessive consumerism. Even signs of obesity in them and their children are apparent. The poor, remain poor. With this extreme opposite you will encounter anything from the nineteenth century to the twenty first. Therefore one must be patient. Standing in line happens a lot. Generally this is respected, but people do cut in, typically Batswana will assume there must be some good reason for it and say nothing.



I’ve been driving Graham’s car here as well. Let me paint that picture for you. Wrong side of the road, and car, a standard transmission so that too is on the wrong side, switching gears with my left hand . Round abouts (intuitively the wrong way around for me, not to mention we don’t even have them) , shared with donkeys, goats, cows and the odd horse. The driving is atrocious here, there appears to be no right of way, or rules per-say. Unlike at home, pedestrians do not have the right of way. In fact I’ve often crossed the road and seen cars speed up when they see you. When running, at home cars will swerve around you, here I swear they swerve into you. Parking lots and such that are often shared with people are fearful places if you are on foot. You must watch out for cars, because they don’t see you at all and will not be watching out for you.

Getting things done here. Yes well, it might be the most unproductive place on earth. Where you think you are running out for a few things at the grocery store that should take 10 minutes tops, can take up to an hour. Maybe more. Work ethic is not generally part of peoples lives and I can fairly say (and they will too) that Batswana are lazy, I’ve never seen people move so slow. While yes I have slowed down myself since being out of the big city, Batswana move backwards if at all. Doing business on friday afternoon with any person is impossible. Saturdays are half days for business, and sundays forget about it.

Punctuality is non existent. We’ve all heard the phrase “in a mexican minute”, here it’s “Botswana time” which is about 10 times longer than a mexican minute and can be days even.

Amongst the extreme poverty, and those that live in it, everyone has a cell phone. It is amazing really. On the side of the road, in the middle of what seems like nowhere one can buy firewood, a goat, and air time for their phone. This is part of what fascinates me about Botswana. There is a parallel presence of two very different worlds: the old and the new and the boundaries are blurred.

A time for departure

As most of you are aware, things have changed a bit here in Moremi. Earth-Touch has "retrenched" (such a lovely word) over 50% of their staff.

The good news is have some forks in the fire and though can’t say here what they are I am excited and confident of what is to come next on my journey. Most of you got an email from me with more details. And I hope soon to be able to share it here. Stay tuned! In the mean time we will be staying in Maun, which I promise you will be an adventure in itself that you are sure to hear about.

It is with mixed emotions that I part with Moremi. We leave camp on wednesday the 26th of Aug, ironically it is exactly 6 months to the day that I left Toronto. I’ve learnt a lot while here about wildlife, photography, simplicity, myself, nature, the connectedness of man and animal and our senses, and the nature of people; near and far. I’ve cried hard in my healing process and laughed equally as hard. Initially it was difficult to process, I came here to this spot to be here in Moremi. That was what I came here for and now it’s changing, a possibility that never even entered my mind when I left. My dream came true, I came here to Moremi in Africa, to live no less. It became my home. So at first the news of leaving was difficult to deal with. But now I see clearly that it’s time to go. This chapter is over and I leave behind a lot of myself. Parts of myself that need to be left behind. I realize that no matter where I go, there I am, though each time a little changed, a little touched, a new piece added and some left behind.

Last night I got all dressed up (a sun dress in Moremi is like black tie) and I spread some of my fathers ashes on Dead Tree Island. It was surprisingly healing. It felt like a weight off my shoulders, I was letting go. Not of him and his memory but of some of the hurt and pain that came with his death. What I’ve learnt is there is no refuge, no place to go to deal with your grief. Your grief will be with you no matter where you are. And so little by little I let go of that pain, let lose the grip.


Life is an adventure and to quote my father “the journey is the destination”. I have moments where I get a little worried, think I might starve and have nowhere to live. But everything happens for a reason, I would never get to that point and it always works out in the end, this I know well.

