Why does the dipper bob and dip?
Nobody knows
A trait of aquatic birds
Over whose feet water flows?
This dipper parent duo
Breeding residents of Silver Tip
Hid
In amongst the nests of cliff swallows
Built of the mud of stream-banks and bison wallows
Not too high, nor low
No predator can breach
This south-facing wall
Its pool below
Invites
We float downstream, feet first
Grazing tops of rocks
Montana drowned
In Cambrian times
And left corals
Jack Horner excites
Over its trilobites,
older than dinosaurs
Secrets of the
Sandstone
Quartz
Lava
Birds chose andesite ledges
Approached in formation flight
Solving the same problem
Darwin would say
Like dipper and cutthroat trout.
But trout don't bob and dip.
Fluid Ecotypes
'...features that help species to prevail through catastrophes need not be the sources of success in normal times.' -SJ Gould
02 August 2016
23 February 2014
Ruaha in February
Storks
parachute down
their landing cushioned
by seeping green earth, cool from rain
Tall grasses
hide
lions asleep
given away by brisk flips of tails,
agitated in tsetse country
It’s
soothing in the Acacias
Here bulls
bathe and snorkel and spar
Young
impalas frolic where baboons graze
A gymnogene
taps incessant
at dead tree branches wherein an agama hides
Weavers display
suspended from still-green nests
a female considers
Below them
the flowing Ruaha
fringe pools greening with algae
Above,
ibises in breeding burgundy mix in flight with open-billed storks
Satiated
In an arial
array
against clouds precluding thunder.
Un-penetrable to poacher on foot
Hostile to feeble visitor.
Stacks of
bough signal closed roads.
Springs and swamps are safe.
The sky
breaks
Sending
nightjars into orbit
Armoured
crickets upon our feet
Kerosene
lamps faint
Our ears exult as our mortal eyes fold
The bush
concert attains surround sound.
The penultimate of privileges.
17 June 2013
Living with Wildlife in the American and African Serengeti
I recently
corresponded with a former member of the NGO Defenders of Wildlife who lives
out in Montana, part of the “American Serengeti”. He expressed grave concern
over the recent boom in demand for African elephant ivory in East Asia, and the
concurrent loss of elephants to poachers across Africa. His subject line read “Saving
elephants in Africa”. He wanted to know which conservation NGOs could be helped
to “stop the killing of thousands of elephants”.
The threats
currently facing elephants have drawn much attention from the American public
and media, as well as the U.S. government given that the wider issue of
wildlife trafficking is big business, and linked to other forms of trafficking. Wildlife trafficking endangers global health and
security, people’s livelihoods, and environmental sustainability. Over the last
one year in the United States, a senate hearing under the heading “Ivory and
Insecurity” was held and moderated by John Kerry, a Memorandum of Understanding
aimed at combating poaching signed between the U.S. and Tanzania (which
holds the world’s second largest elephant population after Botswana), and former Secretary of State Hilary Clinton delivered a formal Call to Action
to tackle illegal trade in wildlife.
What has gone mostly unmentioned in these discussions of
where to direct funding and action is this: how living with elephants figures
in, and how to incentivize peaceful non-use coexistence between elephants and
people in elephant Range States. Moreover, in what ways is such human-wildlife co-existence
linked to what is happening on our backstep in the United States?
Montanans and organizations like Defenders of Wildlife know
more about the conflict dimension of saving wild species than most Americans,
or Europeans for that matter. After
exchanging several e-mails with the Montana-based “free market environmentalist”
(who likes to give his money to the NGO African Parks as theirs is “a business
approach to conservation”), I was tempted to raise the issue of American hypocrisy
in our discussion of African wildlife.
Hypocrisy, while nothing new in conservation debates, is
topical given some recent news headlines. Among these (from The New York Times, December 2012): ‘Famous’ Wolf is Killed Outside Yellowstone and
Wild Horses are Running out of Room, On
and Off Range. It seems to me that the
hunting of gray wolves and rounding up of wild horses in the American West
warrants discussion of what we do at home, and that such a discussion seems
timely given our recent, and apposite, focus on African elephants. Like
elephant populations in Eastern and Southern Africa, the populations of iconic
North American species have grown; however, this recent growth, in the cases of
wolves and bison (and elephants) is recovery following massive decline – local extinction
in the case of wolves and near-extinction in the case of bison.
