Blue Out on Insta

Blue Out on Instagram: Support for Sudan through Social Media Awareness

Sudan Flag Sticker on a Car. pjbury. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Recently, a specific shade of blue has been popping up around Instagram in the form of profile pictures. This Blue Out was started by Instagram influencer Shahd (@hadyouatsalaam). She is a Sudanese-born, New York City-based activist—or how she likes to identify herself, “a political scientist by degree and a social media influencer by interest”, according to her recent Insta post, introducing herself to her new followers. 

Shahd created this movement for the sole purpose of raising awareness to what is currently going on in Sudan. Protests in Sudan began in December of last year, when there was a price-spike in basic commodities (i.e. bread). It was not until April 11th, after a mass, multi-day sit-in, that the Sudanese people did see the change they wished for. The current President, a man named Omar al-Bashir, and his party were being jailed or put on house arrest. The protestors believed this to be a victory. They were wrong. General Awad Ibn Auf, the Vice President, soon gave a televised statement explaining the new governmental system that was going to be put in place—one run by three separate military factions called the Transitional Military Council (TMC). He stated that they intended to remain in power for two years until the country could elect a new President, also claiming a three-month state of emergency and curfew. The people did not accept these conditions and in under 24 hours, Ibn Auf resigned and General Abdelfattah al-Burhaan become the new chairman.

Since General Abdelfattah al-Burhaan’s new appointment, negotiations between the people and the TMC have been chaotic. Once again being fed up, the Sudaneese people, with the people of the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), organized a mass strike from the 28th of May to the 29th. These strikes immediately became violent and the TMC used these mass demonstrations to portray the SPA in a vicious light. On June 3rd, government forces began shooting at the protestors which, reportedly, left 118 dead and many more injured. Since then, an Internet black out has been in place and thus sparked social media outcry.

But why should this matter to us? The answer is simple: because we have the power and the privilege of accessing the Internet with the capable means of shouting loud enough that somebody will listen. Over the past two weeks, because of the uproar on social media, there have been an influx of articles written about what is going on, how long it has been going on, what is the important information that we need to know about the revolution in Sudan. One Instagram user, Rachek Cargle (@rachel,cargle), with the help of “an incredible group of activists” has even composed a masterlist of articles ranging from immediate updates to fundraising efforts, according to her post that calls for any more information to add. 

Unfortunately, with the uproar, there have also been people who cruelly want to capitalize on the movement for clout reasons. Just last week, a post went viral that claimed for every re-post to a page or story, the originators of the account would donate meals to the Sudanese people. Very soon, the page was labeled as a hoax given curious peoples’ inquiries into how they would provide the food, where is the funding coming from, and other questions which the page either did not answer or gave vague responses to. From these instances, it is important to remember that when trying to get information out, there needs to be a more thorough and conscious effort on the part of other social media users to not just mindlessly click-and-post, but rather, do a quick search about what the post is, and then determine whether or not it is legitimate. 

Using the privilege we have—whether it be from simply having the means to repost an article or getting in contact with local government officials so they can talk about what is going on—is a butterfly-effect that will change how the Sudanese revolution will go. Being complacent or a bystander is just as harmful as supporting the violence because inaction is not action, inaction does not bring about change but lets things remain as they are, because they are not directly affecting us. I encourage those of you reading this article to look at the Instagram influencers I have mentioned as well as the hashtag #Iamsudanrevolution. There you will find countless posts, articles, links, and organizations that can inform you, help you, and guide you on how you can help. For immediate action, check out Cargle’s post which is a picture of protestors with SUDAN in bold, blue letters and the subtitle of Information & Support Round Up. There you will find the link to the master document which will provide the beginning of any information you want to know. 

I must repeat—acting as a bystander perpetuates the actions that are harming individuals because it is neglecting them the action they need. Use your privilege for something productive. 




OLIVIA HAMMOND is an undergraduate at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. She studies Creative Writing, with minors in Sociology/Anthropology and Marketing. She has travelled to seven different countries, most recently studying abroad this past summer in the Netherlands. She has a passion for words, traveling, and learning in any form. 



