“We haven’t had this much rain ever in Pondoland
before. ‘Why is this?’ people are asking. People have noticed that it is since the
mining company has come to the area that all this rain has come, which is now
too much for us. People are saying that it is because the mining company is disturbing
the earth, the animal inside the earth has been upset, and is sending all this
rain. My people believe, and I believe
too, that all this rain is falling because the earth animal is angry with the
disturbance of the earth by the mining company.”
This explanation of abnormal
climatic conditions was offered by a wise old induna from the Amadiba Tribal Authority on the
One of the Baleni’s proud
sons, Sinegugu Zukulu had invited us to see for ourselves the difficulties that
constrained learners and teachers. It
was here that Sinegugu matriculated, before leaving for university and a
promising teaching career, including nine years teaching at
Besides the subterranean
beast which the Induna feared, other more
tangible animals expressed interest in our visit. Several horses were grazing in the school
grounds just outside the room, having carried some riders (including the
headmaster who had to leave his car parked some distance away) to the meeting
as the only feasible means of transportation given the appalling condition of
the roads. The moment that our
interpreter had translated the Induna’s comment,
the headmasters’ horse erupted with a loud whinny, startling the gathering, as
if to endorse his diagnosis of the unhealthy state of affairs.
For all his apparent lack of
scientific precision the Induna’s
conviction (together with its equine encore) paradoxically lent authenticity to
the meeting. This was not simply a
pre-rehearsed media conference to lobby public sympathy. This was an opportunity for new consciousness
to emerge. Perhaps a time of revelation: a moment
of grace as Thomas Berry, the Catholic monk and ‘geologian’ would put it.
The
Local is the Global: The Personal is the Political
The Induna’s intuitive discernment of the connection between human
interference with the earth and abnormal precipitation from the heavens animated
two ‘rivers’ of thought, flowing in opposite yet complementary directions, yet
making their way to the same ocean. ‘Think
Globally: Act Locally’- the mantra of environmentalists, bubbled up from its
sublime sleep in my head, stirred to life by the idea of an ‘animal in the
earth’. From ‘behind the scenes’ I sat
observing the interaction between people and camera - the ‘one eyed beast’ - as
it panned around the room capturing images that would bring Sunday evening
50/50 viewers into the Baleni Senior Secondary School library, without the
inconvenience of having to do the challenging 4x4 obstacle course, or having to
seek help from a horse.
When Sandra, the producer,
was satisfied that she had got enough footage for the 50/50 report and put the
technological ‘beast’ back in its cage, I asked the group if I may address
them, so that Sinegugu and I could clarify our interest and purpose in bringing
the TV crew to Baleni.
Here is an edited version of
what ‘the animal in the earth’ prompted me to say.
Five years ago my family and I had found ourselves
enjoying for the first time in our lives, the cultural richness of the
amaMpondo people and the scenic splendour of
the Wild Coast as eco-tourists riding a four day horse trail with
Amadiba Adventures. The memorable
experience had a very significant impact on our family life, not only because
of the fond memories we cherish of the experience, but because it introduced us
to the joys of horse riding and a love for horses. We returned nine months later with another
family: close friends who were eager to also experience the excitement we had.
Our trail leader and guide was a young man Mzamo
Dlamini. He taught us something about
horses that has become a parable for understanding what we mean when we talk
about humans having a ‘sustainable relationship’ with the natural world.
On our return from a wonderfully happy time at
Mntentu Estuary, my friend challenged me to a horse race across a open stretch
of beach. We spurred our mounts into a gallop to see who would reach an outcrop
of rocks about 500 metres away. Our trusting
horses obediently complied and before we knew it we were at the rocks, narrowly
avoiding riding headlong into them. I
think I won, but it wasn’t a happy victory, because, when Mzamo and the rest of
the group caught up with us, the permanent smile on his face was gone. He took us aside and scolded us for our
recklessness.
“Don’t you know that horses cannot see straight
ahead of them” he said “and you could have injured them - and yourselves”.
He went on to explain that the eyes of a horse are
positioned on either side of their heads so they can watch for predators while
grazing. This gives them the ability to
see both left and right, but that there is approximately 35o angle
‘blind spot’ ahead of them. “Horses
trust the human on their back, for forward vision. A horse will obediently ride straight over a
cliff if that is where the rider directs it.”
I thanked the people gathered for producing a young man
of such wisdom, and went on to explain my motives in coming back to Pondoland.
“When the headmasters horse applauded the Induna’s
comments earlier, it reminded me of Mzamo’s teaching. But I think there is a deeper lesson we need
to learn. A horse and a human rider
together have four eyes. As a unit they
can see almost all around. The only ‘blind spot’ is an angle of about 30
degrees behind the horse, at the riders back.”