In the “who pays and who gains” debate over wildlife, the
laments of African farmers are strikingly similar to those of American
ranchers. For Americans, gray wolves, bison, and wild horses are among
“conflict” species. Gray wolves kill livestock so there’s desire to hunt them, which recently culminated in the killing of two iconic individuals, including a radio-collared
alpha female of the Lamar Canyon pack in December 2012. Gray wolves are a
re-introduction success story, and most conservationists are aware of the high
costs of such re-introduction programs. Gray wolves were re-introduced in the
1990s, roughly 60 years after they had been trapped and hunted out in the
western U.S. So today’s wolf hunts are
aimed at the progeny of a successful reintroduction program. Bison, like
elephants, range far and wide and consume a lot of vegetation; ranchers don’t
want them on their land as they compete with stock for graze and are carriers
of brucellosis. This means that Yellowstone’s estimated 4000 bison cannot roam
– they are hazed, captured, quarantined, and killed; they too are a survival
story (like African elephants) in that their numbers dwindled in the second
half of the 19th century from tens of millions. Wild horses,
meanwhile, called “a totem of the American frontier” - are now a nuisance and,
like bison, are running out of room. Wild horse herds are growing (currently estimated
at 37,000 individuals), and grazing associations want them out. The outcome is
round-ups, in which animals die.
Whether it’s living with large apex predators or large herbivores
which need a lot of space and food, we need to figure out how in our psyche we
can become more tolerant and sway opinion on behalf of the animals while
reducing conflict between wild animals, farmers and ranchers. For example, ranchers
are compensated for losses and asked to tolerate non-killers while predator
control (the moving, relocation or killing of “livestock killers”) is
spearheaded (Hank Fischer, PERC, 2001). Fischer (Defenders of Wildlife) talks
about situations where compensation to ranchers has been paid, and creative
measures taken to avoid predation on livestock, yet conflict still remains. This
may indicate the existence of especially attractive areas for large carnivores.
The only viable solution, Fischer argues, may be for people to avoid such areas.
The same rule should apply to farming directly adjacent to protected areas.
Ever-more creative solutions in other parts of the world
include the manufacture of urine to mark the territory boundaries of wild dogs.
These “urine bio-fences” keep wild dogs out of ranches and away from domestic stock.
One of the people on this Southern African bio-fence project is a doctoral
student from – the University of Montana.
The issue of who pays remains. Should taxpayers’ money go to
protecting someone’s cattle out west? Should African governments offer consolation
for farm losses? Or is it the individual rancher / farmer who should protect
what he has? Should ranchers and farmers join forces with NGOs investing
efforts in conflict mitigation, and who ultimately funds these efforts? What
role does the public have to play in how relationships between people and
wildlife are perceived? And finally, how can scientific research evaluate these
perceptions (e.g. that wolf depredation is less than assumed and elephants are
not the biggest of crop-raiders are examples of findings from systematic field
studies carried out by committed researchers)?
I gave the Montanan the names of two NGOs – International
Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW) and World Society for the Protection of Animals
(WSPA). Both IFAW and WSPA mitigate conflict between elephants and farming
communities around Africa. They do this through elephant-friendly fence construction
using chili peppers, beehives and other means. This is very important work as HEC
is a central issue, as people continue to encroach on elephant habitats and
elephants move through agricultural landscapes. However, "problem animal
control" (PAC) in the case of elephants may not be an effective way to
mitigate conflict as 1) many crop-raiding bulls are not habitual raiders and 2)
another raider usually moves in after one is removed (akin to urban foxes in
central London). The long-term solution in the case of elephants may be the
restoration of corridors which elephants can use to make long-distance
movements between areas of suitable habitat rather than being forced to move
through – and then linger – in farms. Like livestock for some wolves, human
food crops will probably remain an attractive, high-calorie and easily acquired
source of food for bull elephants – and for non-human primates and other large
mammals as well. But by no means is this a new problem in Africa and Asia where
people have lived alongside large mammals for thousands of years. Conflict has
indisputably escalated in some regions for obvious reasons - ever-increasing human
populations combined with a need for more space for growing human food. And this
conflict now has a name, probably in part because of conservation NGOs.
Is there an explicit link with the ivory trade?