Forgotten, but not Gone: Zika’s Return to the Media

Earlier this week the Duchess Sussex of Meghan Markle canceled a trip to Zambia, citing exhaustion and concerns over the presence of Zika virus in the country. The Zika virus had been rather dormant in the media over the last year, all but vanishing in the wake of Trump speeches, trade wars, and Brexit. It had, however, remained a constant concern for those living in certain countries or traveling to them. Markle’s encounter with the Zika virus and the subsequent headlines have helped to push it back into public view, and once again, questions are being raised about its origin, transmission, and what is being done to fight it.

The Duchess of Sussex. Office of the Governor - General - GG.govt.nz. CC BY 4.0.

The Zika virus was first discovered in the Zika Forest in Uganda in 1947. The first recorded carriers were monkeys, but the forest was also home to over 70 species of mosquitoes, and they became the primary source of viral transmission. The disease was eventually discovered in humans in 1952, but for the most part remained confined to animals until 2007, when the first human outbreak was documented on the Island of Yap in the Federated States of Micronesia. In 2015, the virus made international headlines when Latin America and the Caribbean saw an explosion of human-related cases. As was the case in Africa, mosquitoes were the main culprits of transmission. However, in 2016, the virus saw a sharp decline in new cases, and with it a decline in news coverage.

Adults infected with Zika often display no symptoms. Those who do usually report mild fevers, rashes and muscle pain. The impact on unborn babies is far more devastating. Zika infections during pregnancy have resulted in miscarriages and babies being born with microcephaly, a condition in which a child's head is much smaller than it should be (Markle and husband Prince Harry had recently announced that they were expecting a child, and concern for the child’s welfare was thought to be Markle's main concern when she opted out of her trip to Zambia).

The Zika Virus is spread mainly through mosquito bites. James Gathany - https://phil.cdc.gov/phil/details.asp?pid=9257. Public Domain.

While a full-on cure for the virus remains elusive, health and government officials have been able to curb infections by going after the mosquitoes that carry and transmit the disease. In preparation for the 2016 Olympics in Rio de Janeiro, the Brazilian government launched a large-scale effort to fumigate the city for the insects, while in England a biotech company called Oxitec developed genetically modified mosquitoes, which, when released into the wild, would mate with infected mosquitoes and pass a gene on that would prevent those mosquitoes from reproducing. In the United States, The Centers for Disease Control made a point of advising those traveling to countries with high rates of infection to use insect repellants.

Microcephaly- a birth defect linked to the Zika virus. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Public Domain.

Many world issues persist despite the ebbing and flowing of news coverage. Though not the hot story it once was, the Zika virus is still a viable threat and will remain so until a vaccine is found. Those traveling to countries that have been deemed areas of risk should take all necessary precautions to prevent infection, or, like the Duchess of Sussex, simply the put the trip off until another time.


JONATHAN ROBINSON is an intern at CATALYST. He is a travel enthusiast always adding new people, places, experiences to his story. He hopes to use writing as a means to connect with others like himself. 

SOUTH AFRICA: Dinner in Khayelitsha

South African apartheid is frequently written off as a memory, something that ended decades ago. But from the start of my visit to South Africa, it became clear that the violence of that period has continued to bleed into the present, manifesting itself in clear racial and economic divides.

Residents walk through shacks in Cape Town's Khayelitsha township in this picture taken July 9, 2012.

I visited Cape Town in the summer of 2016. Cape Town is a city of contrasts—tall, imposing mountains cast shadows over clear blue seas, and seaside villas luxuriate only a few miles away from derelict townships.

These townships are the subject of this piece. Townships in South Africa are villages that remain from apartheid-era forced exoduses of non-white people, cast out of their homes and crammed into segregated areas.

These townships still stand today. They are mostly collections of mottled tin-roof shacks and cramped streets, and they are home to 38% of South Africa’s population of 18.7 million.

From the beginning of my arrival in South Africa, I was told by locals that the townships were unsafe, especially for outsiders. But one day, I returned to my flat in the town of Observatory and one of my roommates asked me if I wanted to visit one.

