That is what I am is not what controls me. Life is something I still have yet to define, I hope I never want to. Living each moment to its fullest is difficult because I know it requires an external view. Which is very hard to maintain for my own life, yet it is something that I practice knowing I will never be able to have control over. I have been told that my calm uninterrupted quietness at times is meditative. That others can see within my eyes the clouds that I lay upon. I am above and below my own words.

Irrational feelings that churn the cream of my traits are now resting at a surface to thick for me to swim in. It all began with my first encounter with a life promised but stolen and a life taken.

Not too long ago I came across a Blessbok in labor; this I thought at the time was to be my first interaction with an animal who was about to bring their blessed child into the world. However something different happened. Pain is a process that I understand is part of life, and now I have seen it become part of birth. She was in pain, and completely helpless. Struggling to breathe and push, she grew weak too weak to even pick up her head. Those two small hooves that penetrated out of her had prepared me for a moment I was hoping to never forget and for those twenty minutes that I sat near her I had noticed that those two hooves had made no progress. I had come to realize that she must have been there for some time because as I approached I observed around her that there had been dried blood frozen on her legs cauterized and attached to the bed of grass in the shade near an odd number of Acacia trees.

She laid their motionless. I kneeled down to check her pulse and to see if I could get any reaction out of her. Those big brown eyes of hers had no life in them, they stared into my soul and filled me with the emptiness that carried through me filling me with nausea and confusion. Her body was warm and soft. The nose still moist with flies crawling in and out of her nostrils. The crusted blood had been covered with an army of flies, they buzzed their way around landing all over her making sure that they had their inspection fulfilled. The baby within kicked trying to escape the womb fearing that it would never make it’s way into our world.

I grabbed the hooves and pulled, they were soft and covered in fluids that made me gag. I squatted and pulled more than a couple times trying as hard as I could giving the child everything I could, all that I never had, for all that it could have. I took its hooves and tried to do the rest, making sure that it would deserve a life for the very best.

The quality of an ecosystem can be assessed by the amount of different life found within a small area. Beetles, worms, bees, wasps, flies, stick bugs, bats, birds, snakes, lizards, frogs, and mammals; They all live together to create a world filled with birth, death, and fear. The belief that in the animal world there is no emotion, is a fraud. They feel as we feel. Perhaps not insects but all mammals I believe, have the capacity for emotion.

I couldn’t write, more so that I did not want to after the accident. All I have is emptiness to dwell upon. I have been detained by my injuries from my escape to India. This one planned trip with a childhood friend that has now been cancelled was a time for refugee and freedom. Now I am rendered heartless for I feel abandoned by the optimism of life. Though the gift of life is an evidence of a higher purpose by my continued existence. Unabashed I now feel selfless for once having felt too much self- importance in my strut and in my mind. Cheating death and coming out of an accident as deathly as the one I was in, has yet to define meaning into my life, nonetheless it reminds me that I am struggler, and takes away a worry that I have. To find meaning, for all I want, is for my life to continue for the best.

Ananda lead with this left foot each and every time that he walked down steps, making sure that the right would never lead. He would repetitively shuffle his feet unabashed by this mindful tricks, creating evidence around him to further delegate more unwanted acts of oppression by his fear of disrupting routine. The stairs were cracked and covered in stains that made him sick, a thick vapor of pollution drifted up above him. His eyes stretched out passed the crowd of people to look out for the sign that would point him to the boarding gate. But in the mist of doing so he found the pigeon colored ceiling with moldy, crusty holes. He remembered a time in which he rested in South Africa to find a brown house snake staring at him from the corner of his room. That bush cottage seemed much more of a preference now rather than this dingy airport. The flight to Harare was a bit less than two hours.

This was better than taking the bus.