Human-elephant conflict or HEC is increasingly used as a pretext to kill young elephant
bulls ("problem animals") which are the typical crop-raiders. The tusks
of these problem animals constitutes a legal source of ivory, and thus it gets
added to government-owned ivory stocks which governments later try to sell to
the Far East.
Issues of human-wildlife conflict are sure to figure –
mostly indirectly – into decisions made at meetings of the Conference of the Parties (CoPs)
attended by 177 countries which have signed a multilateral agreement known as
the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and
Flora (CITES) to protect species from over-exploitation from international
trade. At the most recent CoP, these parties would have voted on the Tanzanian
government’s controversial petition to downlist its elephants to Appendix II
from Appendix I to allow the sale of stockpiled ivory to trading partners (in
previous such sales, China and Japan had been approved buyers). However, Tanzania
quietly withdrew its proposal amid escalating criticism from environmental
groups and reports of escalating poaching in the country.
Part of the Tanzanian government’s pretext for having
proposed such a sale in the first place was to raise funds for local
communities to incentivize their co-existence with elephants. Such funds, if they
had been raised, would have amounted to a mere 1.5% of Tanzania’s annual
tourism revenue. The risk of stigma associated with such a sale, which could
have further stimulated demand and confused buyers in East Asian markets, did
not seem worthwhile.
I ask North Americans concerned with saving wild species and
thinking about Africa and the ivory trade, to consider the “American Serengeti”
and what it means to live alongside wild animals. If we cannot live with them,
can we ask others to? And if we cannot live with them in conflict hotspots,
then, as Fischer suggests, do we advocate for the avoidance of such
areas – what environmentalists call land sparing
rather than sharing? Would such conflict
prevention or avoidance be a high price to pay for the American and the African
Serengetis and the
mega-herbivores and predators which still dwell there?
Fischer, H. (2001). Who Pays for Wolves? PERC Report: 19 (4), winter 2001. URL: http://perc.org/articles/who-pays-wolves.
“Serengeti” is derived from the Maasai language, Maa, and
means "Endless Plains”.
07 April 2012
Elephant
Elephant, why do you stray?
Don’t you know to stay within the boundaries of the paper park man drew up for you?
Elephant, why do you raid?
Our pumpkins, our okra, spinach and maize
Don’t you see we must convert every vacant space
into human food?
Elephant, why do you guzzle?
Our dammed rivers, our fishponds, our livestock’s watering holes
We will deter you with fire, with honeybee stings, dogs and drums, electric shocks and chili-oil walls
wage war on you
Elephant, don’t move, don’t eat, don’t drink
Give us your white shining ivory
Which we will shape into trinkets, balls, piano keys
Better yet, we will trade it for bullets
Wage war on each other
Elephant?
Don’t you know to stay within the boundaries of the paper park man drew up for you?
Elephant, why do you raid?
Our pumpkins, our okra, spinach and maize
Don’t you see we must convert every vacant space
into human food?
Elephant, why do you guzzle?
Our dammed rivers, our fishponds, our livestock’s watering holes
We will deter you with fire, with honeybee stings, dogs and drums, electric shocks and chili-oil walls
wage war on you
Elephant, don’t move, don’t eat, don’t drink
Give us your white shining ivory
Which we will shape into trinkets, balls, piano keys
Better yet, we will trade it for bullets
Wage war on each other
Elephant?
22 February 2012
In two minds
We live in two minds
with opposing forces
A part of and apart from natural landscapes
Striving for resolution
In trying to make up our minds
we give the impression of wanting both ways
Perpetuating a state of being in two minds
by deliberating over the negative consequences of one or both actions
Divisions from demands of life and work drive us to seek oblivion in sleep
In the day,
Language gives us fading order
Managing incongruencies
For sake of sociality, we pretend there is less ambiguity in our words.
Is there a pure experience which doesn’t need language?
Which neither objectifies nor animates?
Why do we still entrust culture to give us more order than nature
when it is such binaries that lead to disengagement
and to missing a raw communal experience,
free from preconceived notions and frames,
not bound to any measured distance between us.
Based on a lecture by M. Jackson and ensuing discussion “Unhinged Signs, Cracked Walls and the Rage for Order”, Dept. of Anthropology, Princeton.
with opposing forces
A part of and apart from natural landscapes
Striving for resolution
In trying to make up our minds
we give the impression of wanting both ways
Perpetuating a state of being in two minds
by deliberating over the negative consequences of one or both actions
Divisions from demands of life and work drive us to seek oblivion in sleep
In the day,
Language gives us fading order
Managing incongruencies
For sake of sociality, we pretend there is less ambiguity in our words.