The visit would be hosted, she told me, by Dine With Khayelitsha, a program founded by four young township residents designed to foster communication between their communities and those outside. Dine With Khayelitsha started in March 2015, as part of a partnership with Denmark and Switerland intended on working as a fundraiser. It then grew and has now hosted over 100 dinners. Each dinner is attended by at least one of the founders, who assures the safe transportation of every participant.

Thanks to this organization, I found myself on a bus driving into one of the townships, and then I was suddenly in a house with a bunch of strangers, eating authentic South African beans and meat.

We arrived at the township’s president’s home, though she was not there—she was outside campaigning, and instead several locals were cooking the meal for the night.

I had come with my new friend, and among the other attendees were two Dutch women, an artist from Germany, a couple from France and Morocco, and a South African black woman. Noticeably absent were white native South Africans, a fact that we asked the hosts about. Apparently, South Africans themselves still persistently ostracize the townships, creating divisions between themselves and the poorer underside of their country.

Our hosts were a few young men from the townships. They had all attended college and one worked in IT and another in software engineering, and most of them also ran after school programs such as leadership and self-esteem workshops for township kids. They had started this organization in an effort to generate more dialogue among South Africans and to raise awareness and reduce stigma concerning the townships.

First, they asked us to discuss one act of kindness we’d performed recently. As night fell, the talk began to flow more easily.  We discussed the fact that so many kids from townships are forced to go through school and university, if they can make it that far, in order to get menial jobs that can support their families. For these kids, following their dreams is not an option, but it is rather an inconceivable luxury. One of the hosts said that he would love to run education programs for kids, but instead he had to become an engineer to support his family.

After dinner, as we were waiting for a bus to come pick us up, I asked one of the men if most people born into townships grow up wanting to escape, to find better lives. He told me that some did, but in his opinion, it is far more important to stay in the townships and to try to create a better life there. That’s what he had done; he’d gotten an education and a job and still lives in the townships, trying to create programs and to help uplift the state of the community.

I talked to another local who was a writer, and his eyes shone as he talked about how he can capture strange and vivid moments with words—and another who spoke passionately about his desire to hear stories from people all around the world. There was an undercurrent of kindness that seemed to link these people together that I have rarely seen; a desire to include others, to tell stories and to share parts of their lives, to not build walls but to rather create open streams of connection. To create rather than to destroy.

Conversations like this one cannot heal or make up for old wounds inflicted upon non-white people in South Africa—only physical reparations and policy changes can truly begin that process. But they are a step in the right direction—a step towards understanding that we are all part of the same global community, and the walls between us are really made of dust.

EDEN ARIELLE GORDON is a writer, musician, and avid traveler. She attends Barnard College in New York.

The Cape Town Water Crisis: Delaying Day Zero

In the Broadway musical Urinetown, people line up to use the toilet because a 20 year old drought has made private toilets a thing of the past. And when the protagonist rises up finally and allows unrestricted toilet use, the water supply completely evaporates. The final scenes ominously hint at more worrisome issues for the citizens, who, once concerned only with toilet use, most grapple with dying of thirst among other problems.

Although Urinetown is a satire, residents of Cape Town might see it as a scary prediction of their future if Day Zero arrives. As apocalyptical as it sounds, it does accurately embody the looming doomsday scenario: Day Zero is when the taps run dry. How? An unexpected three year drought, starting in 2014, drastically depleted the six dams that serve Cape Town. Whereas 20 years ago water management in Cape Town could rely on seasonal rainfall patterns and small conservation measures, it is now relying on unreliable rain and big changes.

Since Day Zero has been first predicted in early 2018, it has been continuously delayed. Projections now suggest Day Zero will occur in 2019. And in recent weeks, many are rejoicing in water returning to the dry dams. In the words of Anton Bedell, minister of Local Government, Environmental Affairs, and Development Planning:  “It’s…good to see Clanwilliam dam at 20.4%. A few weeks ago the dam was below 6%.” The other dams have reflected similar increases, but the relief is only temporary as the dams await more rain—if it will come.