Oddness and chaos have a particular niche in nature, in their own they create an unknown sphere that brings oddity in to our perception of nature by deconstructing what we see as normal. I have always known that nature is created through a chaotic and unstable cycle, in which all ecological processes rely on each other for survival.
George Perkins Marsh made notes of the natural world that can help us see our role in nature today, through his writings in Man and Nature which is filled with modern day problems, invasive species, the need for restoration, the failings of man to incorporate our species growth in a manner that is beneficial for nature, and not destructive. He also speaks to the problems of extinction; artificial creations that do natures work and only create more destruction in all environments and confusion for all species.

Through my observations while working at Kedar I have had the pleasure of coming across something spectacular, something confusing. I am sure it has never happened outside of reserves or perhaps ever documented in a reserve. Interspecies nursing is not an oddity and has occurred between the most extreme animals, for example a pig nursing tiger cubs in captivity. In captivity it does not seem that odd when thirsty cubs need milk and start to nurse off of any animals around. But in a reserve as big as ours at Kedar it is odd to see a Zebra nursing a baby Blessbok.
Specially when the mother of the baby is very much interested in rescuing her child from the kidnapping Zebra.

It was cool day with plenty of rain, the clouds began to scatter letting partial penetrations of sunlight warm the surface of the reserve. I was out with guests on an afternoon game drive, and earlier in the day I had noticed that the Sable had come down from the mountain tops to graze and sip some water from our lake. We were in search for the Sable when came across a baby nursing on a Zebra from a distance. I knew at a moments glance that the female was not nursing her own child, because first the baby was too small, and second the baby had no strips. I pulled up at a distance of 20 meters and we watched this baby Blessbok happily suck from the tit of the Zebra. The Zebra would then lower her head to clean and lick the baby Blessbok with a sense of motherly love.

A battled ensued for the protection of the baby Blessbok, every ten minutes the child’s mother would return to come and collect her baby. However the Zebra was being extremely over protective of the baby and would chase the mother off and threaten her with strong kicks aimed to demobilize the her. In the natural world there could be more than one explanation for this type of behavior from the Zebra. During the next couple of days I never found the pair and wondered if she grew bored or finally understood that kidnapping is a crime.

I never knew I would could get this lost. Feeling overwhelmed with the frustration of isolation has now lead me to rethink my immediate future. 

Being alone has always come natural to me, I treat being alone like a gift. Being an only child I will always be comfortable with myself, tried through tribulations during my younger days by playing alone and having to cope with the awkward silences. 

The distance from my former ideologies and perhaps I would be better off to characterize this as a different narrative, one that I did not see coming until picking up a lost book. While living alone has not changed for me in the past five years, living alone in the middle of the African bush has been an experience that has taught me to value any and all human interaction. I now consider myself lucky to have insightful conversations, which occur rarely. 

For the conversations that I have with myself and the Natural world, the discussions are more like lectures and I the pupil. Observations that keep my eyes and mind open have helped me to find a place during this silent isolation. Llyod, Vusi, and Sihle like to call me Hemal the Hermit because of the long weekly pilgrimages I make up the mountain in our reserve. 

Being lost is not a bad thing, I have always been lost. Running into the unknown to take wrong turns and climb over steep challenges has lead me to this situation which I find perfect for me. I would consider myself to have never chased after happiness, and that I have the ability to create happiness within. Yet I feel more lost and confused with each passing day. 

The amount of interaction I had before coming to Africa was over the top, meeting new people daily. Instead of people I meet honey badgers, giraffes, blessboks, and a plethora of many more animals. Especially birds. Some I imagine to have more human personalities than myself. I know that being comfortable or getting situated to this new life style will take more than a year, and that I am only on month 9. However I have realized that I may not want to live my life in isolation after this year. To be isolated from people my own age, or people with the same political and societal beliefs has made me yearn to be part of those collectives and friendships that I found refuge in before making this journey abroad.

If you know me well, you know that I have always been lost and that it does not bother me. That although I am lost I know that I have found parts of myself that I keep me alive and push me to become more interested by diving into deeper questions. Knowing that the answers are not at the bottom. But rather in the first breath by breaking through the surface after thinking I would drown. 

From my day knee deep in peat.