It's all part of my journey which is a never ending crossover. I’ve gone where there is no path and am leaving a trail.

I am saying goodbye to Moremi, goodbye to this camp, goodbye to parts of myself.

Hello to the next step, the next adventure, the next chapter, and I hope I never get to the destination the journey is way too interesting.

Look Ma' I can cook!

OK how do you make this thing cook?
Taco's in Africa, of course.......
Pondering..... tacos in Africa 

Sunset time lapse

Zen in Moremi

Congratulations Janey and Brian!

Janey, crazy Janey K........

Today you will marry your soul mate. And I couldn’t be happier for you and Brian.

I smile ear to ear when I think of your story as it brings such joy to my heart that a re-connection after so many years has led to such in incredible love story.

Our friendship has taught me so much about friendship, how it changes over time and how certain boundaries like distance are not boundaries at all. And while we live as far apart as two people can we still manage to pick up where we left off whenever we contact or see each other.

From the time in our lives when a bottle (or three) of wine, a pack of cigarettes and each other until 2am was all we needed to solve the worlds problems, to jobs, loves and loves lost, family, loss and laughter, even kicking each other in the butt when the need arose, to right now each of us living out our dreams. Our friendship has stood the test of both time and distance. While life has changed our friendship over this time, our friendship has endured, and will keep on enduring life.

I can’t tell you how sad I am to miss this day of all days with you. To see you so beautiful and so happy. I would be there if I could, I hope you know that I looked into all possibilities to be there. I am there with you in spirit, I will raise a glass to the moon and to you and Brian and I wish you all the love and happiness that life has to give to two such deserving people.

Brian, It’s been many years since I’ve seen you. To see how happy you’ve made my friend Janey, to see her shine like I’ve never seen her shine, I thank you. All a friend could ever want for her friend is to see her as I’ve seen Janey. On top of the world. So thank you. Please take good care of her. She’s a gem. But you know that.



Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
New-made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.
Friendships that have stood the test -
Time and change – are surely best;
Brow may wrinkle, hair grow gray,
Friendship never knows decay.
For ‘mid old friends, tried and true,
Once more we our youth renew.
But old friends, alas! may die,
New friends must their place supply.
Cherish friendship in your breast-
New is good, but old is best;
Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.


Joseph Parry

Stillness

Eight different elementary schools by grade four. Can’t remember how many houses, but many. Moving is in my genes. In my adult life the longest I’ve spent in one place is two, maybe three years. And while I may have been living in one place, I was always moving. Working hard, exercising, socializing, changing jobs, cleaning, shopping, re-arranging and organizing. Doing it all myself and never asking for help. My mind races. I suffer from chronic impatience, a hot head and addiction to change. Almost as if I’ve been scared of being still. I’ve never ever been still. I spent some time at an ashram, obviously meditation was a part of this process. And I really enjoyed it. Though I found it difficult to settle my mind, when I did it was so wonderfully tranquil and I was able to redirect my mind to the present, albeit brief. But this is a skill that only time can perfect and I was only there for ten days. After that I was on the move again. I’ve always been able to “relax” per se but even then my brain was pushing forward to fill time. Planning what was next. Never in the moment. I had no idea what being still meant, aside from stopping. I live in a constantly combative state.