Theewaterskloof dam in February 2018 (source: 2oceanvibes)

Waters return in early June (source: Storm Report)

The biggest assistance in delaying Day Zero is restrictions implemented on February 1st. The main restriction was the allowance of 50 liters, a little more than 13 gallons, of water per person. Comparatively, the average individual in the United States uses 80-100 gallons of water a day and the average family over 300 gallons a day.  The question of how Americans end up using so much illustrates just how little 13 gallons is for a Capetonian. For example, imagine the average bathroom break. A toilet flush requires at least 1.6 gallons with water efficient models, but if it is an older model it will need up to 4 gallons. Then you will wash your hands with about 3 gallons of water. Considering most people take at least four bathrooms breaks a day, that’s already 18.4 gallons used in one day (on a water efficient toilet): more than what one Capetonian is allowed in a single day.

So it is no wonder people are following the “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” rule and putting reminders in bathroom stalls around Cape Town. Even restaurant and bar washroom taps are shut off. But it is not just in the bathroom that changes are being made. Any use of municipal drinking water for irrigation, watering, hosing down paved surfaces, washing vehicles, or filling a private pool is not allowed. Agricultural users have to decrease water usage by 60% and commercial places by 45% compared to their pre-drought usage in 2015. And for residential units that use too much, you’ll face a fine or have to install water management devices.

And globally, Cape Town is a sign of the future. As population increases, especially in urban centers, water resources are straining to accommodate.  This is against a backdrop of climate changes that favor extreme weather events like frequent droughts. What might have worked in the past, is not necessarily the solution for the future.  California, Beijing, Sao Paulo, Jakarta, Mexico City are just some cities that may be the next unwilling host of Day Zero. And water shortages lead to other problems such as famine and violence. The International Panel on Climate Change predicts the Middle East and North Africa will face the most severe water shortage problems. And already, many Somalis have become climate change refugees—leaving their rural farms for the capital, Mogadishu, in hope of different sources of income with farming no longer possible. Millions more are projected in the years to come as climate change makes itself even more apparent.

It is a bleak picture, but subtle changes are happening as global leaders are becoming more aware of the looming water crisis. But we can also start at home with our own water usage. Maybe you don’t need to take a long bath after a hard day and use 36 gallons of water simply to unwind. Instead, take a quick shower and find something else to help you relax. The small changes might sound silly but it is the little things that matter as Capetonians will tell you.

 

TERESA NOWALK is a student at the University of Virginia studying anthropology and history. In her free time she loves traveling, volunteering in the Charlottesville community, and listening to other people’s stories. She does not know where her studies will take her, but is certain writing will be a part of whatever the future has in store.

Wild Africa

Leaving the urban setting and modern life behind, for 15 years I have been privileged to travel through some of the wildest regions left on our planet — compelled to capture the unique personalities and expressiveness of the magnificent wild animals of Africa. All in black and white, all part of one big family album.

My first meeting with Africa was like a thunderbolt.

There was a part of me that wanted to return to our roots, and Africa resonated with me like the animal instinct that lies deep within each of us. After travelling for thousands of miles, I always have this incredibly vibrant feeling of being in entirely unknown territory. Africa is always evolving, free, and wild... hugely wild.

Above: Lioness (2015)

Above: Hugs of lioness (2006)

Utterly disconnected from our urban environment, for more than fifteen years I have been drawn — mind, body and soul — to photograph the remarkable animals from this land of light and contrast.

Above: Cheetah before the rain (2006)

Above: Elephants and bird (2015)

I am constantly inspired by the sense of serenity and harmony between the natural landscapes and the diverse wildlife that roams these lands.

Everything is connected and the animals are totally adapted to their environment. I take photographs based on my gut instinct. For me, the thing that matters the most is the connection.

Above: Elephant, The road is closed (2015)

Above: Elephant crossing the river (2009)

I cannot stand strict pre-visualisation or procedures that lock people into pre-formatted ways of work. My conviction is never to prepare my shots. I prefer to be guided by luck, and to be inspired by the ever-changing spectacle of wildlife. Out in the field, I often work with a local guide who will drive the car while I concentrate on taking photos. It is very important to be utterly present in the moment, and not to be disturbed.

Opportunities in wildlife photography never come twice.