Is there a pure experience which doesn’t need language?
Which neither objectifies nor animates?
Why do we still entrust culture to give us more order than nature
when it is such binaries that lead to disengagement
and to missing a raw communal experience,
free from preconceived notions and frames,
not bound to any measured distance between us.
Based on a lecture by M. Jackson and ensuing discussion “Unhinged Signs, Cracked Walls and the Rage for Order”, Dept. of Anthropology, Princeton.
15 February 2012
Behavioral synchrony in adult animals – does it reduce stress?
I first became interested in behavioral synchrony when studying red colobus monkeys. I hypothesized that innovative behavior would be less likely to occur the more synchronized the activity of individuals in groups was, that is, if nearest neighbors’ activities were synchronized. I viewed innovation as opposite of synchronization, attributing behavioral synchrony to less intelligent mammals – as imitation and copying are often viewed. The more behaviorally flexible a species, the more innovation is expected, and therefore, less synchronization – right? Well, I’ve recently began to re-think this after conversations with a friend, a well-being psychologist. He described the benefits he gets from going dancing – not just from physical contact with the opposite sex – but the synchronized nature of the activity. When we practice yoga in a class, synchronizing our poses is emphasized. We move together. We also value synchronization when looking at others – at a stage of ballerinas for instance – the more talented the dancers, the more perfect their synchrony, their perfectly timed coordination of movement. Is there a health benefit, a reduction in stress, that we experience following an hour or so of synchronized movement or behavior (relative to asynchronized movement)? Does this tap into some fundamental need we have to be in sync with our neighbors, our conspecifics, our group members? Is the western world’s emphasis on autonomy so strong that we must seek synchronization in organized classes of dance or yoga amidst the insular chaos of our daily lives? What exactly do we get out of being in synchrony with other people? Non-human primate groups must move together to capitalize on the benefits of social grouping in the first place - it is to an individuals’ advantage to feed when others feed, to rest when others rest. Behavioral synchrony appears to be consistent with optimal foraging theory. Does behavioral synchrony necessarily exclude innovative behavior or make it less likely?
04 February 2012
Ndundulu
There is a forest with a dark spirit
Which throws at you unforeseen challenges
Mudslides along paths which make you clamber desperately
One step forward two steps back
Then rewards you with glimpses of bar-tailed trogons and their bright red bellies
But for every reward there are more dares
At night, your tent turns black with army ants as the camp cook throws cinders at them from the fire
encircling you and tent with kerosene – will I burn here?
Black flies awaken you. They lay their slick white eggs upon your tent.
You are determined to persevere stiff-backed
To see that strange high-headed monkey that hid from scientists until this century
You battle the mud, suspending fury at the sight of a tall pink orchid
And cross fast-flowing rivers marveling at the red fruits of muria mbega and the glow of epiphytic impatiens 20 metres above your head
Then something stirs ever so faintly at your feet, you could have crushed it
The tiny eye-ringed duiker baby now lies still in the ferns
Before you can go further the sky opens and a wall of rain falls unremittingly
There is nowhere to hide
With camp shelters full of water, we crowd around the cook and fire taking comfort in sips of spiced, warming tea
But then our stomachs churn from swigs of rivers' runoff
This is no place for humans and our frailty
A blast of thunder explodes and deafens us
The forest spirit laughs
After ten days we have seen not much more than shadows
of the cautious kipunji
And I entrust their custody to this unforgiving place
May it never welcome humans more than it did us
Humbly, we abscond in the rain
Which throws at you unforeseen challenges
Mudslides along paths which make you clamber desperately
One step forward two steps back
Then rewards you with glimpses of bar-tailed trogons and their bright red bellies
But for every reward there are more dares
At night, your tent turns black with army ants as the camp cook throws cinders at them from the fire
encircling you and tent with kerosene – will I burn here?
Black flies awaken you. They lay their slick white eggs upon your tent.