Though I’ve been aware of this, not nearly as aware as I am in this moment. Now that I am still. It hit me tonight in a conversation I was having with Graham, just how I’ve never actually been still. I’ve come painfully face to face with my craving for constant motion, negativity towards myself, fierce independence, my vulnerability hidden behind many many many layers of protective gear. I’ve never been still. Graham and I are not actually working in Moremi at the moment. We are here “watching” camp as the rest are gone until the end of the month. We’ve been off, relaxing, reading. Still. A forced stillness. I can’t really go for a run, or out to the bar for drinks with friends. It’s quiet here, and it’s still. I’ve been incredibly emotional. The stillness setting off the trigger of a chain reaction of emotional healing and self discovery of personal courage and strength. I thought this emotional outburst was because it’s the first time I’ve stopped since Dad died. While yes this is true, only in part. Since I’ve been here I’ve been actively looking inward and mulling through issues. It’s been a journey of many things, one of self discovery, self-disclosure and (trying) to put to rest old habits. Looking them in the eye. The issues that have kept me from stillness. And I’ve realized the only real chance I or anyone has at facing adversity is to be still. In the moment and listening to my thoughts. I am trying not to allow my past to lull me into the depths of self-doubt. It is one step, one issues, one day at a time to get to a non-combative state and I savor the stillness I have now as a treasure. (At least I am trying to) Afterall, one must have chaos in oneself in order to give birth to a dancing star.

It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.  
The Buddha

In this world activity and movement are default modes. We are always on, always connected. No time for stillness. Sitting in front of a hyperactive television does not count. We’ve lost time for contemplation, for observing, for listening, we’ve lost peace.

Something for us all to think about from the Tao Te Ching:

It is not wise to dash about. 
Shortening the breath causes much stress.
 Use too much energy, and
 you will soon be exhausted.
That is not the natural way.
 whatever works against this way will not last long.

This is a time lapse shot Graham and I did of the sunset behind camp. A cool function I've just learnt is on my camera. In honor of stillness, we've taken a serious of still photos, shot at extended intervals pieced together to make a sequence. Like speeding up time.

Press play and watch the sunset with me and be still in the moment.

Lion vs Buffalo podcast

Thought I should probably share what we do here! Earth-Touch films and sells syndicated footage to different television networks. We also have podcasts on itunes and stuff on you tube. This is a recent event Graham and I filmed. Very cool.

Baby Ele gets new leg

Life in the Okavango delta, the ever changing landscape that is forever changing me

The seasons are changing no matter which hemisphere you call home. Summer is winding down in the north and fall is around the corner, shutting down cottages and bringing beautiful vibrant colors and fresh starts. Fall is known at home as the season of change.

Here in the Okvango the summer rains ended in april leaving behind a vibrant green oasis. With the exception of the “freak june rains”, winter then set in and the heat of the day subsided and the nights got cooler, so cold that we were
bundled up in down jackets and beanies, some nights dipping below 0°C (he best of both (fashion) worlds. And now we are into August, on the cusp of, and maybe the height of the dry season, when scorching sunlight paired with no rain parches the vegetation, browns the earth (and my skin) and in some spots creates a thick salt crust.















Seasonal winds stir dust storms creating a hazy horizon that sometimes feels a bit overcast. The sandy Kalahari desert simply swallows the Okavango river, our perception of this would lead us to believe and visualize a stark dry baron land, but the Kalahari basin possesses an oasis that flourishes in the midst of the dry season and is host to a wide variety of wildlife, including 1,300 plant species, 444 bird species, 71 species of fish, 64 reptilian species, 33 amphibian species and 122 species of mammal. The clear waters reflect the sky. The birds, grasshoppers, beetles and numerous insects are humming away the day as nature's music, it gives way to the life of frogs to lions, even flowers bloom in this arid land and in all aspects this is a land that celebrates life. The waters lethargically flow, finding new paths and enhancing old ones, totally changing the delta's landscape. The nature of the annual floods is gentle (though the way they talk about the annual “flood” in town one would think and imagine houses and cows floating down the streets with people on rooftops, it is such an event that people throw parties in it’s celebration and go to watch said “flood” on a daily basis. I assure you it is a gentle, dribble and leaves no one homeless) flood plains and islands disappear under water and then reappear in this ever-changing landscape at the end of each season.

When I first arrived, Moremi was lush and green. Camp was hidden behind rows of mopane trees providing a barrier between us and the rest of the reserve, it was difficult to see camp from my tent over the tall grass. While the sun set behind the kitchen every night it too was hiding behind tall reeds in the permanent swamp, now the sunset paints the water a golden red for us to sit and watch, the reeds shadowed and the last calls of the birds echo in the wind as the elephants and hippopotamus saunter on by.


