It’s definitely not a dinner party.
Getting acquainted with a ‘biosphere’ was… well it was a challenge. It kicked off like a dream and then hit a snag – the sort of situation where all my nightmares conspire – ganging up to piss me off – all at once.
I had fleetingly found the biosphere. I was certain. There I was – living in a tent, in a jungle, with a hot tub, fine food, real coffee and in peace – meandering. Then suddenly I wasn’t. I was transferred to a ranch on a still beautiful (but venomous and deadly) lake surrounded by mainly female humans intent on riding horses.
This raised the grim prospect of eating with and twittering (analog) endlessly about this topic with people I didn’t care to – at one long table. And that would mean calling on all my reserves of small talk. Horror.
Surely this wasn’t a biosphere. I must have taken a very wrong turn.
It’s Not A Zoo
Large, small, slow, fast, elegant, venomous, constricting, well camouflaged – my fellow guests came in a wide variety of types. The lake was known to house crocodiles, snakes and hippos. I took those who knew what they were talking about at their word. I only wore running shoes when approaching the lake. With a gun. It wasn’t a game. This was serious.
Every black inch of the deep and deadly water was malicious. Every ripple was a man eating, easy spitting – evil blooded devil fish (or Moth). With teeth that could easily rip through a Volkswagen Camper van with nothing but an idle thought.
It’s not a science project.
A biosphere is a wicked brew of the basest of elements. Not trivial in any sense. The differing cultures, the ever present challenge of trading meaningful conversation in different tongues. The need to put roofs over heads and food on tables. Constant tensions and emotional investment required to achieve any kind of harmony.
Humans busy just being humans. Me with all my western determination to remain distant from any possibility of becoming dependent on any of it.
You can’t just walk up to a biosphere. It will trick and puzzle you to death with all its charm and rough edges. As different as possible from where I live – everyone smiles genuine and huge white smiles all the time. Everyone waves and wants to help you. Where is the biosphere? I ask.
Impossible. I must be getting close.
It’s not a walk in the park.
The talk of horses and yet more horses – how horses eat, walk, trot and relieve themselves was definitely not something I was looking forward to.
The landscape is made up of very large and very small parcels of land thrown into a bucket. There seems no obvious logic. It is fundamentally tough terrain. Inhabited by wild things. It’s not signposted.
The place doesn’t have that annoying ‘Health & Fucking Safety’ stupidity. That cotton wool nancy western – ‘boiled into nothing’ – screwed up nature-reserve thing.
It’s Not Small.
Conflict and peace hits you between the eyes immediately. Immense wide space, occasional small villages, endless miles of road lacing through extraordinary views and infinite tangles of fencing holding back the wild things. Biospheric.
The sky alone can keep your eyes fixated all day. Big. Electric storms arrive in their own time. At their own whim and fancy. Like a troupe of monkeys they climb all over you. I love storms. I don’t mix well with monkeys. I know plenty though. They climb.
It’s not one conversation.
The week was full of contrasts.
We held three incredible conversations in the ‘biosphere’ – the health and hope of the people, the health and hope of the region and the journey of opportunity for those less privileged who live amongst it all.
Everything in the place is alive and it’s a drug. Termites, snakes, rumour, children, traditional healers (witch doctors) politicians, spiders, shop keepers, game lodge owners, crocodiles, biltong makers, bone sellers, giraffes, taxidermists, leather makers, mineral extractors – the trees and the rivers.
It’s not funny.
Comic Relief sent their own troupe of monkeys to scamper all over the incredible work of the Waterberg Welfare Society – they were a fine bunch. They became locally known as Jamal and the ‘Jack & Finn Harries twins’ and they bought a brand of unpredictable but fresh energy to the place – they injected a new edge. Who were these guys?
Whoever they were they were going to make a big and positive difference. Taking photographs and video’s of everything – they were certain to capture the biosphere. I would watch and learn.
The guests at the lodge were alive.
It was a very pleasant surprise. We hardly spoke about horses other than when they dislodged their human unceremoniously. Instead the themes of the week were real. Coexistence. Prescription Drugs. Libido. Natural Highs. Polygamy. Trade. Sex. Marmite. Hope. I realised I actually did like people. Sometimes. The biosphere brings truth out of you. It was meaningful. It was real.
It’s A Living Conservation
The biosphere is living. It brings out the best of you. It reminds you what’s right and what is valuable. It’s not about money but it is about livelihood. It’s not about greed and cynicism but it is about sustainability and protecting what should be protected. It is a careful and fragile mix of things in balance – and it gets you at your heart. It’s not something that can be put away for safekeeping but it demands conserving.
It is about beauty. Real beauty.
The biosphere attracts a kind of person too. A person that is interested and thoughtful. Curious about what’s around and mindful not to walk all over it – or you. About as different to the West as one can get. I really liked that.
It is about life. Real life.
It is the definition of co-existence. It is truly a living system. It is the best example of being connected to what is living and what works. It is palpable – all around you and something that you are powerless to stop. And we always need to be reminded of that to rid us of our ridiculous sense of entitlement.
Loved every inch and minute of it. It didn’t last as long as it should have and I will go back but it has left it’s mark and it’s down to me now.
I still don’t want to do dinner parties though.
First published on johncaswell.com, 10 February 2013. See the copy in the Wayback Machine. Kept as John wrote it.
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