Above: Zebras crossing the river (2015)

Above: Rhinos quartet (2013)

For me, there is no difference between animals and humans in terms of photography technique. When I take a picture of a lion or a giraffe, I use exactly the same approach as when I photograph people. I try to capture something of the animal’s unique personality and expressiveness, as well as their strength and sense of freedom. I believe my pictures can create a connection between the animal and viewer, as the viewers discover a personality in these animals, and realise they have emotions too.

Above: Lion in the grass (2013)

Above: Two zebras (2004)

Above: Cheetah portrait (2013)

I am always filled with a great sense of tranquility and happiness when I leave the urban setting and modern life behind — travelling for weeks on end through some of the wildest regions left on our planet.

For me, there is nothing more powerful than the strength and beauty of Nature, and yet, at the same time, it is very fragile and precarious.

Above: Elephants crossing the plain (2013)

Above: Giraffe in harmony with their natural setting (2013)

Today, the fall of wildlife in Africa and elsewhere is disastrous.

I cannot know if we will discover more effective methods to halt or reverse this devastating change. However, I choose to hope and believe that we can. I believe that people are fed up with shocking images of destruction, poaching and deforestation — and yet it is of grave importance that we share these images, as we must all know what is happening on our planet. I don’t know exactly how photography can help preserve our wild ecosystems, but I feel proud when people experience my images and understand that these animals are just as ‘human’ as we are — with a personality, and a family.

Above: Lion, The small one (2013)

I believe that we must have a sincere conscience for our fellow animals, and the devastating impact our species is having on so many of them. We must open our minds and hearts to the fact that we all part of a living, breathing planet, and recognise that we are just one piece of this wonder.

We must leave more space, more life, for all the other species, because we will not survive their extinction. It is humanity’s greatest challenge.

* * *

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA

LAURENT BAHEUX

I am a self-taught French photographer inspired by the soul of nature and wildlife. I express this only in Black and White, like a big Family Album. www.laurentbaheux.com

 

The Lion Guardians

With human-wildlife conflict on the rise in East Africa, the hunt for a long-term, viable conservation solution is on. From conservancies that benefit the Maasai landowners, to the transformation of their young warriors into lion protectors, to “predator-proofing” livestock, a massive cultural shift is underway.

DAWN IS JUST BREAKING WHEN KAMUNU SAITOTI SETS OUT ACROSS THE AMBOSELI BUSH IN SEARCH OF LIONS.

On first glance, he appears much like any other Maasai warrior. Lean and tall, his dark red shuka is wrapped around his torso and waist concealing his only weapon, a long knife with a simple wooden handle. Brightly colored beads adorn Saitoti’s neck, ears, forearms, and ankles, and his feet, far more weathered than the rest of his body, are only partially covered by dusty sandals fashioned from discarded car tires.

“I killed my first lion when I was 21,” Saitoti says as he scans the horizon. In all, he has killed five lions. This, he says, was an integral part of his family history, part of being raised as a moran, a Maasai warrior. “My brother and father have also killed lions.”
 

A male lion surveys his territory on the outskirts of Masai Mara National Reserve.

Traditional Maasai beads adorn Saitoti’s ankles.

The Maasai are traditionally a nomadic people subsisting almost exclusively on the milk, blood, and meat of cattle grazed on East Africa’s vast rangeland, once home to endless numbers of wild animals.
In the past, lion killing for the Maasai was as much about cultural tradition as it was about protecting their livestock from predators. To hunt and kill a lion was a critical right of passage known as olamayio — the way in which all young Maasai males became men. The tradition also created a powerful connection between warriors and lions, with each young moran receiving a lion name after his first successful hunt. Saitoti’s lion name, Meiterienanka, means “one who is faster than all the others.”

But traditions are beginning to change. On this day, in place of a spear, Saitoti carries a radio telemetry kit. He unfolds the antenna in a manner suggesting he has done this countless times before, and looks around in search of a hill — not an easy task in a landscape as flat as this. He settles for the remnants of an abandoned termite mound and begins to scan for a signal. Once he has a sense of the direction the signal is coming from, he packs away the kit and begins walking, dust trailing his brisk march along the well-used track.
 

Standing on the remains of an old termite mound, Lion Guardian Kamunu Saitoti scans for a signal. A number of the lions in the area have been fitted with radio collars.