Now as if all barriers have been brought down, the landscape is transparent and a new sense of it’s vastness overwhelms me. It’s dry. My hair, my skin, my lips and my throat crave moisture. It’s getting hot. My internal clock is confused no doubt. I went from -30 °C to + 30 °C in 30 hours. During the "wrong" season. I crave summer at home, it's what we live for. Driving up north and stoping to jump into a lake or river along the way just to cool off. Skinny dipping in the lake at night and feeling the cool water on my hot sun burnt skin one inch at a time from my head to my toes and sailing through the blackness eyes wide open until I pop my head up gasping for air from the stars above. ..... sorry had a moment there.....Though I am used to heat at home where now it is +30°C with the humidex, here it is the same temperature (though rising daily) and dry. There is a predictability in the forecast here that one has to appreciate, even if it gives me L.L.H.S (limp lettuce hair syndrome) it's a good thing I only see a mirror once a week and vanity has all but become a distant cousin of mine.

Since I've arrived here I too have changed immensely, and symbolically in sync as it seems with the seasons and the land. Stripping away layers as I go. I had no doubt in my mind that this experience would change me forever what I didn't realize just how that change would impact me to the depths of my soul that it has. Even here as I write I've gone from recording "life in the Okavango Delta" to "at the baobab tree" and my personal experience with myself as it's been fused with nature and this land. I've come out of myself, and back in. I've been blessed with an opportunity to think and live without outside influence (media) and simply on the necessities. Less is more. I've danced with nature in a way only a lucky few ever get the opportunity. I know how fortunate I am. I've grown to learn that it is possible to be a whole person and work on all areas of my life as much as possible day to day, season to season. Work, career, personal, spiritual, emotional needs and relationship development. Change is the essence of the delta, as it's been the essence in me and my experience here

Sometimes we travel through the processes of personal growth just by staying where we are. Changes in season impact on our psyche and so we must change. The shortening of the days and the leaves falling stir our spirits and challenge us to get moving. Some people love the summer, some the winter. I love the changing of the seasons. The seasons will change no matter what happens in the news, in our small lives or on the planet as we live on. Seasons put things into perspective, they wait for nothing and are fearless to change. As I get on in my years the seasons go by faster and faster and remind me that time can get by you if your not carful. I've learnt to pursue every opportunity that presents itself, and try and live as much in the moment as possible. I don’t pretend it’s always easy. I lose track of days and weeks that meld into months and before I know it, another season has come and gone. It's hard not to think only in terms of work or career or retirement savings when it's in our faces constantly. But it's not here, I never hear of it, here I can do both and meld it with my own spiritual, relationship and emotional development. I must be the source of my change if it is to last and evolve with the land around me. To flow with the water and change with the land around me by paying attention to the amazing interconnectedness, mindfulness and being present. Because it is in the present moment, that we are truly alive. When we awaken to the silence of our minds, we are able to hear the wisdom of our souls. Our presence allows us to fully participate in our lives and enjoy all the peace, joy and wonderment that life has to offer.

Change is the law of life. And those who only look to the past or present are certain to miss the future. John F. Kennedy

Happy "one from" Dad

Todays is my fathers birthday. It’s his one from. That’s what he and I called them, birthdays, “one froms”. For example, when I turned 33, I was one from 34, which was one from 35! which meant I was 5 from 40! GASP! We carried on like this no matter the birthday. Today my father would have been one from 60, 5 from 65, 10 from 70! GASP. I would have teased him, asked me if he could wait to get the free buss pass, or seniors discounts. He would have emailed me in advance his tagged gift list from lee valley consisting of all sorts of woodworking tools to add and aid in the building and fine craftsmanship of unfinished boxes, cabinets, tables, dog dish holders, or whatever the project was at the time. But it meant he could be in his workshop with a new tool and that would make him happier then a kid in a candy store. I would have called him from here, I would have sent him a video.