You are determined to persevere stiff-backed
To see that strange high-headed monkey that hid from scientists until this century
You battle the mud, suspending fury at the sight of a tall pink orchid
And cross fast-flowing rivers marveling at the red fruits of muria mbega and the glow of epiphytic impatiens 20 metres above your head
Then something stirs ever so faintly at your feet, you could have crushed it
The tiny eye-ringed duiker baby now lies still in the ferns
Before you can go further the sky opens and a wall of rain falls unremittingly
There is nowhere to hide
With camp shelters full of water, we crowd around the cook and fire taking comfort in sips of spiced, warming tea
But then our stomachs churn from swigs of rivers' runoff
This is no place for humans and our frailty
A blast of thunder explodes and deafens us
The forest spirit laughs
After ten days we have seen not much more than shadows
of the cautious kipunji
And I entrust their custody to this unforgiving place
May it never welcome humans more than it did us
Humbly, we abscond in the rain
05 September 2011
Noto Plateau
We reach it by passing symmetrical baobabs
Explore its windy forest
Following its red edge with old, man-set traps
Crunching its dry litter of leaves under our feet
Greenbuls and sunbirds, disguised in olive pelage, chatter
Coastal meets montane
The night brings foot-taps of a four-toed, near a pile of leopard dung
And an orange-tailed Rondo, stilled by the light of our torches,
upon which a neon moth will perch
As our guide animates stories by firelight.
We awaken to concerts of scrub robins and yellow flycatchers
A honeyguide calling at us
to follow him?
Through the spiny, zigzag lianas,
perfumed duiker latrines,
and spilled Albizia pods by ndovu dung
which overflows with orange monkey fruit seeds.
We awaken to telephone calling - of a broadbill.
Waiting for endemic akalat
Instead we are haunted by beats of black-masked batis
and ever-changing vocals of energetic drongos.
This plateau rumbles of elephants,
and smells of civet musk,
and echoes with grantii's advertising calls
silenced by a band of fowl.
We sleep deeply then shallowly as leaves - and more - stir.
Hypervigilant at morning we admire the strangler fig
flanked by obligatory hornbills.
We stand still as a morph sprints across our path
which leads where we want it to
following a compass bearing, only roughly
We feel relief at the lack of stumps and tall figures of Mvule
and trees we cannot identify, on which dangle black weaver nests and dicot fruits.
In the southern plateau,
a crowned eagle descends as the woman below glances up at him from her spuns of purple-inked fronds.
Our lights dim
before dawn, a blotched genet visits the campfire's warmth and food scraps.
and then
we depart
not yet ready to
to a sky of mackerel clouds
not knowing if and when
we will re-acclimate.
Explore its windy forest
Following its red edge with old, man-set traps
Crunching its dry litter of leaves under our feet
Greenbuls and sunbirds, disguised in olive pelage, chatter
Coastal meets montane
The night brings foot-taps of a four-toed, near a pile of leopard dung
And an orange-tailed Rondo, stilled by the light of our torches,
upon which a neon moth will perch
As our guide animates stories by firelight.
We awaken to concerts of scrub robins and yellow flycatchers
A honeyguide calling at us
to follow him?
Through the spiny, zigzag lianas,
perfumed duiker latrines,
and spilled Albizia pods by ndovu dung
which overflows with orange monkey fruit seeds.
We awaken to telephone calling - of a broadbill.
Waiting for endemic akalat
Instead we are haunted by beats of black-masked batis
and ever-changing vocals of energetic drongos.
This plateau rumbles of elephants,
and smells of civet musk,
and echoes with grantii's advertising calls
silenced by a band of fowl.
We sleep deeply then shallowly as leaves - and more - stir.
Hypervigilant at morning we admire the strangler fig
flanked by obligatory hornbills.
We stand still as a morph sprints across our path
which leads where we want it to
following a compass bearing, only roughly
We feel relief at the lack of stumps and tall figures of Mvule
and trees we cannot identify, on which dangle black weaver nests and dicot fruits.
In the southern plateau,
a crowned eagle descends as the woman below glances up at him from her spuns of purple-inked fronds.
Our lights dim
before dawn, a blotched genet visits the campfire's warmth and food scraps.
and then
we depart
not yet ready to
to a sky of mackerel clouds
not knowing if and when
we will re-acclimate.
23 February 2011
The Udzungwas
The Udzungwas
Forest bathing
Nights punctuated by hyraxes’ rivaling calls
Shine your searching torch – there are orange galago eyes, treefrogs and the timid to and fro chameleon dance of a new dwarf.