“My deep fear, is that the people interested in mining
at Xolobeni are coming to ‘ride on the back’ of the Amadiba community, and that
the direction they are steering you toward is dangerous. As a social worker I am expected to challenge
injustice and exploitation, and to seek always the best interests of the most
vulnerable members of society. It is to
ensure access to information and services, and to promote understanding and
insight about the social problems people experience. Looking back, it seems to me that wherever there
is much money to be made – especially from mining operations and large
construction projects - those people who stand to make the most money simply don’t
really care what happens, either to vulnerable people living on the land, or to
the environment – the earth, water, plants and animals- in the long term.”
“Sinegugu asked me to bring the TV cameras to see
the hardship you have to bear. From what
I have seen and heard, I am now excited again that the wonderful blessings that
my family and I experienced five years ago can be experienced by other
people. I told many people about the
Amadiba Adventures horse trail, and they also came to spend money in this
area. I live in
When I return again, if you wish me to, I would like
to bring with me more of my friends to learn from the wisdom of the AmaMpondo
people. To learn from people like Mzamo,
and the Induna.”
Circumstances then conspired
to separate me from the TV crew.
Fuel,
but no Food for Thought.
I had underestimated my fuel
needs because the appalling road conditions compelled me to engage 4 wheel
drive most of the way. The nearest
filling station was 2 hours drive away, and I couldn’t imagine the AA showing
much enthusiasm to come and rescue me. But
the kindly headmaster, Mr Msabane had a reserve of some diesel fuel to help me
out. So sparing his horse the burden of having
to carrying him back to his car, I gave Mr Msabane a lift and then followed him
to his homestead. Then I realised that I
had no cash on me! (my Garage card was useless in such circumstances). “No problem” he said. I could pay him later
when I had money. Besides the 20 litres
of diesel added to the tank, he threw in four sticks of sugar cane as a gift,
and went off on other business, leaving me alone to contemplate the dramatic
experiences of the morning.
While waiting for the TV
crew to meet up with me, I was left alone in the peaceful rural setting for a
few hours to sort out my jumbled thoughts and emotions – to “fast and
pray”. The ‘fast’ was an involuntary
one, as our lunch was in the other vehicle (and one can only eat so much sugar
cane!), but the ‘prayer’ was intentional for I was feeling intellectually
troubled, physically scared and emotionally anxious – always good incentives to
pray, even for those not habitually given to such.
I was troubled, because, for all the apparent
superstitious character of the Induna’s warning, it was in its own way,
strangely prophetic. OK, he may have got
it wrong in terms of connecting the local events of ‘mining’ and ‘rainfall’ too
directly, and, yes he may have used the language of religion and myth rather
than scientific vocabulary, but the essential truth of what he was saying could
not be denied. It is the same “inconvenient truth” that Al Gore is trying to
tell the world. The extreme weather events, which the elderly Induna had
noticed as unparalleled in his lifetime, were due to global warming. Global warming happens because
the earths’ natural carbon cycle has been abnormally accelerated and
intensified by carbon emissions from fuel derived from fossils (veritable animals
in the earth) taken from the earths crust. Left to run its natural course, the
carbon cycle normally takes millions of years to revolve, since it involves
subduction of organic matter by the complex dynamics of tectonic plate
movements into the earths crust. Human energy demands have accelerated this
process to what amounts to nano-seconds in geological time horizons. The ‘sustainable use’ of fossil fuels means that
we only use them up at the same rate that it takes the earths geological
systems to create them. I started
wondering how long nature had taken to create the 20 litres of ‘fossil fuel’
that the Mr Msabane had generously supplied to me, content to wait for
payment. How much did it really cost for
nature to produce? How much will our
children have to pay for our extravagance? These were the thoughts that
troubled me.
I was scared, because I wondered if I had overstepped the mark with my
impulsive speech earlier, and was courting reprisals from those who had already
sold out to the mining companies’ ambitions.
But my fear was more a matter of fearing that they feared me. After all, who was I to judge them if they
had accepted the lures and enticements of already rich people bearing expensive
gifts, if it promised them some relief from hardships endured? Moral responsibility ultimately rested with
those remote interests, far away, who really couldn’t care less about what
happened to others or the environment, so long as they could get their ‘fix’. Even so, my social worker training had taught
me to always have a non-judgemental attitude to people with addictions and
dependencies, whether to alcohol and drugs or to fossil fuels and precious
metals- to promote insight.
I was anxious because I was
beginning to doubt how I might possibly match my ‘walk’ with my ‘talk’. On the spur of the moment, I had raised
expectations. What possible influence
does a ‘stale, pale male’ have, desperately trying to extend his shelf life in
the New South Africa?