Ironically or more symbolically todays birthday makes my father a leo, the sign of the lion and I am here chasing lions in the african wilderness.

I looked up leo and the night sky to see when I could see this constellation and I found something interesting. Every year in and around Nov 18th (the day my father died) give or take a day or two there is what is called a Leonid meteor shower.



The Leonids are a prolific meteor associated with the comet Tempel-Tuttle. The Leonids get their name from the location of their radiant in the constellation Leo: the meteors appear to stream from that point in the sky. Again, symbolically in 2009 the leonids shower is to be at it’s peak on the year anniversary of his death. And in 2008 it peaked on Nov 16th through to Nov 18th. I don't think this is a coincidence. In fact I think it's powerfully significant and reminds me how important it is to pay attention to the things that go on around us, when the wind blows unusually strong in an otherwise still moment, or when a street light flickers just as we walk under it. Or that moment when a butterfly lands in our hands, or that dream that seemed so insignificant so we forgot it. Pay attention to the movement, the world around me, the little things that get missed or looked over, more often than not if we think about major life changing events in our life, and look past them to what was going on around us while we were so consumed in the moment, I promise you will find something that is no coincidence somewhere the universe sending us a message and asking us to tune in.

Pain can grab us and hold on so tightly that it feels like it is crushing us completely. Letting go of the pain is a scary thought. I am afraid that if I let go of the pain and agony of my dad's death, that it would seem that I didn't love him so much. I realize that letting go of the pain will allow me to remember him in so many ways, and when I am ready I will. Right now I am accepting that this loss has become part of my human condition that I will carry with me forever, it changed me and I am still trying to accept that and this extra weight in my heart.

Holidays, special days, and events like today, that occur where he would have had a special role, are all more difficult than the day to day. Today exceptionally sucks and the days leading up to it have been building with this exceptional sadness. Today we should be thinking about that 60th and the celebration of that. Today I am angry, today none of it is fair. Today should have been so many things, what it shouldn't be is this hard, this sad, this painful. It is hard to not stop and think that Dad would have loved to do certain things or have been at certain events, or loved this website or that song and that story, or have this new tool, but I go on and do all that he would have wanted to for me, for him. Today I will pop a bottle of champagne and celebrate my dad, I will watch a bond movie and listen to Paul Simon and I will remember him, remember us.

Happy "one from" Dad.

Baapinakamigad dibishkaawin (Happy birthday in Ojibwe)

The art of Tracking

You've heard me speak often of "tracking" the lions. I've realized that I have not touched on just what this means. In the process I've learnt to notice everything and miss nothing. Again adding to my heightened senses since I've arrived. The art of tracking has been said to be the origin of science and represents a crucial step in human evolution (the art of tracking, as practised by contemporary trackers of the Kalahari, is a science that requires fundamentally the same intellectual abilities as modern physics and mathematics [Liebenberg, 1990] it may even be argued that physicists think like trackers).



I can't begin to provide a mere (if that) glimpse into the complexity involved in the process by which indigenous peoples track and hunt animals but I can at least share with you what I've learnt and the intellectual exercise of tracking which depends on scientific, spatial, and symbolic thinking. Tracking involves much more then just looking for prints, "spoor" may include tracks, scat, feathers, kills, scratching posts, trails, drag marks, sounds, scents, marking posts, the behavior of other animals, habitat cues, and any other clues about the identity and whereabouts, we read the visual clues left behind, we look at the surrounding area of the tracks, we listen for signs, like chirping squirrels, or birds warning calling. We look for flattened grass, and which direction it folds down, even animal waster like buffalo poo and the direction it fell as they move off. We develop hypotheses about what the animals were doing when they left these clues. We make predictions about what the animals are likely to do next which direction the lions will head based on where we left them the night before.