With morning come deep throated bellows of a Sykes monkey male – is he alone or with a group? How far? How early is it? You check your watch.
Fresh duiker pellets ahead – was it a blue or a red? What frightened it – you or a leopard?
Across your path dashes a pair of rufous and black long-nosed giants – they too follow a path – a sengi tunnel near which
A camera trap lies on its side, the gesture of a forest-dwelling savanna elephant
How big are their groups in the Parinari forest?
You enter dense Aframomum, a smell of ginger entices your bite into its red fruit
Suddenly, loud wing flaps above – which hornbill was it? Silvery-cheeked!
By afternoon, you all are thirsty, you stop to eat chapatis by a slow-moving river, indulging in a few momentary glimpses of black-and-white coats of unknowing colobus, once knowing, disappearing clumsily from view.
Stopping allows you to admire fully the enveloping canopy above while you merge with the forest floor. Relief.
Then you climb again, until the sun-drenched ridgetop, where along an elephant trail are fresh piles of buffalo and kiti moto dung. The tall grass cuts at your arms, but you barely feel it – the view – ah, the view: Rolling endless green hills, don’t ever end.
And downhill again, toward the hums of another stream and a mangabey whoop-gobble and scream leaving Tabarnaemontana fruit for someone else to eat.
Still in the leaf-litter a satiated viper coils in camouflage, let him be.
Now towards camp, voices and smell of fire, a splash in the icy vigor of riverwater joined by wagtails, followed by warming blazes of fresh red pilipili on a heavy plate of maharage and wali. Tumeshiba.
Coolness of another night. Another story of the Udzungwa boys. The time we climbed a sapling to elude a lion – the sapling bowed to the ground; the cavalier lion had gone away anyway. Or the time we were lost after the arduous climb up Luhomero peak – who chose this short-cut? Or that night at Tembo camp when we slept in fear of reach of a blazing forest fire. Stories become legends, re-told but not embellished – no need. All pause at the hoot of an African wood owl – they are bahati mbaya! They are not!
The morning awakens with a mixed chorus of chipper chirps of flitting sunbirds, a distant striped kingfisher, and busy cooks. Chai and Africafe.
Soon you will spot the red colobus’ red caps across a valley, not far from the African crowned eagles’ nest, as you crunch down on the orange crabshell in otter dung, and stone-skip the width of the Lumemo with your eyes locked on the reassuringly ever-looming Mwanihana peak.
Forest bathing
Nights punctuated by hyraxes’ rivaling calls
Shine your searching torch – there are orange galago eyes, treefrogs and the timid to and fro chameleon dance of a new dwarf.
With morning come deep throated bellows of a Sykes monkey male – is he alone or with a group? How far? How early is it? You check your watch.
Fresh duiker pellets ahead – was it a blue or a red? What frightened it – you or a leopard?
Across your path dashes a pair of rufous and black long-nosed giants – they too follow a path – a sengi tunnel near which
A camera trap lies on its side, the gesture of a forest-dwelling savanna elephant
How big are their groups in the Parinari forest?
You enter dense Aframomum, a smell of ginger entices your bite into its red fruit
Suddenly, loud wing flaps above – which hornbill was it? Silvery-cheeked!
By afternoon, you all are thirsty, you stop to eat chapatis by a slow-moving river, indulging in a few momentary glimpses of black-and-white coats of unknowing colobus, once knowing, disappearing clumsily from view.
Stopping allows you to admire fully the enveloping canopy above while you merge with the forest floor. Relief.
Then you climb again, until the sun-drenched ridgetop, where along an elephant trail are fresh piles of buffalo and kiti moto dung. The tall grass cuts at your arms, but you barely feel it – the view – ah, the view: Rolling endless green hills, don’t ever end.
And downhill again, toward the hums of another stream and a mangabey whoop-gobble and scream leaving Tabarnaemontana fruit for someone else to eat.
Still in the leaf-litter a satiated viper coils in camouflage, let him be.
Now towards camp, voices and smell of fire, a splash in the icy vigor of riverwater joined by wagtails, followed by warming blazes of fresh red pilipili on a heavy plate of maharage and wali. Tumeshiba.