He laid on his back staring into the clouds, each one that he saw resembled a juicy meal. He was hungry, but lazy. Never having to hunt has made him demanding and his appetite grew stronger the longer he waited. Rolling over to the sound of heavy paws approaching him from his rear. He slowly turned his head without care to encounter whoever was approaching.

He was not surprised to have seen her there waiting and staring at him. As she approached she let out a deep growl, the earth beneath his paws vibrated. It sent a shiver through his spine; it was a growl that he loved a growl that he always longed to hear. Suddenly his appetite changed from hunger to lust. He wasted no time in confronting her; knocking his head with hers. They nuzzled and licked the napes of each other’s necks. Letting out low growls that complemented each other, a duet set to last the next two days.

Fire burns and it turns everything it touches to dust. After my four-hour fight I was left with second-degree burns on my arms and face, a good amount of my arm hairs were singed and my clothes covered in ash. Burnt life filled my lungs and I had fumed of smoke. Completely unprepared to fight a fire yesterday I now have a pair of burnt nike sneakers. The bottoms of both shoes look as though they were ready to be placed into smores.

The call came in at noon that there was a fire at the main gate, as I went to help I noticed the black and grey smoke high in the sky was coming from an area much closer than anticipated, the fire in the matter of minutes had reached the cattle grid a good half mile away from the main gate. There were five people battling it before we arrived and in the game vehicle with me two more. I noticed that all they were using was large branches.  There was only one person in the Pygmy Hippo enclosure so I jumped out and ran to a Mountain Karee tree. I stripped the biggest branch I found then tied my shirt around my face and began to beat out the fire left, right and all around me. The fire was three meters in height and a good hundred or two hundred feet wide in the enclosure. The power of the flames pushed me back every ten seconds and I pushed my self toward it forcefully, battling to fight through the cremating heat. The embers kept rising strongly and burnt my eyes, I felt the scorching heat embrace my body as the flames grew, taking all the oxygen around me to fuel it. My main concern was for the fire not to spread deeper near the tall dry reeds in the dried wetland near Stoffel and Matilda’s favorite sleeping spots, if it did. Resistance would be futile.  (Stoffel & Matilda, two Pygmy Hippos).

Luckily Earnest had two fire extinguishers with him and it mitigated the spread of the fire in the hippo camp. A large patch of bamboo was up in flames and it was impossible to come close to it or to beat it out with a branch, so I began to stomp out the small embers that were spreading and heading to the dry bead of spear grass. Ernest ran towards the bamboo patch with the extinguisher and as he sprayed the living hell out of that fire, he yelled with pent up anger. The fire extinguishers were used up in a matter of seconds and the camp was saved, the embers dwindled down and the patch of burning bamboo smoked to an end.

I ran to the opposite side of the camp into the reserve where the fire had begun to grow and creep up close to the lodge. As I ran I stepped on an Acacia branch and a three-inch thorn went through my melted sneaker into the bottom of my foot. I stopped to take off my shoe and remove the thorn, happy to have pulled it out without a break that could have left the tip wedged in the ball of my foot. When I looked up I found myself surrounded by the fire on three sides and at this point I knew that if I did not leave that immediate area I would be caught in the last hardest place I would find myself in. Thick patches of dried grass, dead Acacias and heaps of antelope species shit all caught fire. The screaming and popping of the dead plants deafened me; the burnt remnants of the all that was living rose into the air as ash and spread across the sky and settled on everything near. My lungs felt heavy and my eyes were scorched from the heat of the flames and the glare of the sun.

I continued to beat out flaming bush by bush, being careful to throw my branch in the opposite direction of the wind battling to contain the fire and not spread it to all the dead tall grass and piles of shit. Help was need! It was me and some staff from the kitchen, house keeping, and a handful of men from the farm. Stoffel our farmer had given most of his men the day-off; they are usually the experienced men for this type of job and would have added at least several more people. But those of use who battled did so profoundly and made sure that this fire was controlled and stopped before it reached anywhere near the lodge. Glenis, our general manager was trying to encourage us by telling us yesterday that a near by lodge was burnt to the ground, we continued fighting with all we had. She was then nice enough to bring us water. But never once did she probably think to get out of the game vehicle and help us fight the fire.