• Spatial thinking. When you walk, only some parts of your foot make contact with the ground—the tips of the toes, the ball of the foot, the heel. So a footprint doesn’t look exactly like the foot that makes it forcing one to think about three-dimensional objects: What parts of an animal’s foot will leave a mark on the ground? and the properties of the ground’s surface—be it hard sand, soft sand or muddy—influence the shape of the print?

• Symbolic thought. To reason about animal tracks, I have to understand that a sign (squiggly marks in the dust) stands for something entirely different (a living snake. Providing and developing an understanding of symbols.


Litrally when trying to find the lions in the morning we look on the road for fresh lion tracks/prints and we follow them. Sounds easy enough, but I assure you while sometimes it leads us right to them, often it leads us in circles, and I swear they are messing with us.


Lion tracks can be easily mistaken for hyena tracks or leopard and so we often have to get out to look closely to be sure. The lion track has three lobes at the heel while the hyena has only two.































Hippo tracks are hard to miss


















Leopard track












Elephant Track

One life

Until last week when I got the heart wrenching news of my girlfriends fathers extremely tragic and sudden death, wringing tears out of my eyes that have not even close to dried up, did I realize a few other things. I barley remember the day I got that phone call or the hours, days, weeks and months after. It’s a blur, coupled with moving to the middle of the African bush I just trudged forward. And now with this sad news the realization on the suddenness of death, of her loss, of my loss. It was sudden, it was unexpected, it was unplanned. While I don’t know what it’s like to endure a long illness in a loved one I can’t imagine it, no matter what you can’t prepare for such a thing, you can’t prepare for death. What I know is the suddenness. I read in one of the newspapers that my friends fathers one regret was not spending enough time with his children and in recent years made the effort to do so. Donna, and others told me that my father regretted not spending more time with us when we were kids, and it was evident he was trying to do so in the recent years. In fact my father told me this recently while we laughed at some old photos we had been given. I looked at him and shrugged and said what’s done is done what matters is we are here together, right now.

It’s that regret that gets to me here. Why? Why when something sudden happens do we turn to our loved ones and tell them so, hug them. Appreciate them until life kick starts again and we get caught up in the day to day. Days pass, months pass, years pass and we didn’t make that phone call we meant to make, to that person we think of often. Only to say later “I regret not”. Life is short people! while yes death is a fact of life, that life can change in an instant. In a snap. I challenge myself not to have regrets. Even if the person on the receiving end isn’t as affectionate as I am, I will hug them anyway. I will tell them I love them, I will let them know I appreciate them and I will now challenge myself not to have expectations in a response, it’s my avoidance of regrets, theirs is their own to try not to have.

The news of my friends own loss’ pulled on my heart strings more now then ever before. Before I knew profound loss I had friends who lost loved ones. And you sympathize, and you can’t imagine, and you are sad for them and there for them as best you can. But you really can not imagine until you actually experience it. And I can say that with such confidence only now. When you look at someone in condolence and say, “I just can’t imagine what you are going through” you don’t know how true that is until you go through it. And not until you are in it do you really appreciate those that came to you who had been through it, saying they did understand, when even 15 years after their own loss yours triggered tears in a reminder to them. Now in hind site, I wish I took the offers. Judy Alexander shared the experience of the loss of her father with deep knowledge, she knew when she looked at me what would come. She knew that now, 7 months later I might be here seemingly spiraling into a different phase of sadness until I reach the next stage of my grieving process. But I was still in shock then. I didn’t know how much I would need to hear from someone who knew how it felt until now.

I ramble, my point is life is short. The only things you will regret in life are the things you never did. It’s cheese I know but take the time to smell the roses, don’t sweat the small stuff. Concentrate on what you have, not what you don’t have and be grateful. I want to remind everyone to enjoy, love and embrace every one of your family members. We never know when it will be the last time we have the chance to say "I Love You." You can't regret anything, because at the time it was exactly what you wanted.