Coolness of another night. Another story of the Udzungwa boys. The time we climbed a sapling to elude a lion – the sapling bowed to the ground; the cavalier lion had gone away anyway. Or the time we were lost after the arduous climb up Luhomero peak – who chose this short-cut? Or that night at Tembo camp when we slept in fear of reach of a blazing forest fire. Stories become legends, re-told but not embellished – no need. All pause at the hoot of an African wood owl – they are bahati mbaya! They are not!
The morning awakens with a mixed chorus of chipper chirps of flitting sunbirds, a distant striped kingfisher, and busy cooks. Chai and Africafe.
Soon you will spot the red colobus’ red caps across a valley, not far from the African crowned eagles’ nest, as you crunch down on the orange crabshell in otter dung, and stone-skip the width of the Lumemo with your eyes locked on the reassuringly ever-looming Mwanihana peak.
09 November 2010
Rock-Art Rock
Above the rock-art rock
The hyrax has a view
Above the martin’s nests
Where little swifts come to rest
under the overhang.
Over rock-speckled hills that roll with reds and yellows
Brimstone canaries perch, conspicuous
against the dry rugged bush
Rocks morph into giraffes and antelopes, shapes too old
to make out
to make out
Abstruse
Like the copper belly of a cordon bleu orange from a dust bath
Confounding the amateur birder
Who startles
A half dozen prinia explode from the base of a tree and scatter
in arid hiding places
As an augur stops on acacia treetops
A euphorbia blackens against a dusk sky
As the bat-hawk glides in among the symphony of swifts
At twilight
above a sleeping desert rose.
24 September 2010
The Bwawa
The green-brown water of the bwawa still carries a wild current
Even though nets of all types are stretched across it
or plunged into it to catch a few small fishes -
bright orange-tailed pelege
Boys with buckets take its water
and a pipe takes more.
The feral dog cools itself in it as
Moorhens skulk in its tall green rushes
which dance with Iringa's breezes before
being pulled to weave and wind as thatch.
Barn swallows and white-winged widow birds
roost in what remains.
A cattle herd moves in, the water browns again.
Another fishing line is cast from
gardens of domestic plants
which flank its sides, its water used
to quench them in dry season sun.
Activity slows finally at dusk
but not before a band of naked boys takes one last swim -
a white-backed duck dives
the monitor retreats
and purple heron leaves.
From all sides, it shrinks
How long before it dries?
How long before it's quiet?
Kihesa Kilolo Bwawa still lives.
Even though nets of all types are stretched across it
or plunged into it to catch a few small fishes -
bright orange-tailed pelege
Boys with buckets take its water
and a pipe takes more.
The feral dog cools itself in it as
Moorhens skulk in its tall green rushes
which dance with Iringa's breezes before
being pulled to weave and wind as thatch.
Barn swallows and white-winged widow birds
roost in what remains.
A cattle herd moves in, the water browns again.
Another fishing line is cast from
gardens of domestic plants
which flank its sides, its water used
to quench them in dry season sun.
Activity slows finally at dusk
but not before a band of naked boys takes one last swim -
a white-backed duck dives
the monitor retreats
and purple heron leaves.
From all sides, it shrinks
How long before it dries?
How long before it's quiet?
Kihesa Kilolo Bwawa still lives.
27 May 2010
land's end
the yellow Earth with rifts, ridges, rims
painted by an evening sun
watered by a scattered rain
orange bison calves beckon to motherly grunts
their long limbs stiff from sleep
it's time to move.
ahead, the people gather predicting the grizzly's path
as her golden-tinged cubs wrestle and roll toward thick blue-green sage, almost camouflaged
and still ahead a gray wolf abandons an elk carcass
goldeneyes display on a quiet lake
whose water is tilled in V-shape
as a young beaver glides to pause at a log most distant from land's end
where for a moment
pausing is
the only thing to do.
painted by an evening sun
watered by a scattered rain
orange bison calves beckon to motherly grunts
their long limbs stiff from sleep
it's time to move.
ahead, the people gather predicting the grizzly's path
as her golden-tinged cubs wrestle and roll toward thick blue-green sage, almost camouflaged
and still ahead a gray wolf abandons an elk carcass
goldeneyes display on a quiet lake
whose water is tilled in V-shape
as a young beaver glides to pause at a log most distant from land's end
where for a moment
pausing is
the only thing to do.
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