Moreover, although social
workers are professionally obliged to intervene to help vulnerable members of
communities, the dividing line between ‘intervention’ and ‘interference’ is as
ambiguous as the line between activism and advocacy: it all depends who is drawing it. Certain powers were not going to like what I
had said, and have deep pockets to fight legal battles. I have nothing but my mixed
reputation and professional indemnity insurance to rely on, if they deemed it
worth taking a shot at charging me for “unprofessional conduct”. This is what Anglo Platinum had tried (unsuccessfully
as it happens) to rob my close friend Richard Spoor of his professional mandate
as an attorney, simply because he tried to hold them accountable to rural
communities blessed/cursed with valuable minerals under their land and
villages.
Eventually the camera crew
arrived, to break my fast and bring answers to at least some of my prayers.
Sowing
the Seeds for the Future.
Mr Zamile Qunya, the
Chairman of the ACCODA Trust, which stood accused of betraying the community’s
trust, had called to say he would consider granting an interview, provided the
community leaders gave him a mandate. We were to report to the Xolobeni Community
Hall the next day.
Before the sun
rose over the beautiful Mntentu estuary, we hastily packed up and headed for
the appointed venue. Mr Qunya
courteously greeted us, but asked us to wait outside so that he could consult
the gathering of community leaders to get a mandate. While we waited I noticed two women tilling
the soil in the field below. Behind them
a red umbrella shaded a bundle of blankets.
Separating from the TV crew again, Sinegugu and I approached the women and
asked if they would mind having their photo taken.
They happily agreed, and with
broad smiles posed.
“Nkosikasi, am I correct in
thinking that you have a baby sleeping under that red umbrella?” I asked.
The smile got even broader.
“Yes Numsane, that is my baby girl. She
is now three weeks old”.
Proudly she unwrapped the
bundle to show us her baby, sleeping peacefully in the field that her mother
was busy tilling, so that maize could be planted, and harvested when she was
old enough to be weaned.
We returned to the TV crew
excited that at least something newsworthy had happened, but finding Sandra and
Richard in some consternation. Mr Qunya claimed that the gathering of men had unanimously
decided that “since we had not got their permission to talk to people in the community,
they refused to grant us an interview with him.” They were told that they were not welcome, and
told to leave.
We left, spurred on by
Sinegugu who became anxious when he noticed a notorious taxi operator and
warlord, driving nearby.
But, in the midst of the
fear, anxiety and troubled thought, there are now at least seven people from
the Amadiba Tribal Authority with whom I now have some form of relationship who
give me hope. Hope, understood as believing in spite of the evidence, and then
watching the evidence change” which another obviously less acquisitive and
more spiritual Australian friend had shared with me ten years ago.
Mzamo
Dlamini, my first horse riding instructor, who was in fact present in that
meeting. He had appealed for a different attitude, concerned that there were
‘other eyes’ that could help them see what ‘rocks’ lay ahead.
Elias
Ogle the fearless leader of the families displaced by the corrupt deal
struck by Sol Kerzner and Kaiser Matanzima to make way for the Wild Coast
Casino. He proudly drives his rusty old
Cortina bakkie, with a clear conscience that he paid for it himself, and
refuses to be placated by money. “Our
ancestors are buried somewhere under these greens and fairways that rich people
play golf on. The land is not for sale.
We want it back.”
Sinegugu
Zukulu, who has now become my friend and educator, because he teaches me what I
need to learn, not what he needs to teach.
I wish I had sent my son to
Basheen
Qunya, the younger brother of Zamile.
He had angrily confronted us on the first day while we were interviewing
teachers from another school, close to his home. Sandra had invited him to speak his concerns
on camera, which he did. But he was
hampered somewhat by having his three year old son in tow, who showed scant
respect for the ‘one eyed beast’ and did what three year olds habitually do, providing
unwelcome sound effects to interfere with Sandra’s professional standards of filming. Since we were surplus to requirements for the
filming, Sinegugu and I were charged with the responsibility babysitting the
child, out of earshot of the TV crew. The
child’s presence put a different gloss on what we were doing, compelling us to
transcend our hostility, and Basheen showed himself as human as the rest of us,
and as concerned for his sons future as any other father.
Mr
Msabane, the kindly headmaster, who saved me from running out of my addictive
dependence on fossil fuel, and by giving me sugar cane, a material exchange of
something from the earth, that grounded our relationship in ubuntu.
The
mother and her older daughter
tilling the field, hoping the ‘animal in the earth’ would be pacified by their
care and tenderness toward the earth, and send them a good harvest.
The
three week old infant, born into this spectacular rural setting: sleeping
peacefully in the tilled fields, beautiful and still innocent to the history
that she will inherit.
What history will she
inherit? Will she know the truth? Will Mr Msabane and