Stoffel finally came back with his truck that had in its bed a generator filled with water, an African fire-fighting machine. Nothing more than a hose but damn was I happy to see it. One of the farm workers was in the back of the truck with the hose. He was spraying the grass separating us from the fire, wetting it to make sure that it would not catch a blaze.  All that could be seen after were small embers in burnt up patches on the black land all around. Heaps of broken branches and tall grass beds were burnt to a crisp and left a bone colored impression of incinerated life on a black canvas.

The fire had damaged fence lines, many young trees, a roadside, and my skin. No animals were harmed; in the process of fighting Hades. I was most afraid of a snake coming around me trying to escape a wall of fire. I think its safe to say that most of them are still underground. Approximately 4 to 5 hectares had burnt, most of the land belong part to a scattered highveld forest savannah and the Hippo camp had less than a couple hundred feet of damage. A dead tree now cremated flakes away and the patch of bamboo looks rustic with burnt lines branded deep into the wood.

The drive from Jo-burg to Kruger Park is taking me through the countless different types of biomes and ecosystems. The Highveld area that Jo-burg is has very different characteristics, and in Rustenburg the same characteristics are prevalent with minor changes in the number of rocks and mountains. The felt has been flat for most of the way, sparse thickets of forests mostly made up of the invasive blue gum tree (eucalyptus) and the handful of different species of Acacias.  Being in the end of winter much of the land is dry and golden, patches from firebreaks are darkened from the instructive fires that pave way to new grasses and fewer trees. I am not of control fires, but for some it has a higher meaning. Most of the land is spread with spear grass, guinea grass, natal grass, and where there are grazing animals there is buffalo and sweet grass. The drive to Kruger is mostly on the N4, and we are currently on the road to Nelspruit then on to go through Middleburg. The northeastern road first started through the flat felt, dried, golden, and naked. Most of the land that we drove past resembled the farm fields of the Midwest, arranged in rows of chopped down crops, abandoned plows sitting in the sun rusting and gathering crop dust waiting for the summer rains. Over some hills the landscape changed, the clouds drew near as we made our way through a mountain range. Man made forests of African Pine used for timber and paper are arranged in thick orderly lines covering vast acreages on both sides of the highway in and pas the mountains. I was astonished with the sight of the forest. It reminds me of the tall forests in the hillsides of central California and Southern Massachusetts. We stopped half way in our journey at a restaurant called Milly’s.

            After falling a sleep baking in the sun on the way to Milly’s, I awoke a couple minutes before our arrival. Gray clouds shouldered the surrounding mountains and the smell of wet asphalt and felt filled the air. Stepping out of the car once we arrived at Milly’s I found an inviting chill breeze from the eastern storm that was racing us to Kruger.

            Once back in the car I was wired from the coffee I has just downed with my soup and sandwich, I stared out of the window as we drove past more hillsides and Rocky Mountains. The landscape had changed once again dramatically. There was a presence of opulence in the amount of foliage found covering all the land around us. Acacias, Coral trees, Common Currents, and so many other different types of species made a thick forest with naked branches that meshed the true rocky nature of the mountains they inhabited. The barren sides of the mountains hade smooth block like attributes, almost if they were built chaotically with different sizes of Legos. The gray clouds are still accompanying us on our journey and the drive through the valleys is calm. Along the road sides there are Acacia umbrellicas that droop over to create a canopy and in a rhythmic beat they stop the rains from hitting the windshield of our car. 

            After spending months at Kedar with only one trip so far to Durban, which was unlike anything I have experience so far in terms of scenery. This journey to Kruger is refreshing especially with rain clouds ushering us into the park. I believe it is a wonderful omen. The rains mixed with patches of burnt land will create a new generation of grasses, a fresh meal for the grazing animals, which will mean a warm meal for the teeth of Kruger.