This isn't a practice run, not a dress rehearsal, there is only one life

No set back is ever too daunting, and while I (and my friends) may have lost an important person, our fathers, we still have many who love us just as much. And I must count the most important people who make my life worth living and despite the distance between us at the moment know I love you, as I know you love me. (you know who you are). There are friends who have taught me that distance is not a hindrance to any friendship, again you know who you are and I thank you.

Honey Badger spotting!

Tonight I saw two honey badgers. Sweet, goofy little things they are. So cute I say, adorable, like little bears. From afar they look a bit like a skunk, with their white stripe along their backs. Up close like a tiny little sweet adorable bear. Graham laughs at me and then informs me that:

Pound for pound this is Africa's most fearless animal despite it's size. (click here to watch a video of a badger eating a snake!) Even listed as the most fearless animal in the world. Even names so in the Guinness book of world records. You don't say! Evidently even lions fear these little sweethearts. uh huh. Graham then told me a story that he knew a guy who had a badger attach and attack the wheel of his land rover. And since these fearless warriors like honey, they've been known to terrorize the kitchens of camps with much more devastating consequences then that of a hyena or baboons. They will eat poisonous snakes, consumed in less then 15 minutes and raid bee nests, to the distaste of bee keepers.



It's tendency to attack animals much larger then itself leaves it seldom preyed upon.


But they are so cute!

Then Graham tells another story that they will even go after a bull buffalo..... you do the size comparison. But they don't go after it to eat it, just to kill it. How you ask? They bite their balls off. Yup right for the testicles. Wonder if they have more estrogen then testosterone?








In a 2002 National Geographic documentary titled "Snake killers: Honey badgers of the Kalahari", a badger was documented stealing a meal out of a puff adder's mouth and casually eating the meal in front of the hissing snake. After the meal, The badger began to hunt the puff adder, the species being one of the badger's preferred venomous snakes. He managed to kill the snake and began eating it, but then collapsed on the dead snake as he had been bitten during the struggle. After about two hours he surprisingly awoke. Once his paralysis had subsided, the badger continued with his meal and then resumed his journey.

Again, but they are ADORABLE!

As usual when we spot these less often seen smaller animals it was after the sun set and I was unable to snap a picture so here are some google images of the darlings.

No more, no less. Just me.

As a variation on a famous statement by Descartes I would like to say “I write, therefore I am”. It is the best way I know how to express myself. Grammatically it’s terrible, this I have been made painfully aware of by various people (you know who you are). Punctuation is not my thing. Eats shoots and leaves who? I am not hooked on phonics by any means. But I have been writing in a diary since I was about nine years old, yes nine. I had a lot to write about at such a ripe age, sadly not so innocent and short of the one that just got stolen in South Africa, I have every single one of them, stored in boxes spread out amongst different family members like a squirrel hiding it’s nuts all over the place to return to at a later time. I am verbally challenged when it comes to communicating what I want to say clearly. That is not to say I don’t try. I do, but it never comes out the way I want it to and the message I am trying to convey always ends up falling on the ears of the receiver incorrectly. It’s often why I get caesar salad when I want the drink and vice versa. Of course this analogy runs much deeper than salads and drinks.

And so I’ve come to write a lot of letters in my time. Many past boyfriends have received such letters of declaration from me. Yes I have kissed a few frogs. Those reading this are likely grinning/grimacing hoping they threw them out before their wives/girlfriends find them. And some, one I know cherishes a poem close to his heart. I’ve written equally as many letters and never mailed them, some exist in said stolen diary so I suppose they’ve now been sent out to the universe as I am sure whomever stole it does not care. It was therapeutic to just write them so then their loss shouldn’t matter right?

It’s what has kept me sane (relatively) during times of great torment. And allowed me to celebrate those silent victories and what I did non stop in the weeks (and still) after my father died so as to not burden anyone. It was what amplified feelings of uniqueness, and writing was always there when I needed it. When no one else was. I write entirely to find out what I am thinking otherwise I would have no idea. I write what I see and what I fear it’s the only way I know how to get it all out into a way I can understand myself.



For the longest time it was something that I kept to myself (other than those fortunate boyfriends to receive said letters) I didn’t really ever share it. Once my father read some of my poems, written at the tumultuous age of 14-16 he said they were rather dark (I am sure this was about the time that he really started to worry about me) and he was sure they would brighten with age, but that I had something and should write more. That meant the world to me, but I still felt it so private and that is was such a window into me that I didn’t dare share with anyone ever again. I wore many masks then, one was the facade that I was an eternally and perpetually happy person. Giddy with anticipation every day and confident beyond the mountains strength. Which reminds me of something my aunt Wynanne said to me when I was about 19, and like her have tried since to pass on this wisdom to the youth (to no avail) that comes with women as they age. You will change again, and again and again. Who you are now is not even close to who you will be at 23, 25, 29, 33 and so on. (I just realized I stopped at 33 thinking that was how old I am. Indeed I am not, I am 34, hrmph!) I didn’t believe her, I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted at 19. I was so sure of myself. When my poems reveled that I was just a scared little girl, so unsure and uncertain and unaware.



Until now when I write here. And even now it’s not so deep. Feelings get withheld here in this forum, they really only dance on the water line like a far off buoy warning the on coming sailor to stay port side. Because we all fear judgement don’t we?

To steal again “why I write” from George Orwell and from Joan Didion who stole it from George. More specifically why I write this post now. It’s a bit of a rant actually, being told blogging, more specifically that my blog is self indulgent. Well yes, it is I suppose. Writing in itself is self indulgent. It’s a way of saying I. To quote Joan “there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writers sensibility on the readers most private space”

As is any artist, photographer, marketer, musicians/song writers. Anyone who imposes their vision, their ideas, or their thoughts onto anyone else. I suppose merely existing socially is somewhat self indulgent. I just chose mine in this way, in this forum. I can’t paint or draw so this is my self portrait so to speak.

It’s been said that blogs are the media phenomenon responsible for the publication of more self-indulgent nonsense than any other in the history of the world. I have to agree with it. And most blogs that I have seen are written by people that don’t write very well (myself included). But this is a bit like walking into a party and complaining that the conversations there don’t live up to the standards of a room full of professors or a newsroom. Never mind that you stand a good chance of finding at least one conversation that’s better at the party. The bulk of blogs aren’t meant to be polished or professional writing, and we (you) shouldn’t be concerned that they aren’t.

The truth is I am, as I’ve always been perfectly in fashion and on Que. with the latest trend. In 2008 websters new world dictionary introduced a new word and made it word of the year in 2008.

Overshare : to divulge excessive personal information as in a blog or broadcast interview, promoting reactions ranging from alarmed discomfort to approval.

Many ponder where this narcissistic urge to self revelation comes from and then suddenly find themselves with Facebook pages, or blogs. It’s true, I was one who for a long time refused to sign up for facebook, let alone find myself writing a blog. And now look at me. Sharing it all with the world in both forums, why I even have people from facebook following my blog on facebook, 22 followers to be precise. Thank you all 22!

I guess my point in this rant is, I am not a scholar nor do I pretend to be. I am not an intellectual either. I am not articulate when I speak or when I write. I am not a good, nor bad writer. I just write. And it’s how I communicate not only with others when the need to get something really deep across arises, but how I communicate with myself. I would be completely lost (more so then I am) if I didn’t write.

I enjoy it, now more than ever. And as I write more I become more confident. And so to you I say and quote a dear friend Jess, “I am who I am, no more no less”. And part of who I am is this. Take it or leave it. But if you take it, you must embrace it as part of me and who I am. Is this a self indulgent attention getting device or my sole connection to the outside world from deep in the african bush? How well you know me is that answer to that.