            Many of the townships that are scattered along the way are farm communities. One stood out the most. From my seat I saw rows of oranges, lemons, and mango trees. The border of the farm was made up of Coral trees, whose bright red flowers hung from stark naked branches. The Coral trees soon were replaced with palm trees. The valley in which this farm was situated is a healthy biome. The heavy rain clouds gathered at the crests of the mountains and I could see the rain fall on the tops of the trees, I envisioned the rain running down the sides of the mountains bringing with it the rich nutrients of the tropical soil down in to the valley where the farm is. The further north we drive into Kruger the more tropical the climate is becoming, All this change within a five hour drive. As I look to my right now I see a plantation of Suger Cane, and on the left lemon grass. The mountains are flat and rigged, having the shape of turtle shells.

The younger generation is including my own, is in for a treat. Technology has already ruined our interaction with nature and I have to battle with myself to enter natures sanctuary without my iPhone or other technological appliances. Megan who is eleven and has more imagination than her older sister Kaitlin has no problem seeing the beauty with nature. Her father showed her how to make swords from dried out flower stocks from large aloe trees.

This Sunday morning Julie woke me up to tell me that there were Zebras and Kudus below the cabin. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and shook my dreams from my head and made my way down the first set of stairs to go and have a look at these African animals. Below the cabin sure enough Megan and Granny had began to feed the Zebras and the one Kudu bull. Apples and carrots seemed to draw their attention. I grabbed a handful of both and went down. I have seen the damage a good well placed zebra kick can do, but seeing a ten year old girl being adamant about feeding them restored faith in me and also gave me courage. So I fed the three zebras around me. Their yellow teeth and smelly hides were enough to make me smile and feel gracious for nature to give me this experience. 

The once forested Pilanesberg Mountains are now covered with scattered rocks and Euphorbia cooperi, through two hundred years of rough agriculture practices and control burns man has shaped the mountains to become arid and desert. The peaks stand naked before the blue skies and the little rain that comes down each year only fills its crevasses with green shoots for less than a week. Mountain Bush-willows, Acacias, and the rare rock fig can be seen on long walks up the steep sides of the mountain chain. Patches of Baboon’s tail burnt to the roots crunch under my boots and leave a strong crisp smell after being smashed. The iron dense sandy silt is red dust and gathers on my trousers and boots, when it rises it sticks to the sides of my nostrils drying my breath always making it harder to breathe. At the valley ground we are situated about 1700 m above sea level. The mountains stand about another 100 to 200 meters high. The climb up is not easy, having lived at sea level my whole life my lungs still need a good couple of months to acclimate. The felt has a high ph level in the soil making all the vegetation around the area sour for the grazing animals. Erosion from summer rains is evident during these winter months, the drained miniature canyons resemble the valleys of larger canyons out west. The fragile walls of the erosion continue to deposit the sand and silt into the small ridges at their bottom. Drops of water filter through their mouths into the a deposit of rich smelling peat that leads into the eye of a underground river.
The grassland is yellow and when sunset comes around the land the Red Natal grass, the red dusty sand, and the yellow Spear and Guinea grass fill me up with a sense of overwhelming comfort. Above the wetlands in the deepest gully of the valley during the early part of the evening evaporation from the days hot sun is seen has a thick fog or mist about 2 meters above the bed of reeds. The cold sets in and the breeze is frigid enough to break ones comfort.

The hippo walk at night becomes unfamiliar to me, the pitch black night obviously makes it difficult to navigate, even with a good torch. The two Pygmy Hippos are the most alive at night, they rummage and forage through their 3 hectare enclosure. The smell of fresh dung drifts in the area and all around there are traces of the hippos last meal. The hippo in my own opinion is an animals that must enjoy a good shit seeing how they can fling it a good 5 meters away, they mark their territory and good grazing spots so they can come back and graze on that same spot. Their tail spreads their dung almost giving the metaphor “when shit hits the fan” a real visual.