For the next three hours, Saitoti stops only to look for signs of lions, or to talk to herders. Most tracks he sees are too old to bother with, but as the sun nears its zenith, he finds a set that elicits visible excitement — a departure from his otherwise solemn demeanor. These are the tracks of lion cubs, young ones, and very fresh. Patience, however, will be required here. The narrow trail leads into a maze of dense shrubs, and that is no place to follow a lioness with cubs — even for someone as experienced as Saitoti is.

At 36, Saitoti is a seven-year veteran, and one of Kenya’s three regional coordinators, of an organization called Lion Guardians. Established in 2007, the program is dedicated to finding ways for Maasai and lions to coexist. At its core is a shift in the relationship between the moran and the lion:

Hunters have become protectors. This profound change in perspective is a critical component of East Africa’s lion conservation efforts.
But the Guardians have a lot of ground to cover — just 45 Maasai warriors patrol a million acres of Kenyan rangelands — and human-wildlife conflict is a bigger problem than one organization, or one approach, can solve.
 

Lion Guardian Kamunu Saitoti takes meticulous notes about his observations, including GPS readings of animal tracks.

Lion Guardians is just one of a number of small- and medium-sized efforts by government officials, NGOs, and locals to reduce human-wildlife conflicts in Kenya and elsewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa. As human populations in the region have exploded, consuming increasing amounts of wildlife habitat in the process, the numbers of some of the region’s most iconic and important species have been in steep decline. Populations of many of Kenya’s large herbivores have fallen by 70 to 90 percent since the late 1970s. And as their prey have become more scarce, so too have lions.

Scientists estimate that lion populations have fallen by more than 40 percent in the past 20 years, and the 20,000 or so wild lions that remain in Africa occupy just 8 percent of the species’ historical range.
In many ways, the need for such intervention has never been greater. Yet, in a region where droughts are common and famine is never completely out of sight, finding a path toward peaceful coexistence between herders and the predators that hunt their livestock will require a great deal of persistence, creativity, and a shift in how the region’s wildlife is valued.
 

For most Maasai, the response to finding a leopard in your goat pen, surrounded by several slain goats, would be simple and quick: Kill the leopard. There would be no repercussions, as Kenya’s wildlife laws allow citizens to dispatch so-called problem animals. One particular young male leopard, who like his mother before him, had been terrorizing the small village of Ngerende, was certainly a good fit for that description.

Known to a number of neighboring communities for years, he had already killed hundreds of goats — losses that are keenly felt in what is one of Kenya’s poorest regions, and a hotbed of human-wildlife conflict. With the leopard’s paw now caught in the fencing of a traditional pen, or boma, as livestock enclosures are called, it seems there can be only one possible outcome. But the owner of this particular boma, Mark Ole Njapit, is no ordinary Maasai.
 

Mark Ole Njapit, who also known as “Pilot,” is a respected elder in the Masaai community of Ngerende.

“I understand the value of wildlife for the future of our people,” says Njapit (48), a Ngerende community elder known by most as “Pilot.”

“Everyone here was very upset and wanted to spear the leopard, but I calmed them down and called KWS (the Kenya Wildlife Service).” Fortunately for the leopard, KWS officers were treating some elephants nearby and responded quickly. After tranquilizing the cat, they were able to cut him free and move him to a new area where he would be less likely to get into trouble.

That was six months ago. Today, Pilot is supervising as members of his village work in partnership with the Anne K. Taylor Fund (AKTF) — an organization working to reduce human-wildlife conflicts  — to  construct his new boma.

Workers stretch out the chain-link fencing for Pilot’s new ‘boma.’ The process typically takes two days, one for setting the posts in cement, and another for attaching the fencing.

The enclosure that the AKTF team is building is formidable, with welded corner posts interspersed with termite-proof eucalyptus timber poles, all set in concrete. The chain-link fence is stretched tight, seven feet above ground and another foot buried in the soil; the fence is designed to be virtually impossible for a predator to push over, climb, or dig beneath. (While a leopard could easily scale a similar-sized fence constructed entirely of wood, they tend to avoid chain-link fencing.) Today, after more than two years and nearly a hundred of the latest iteration of AKTF bomas constructed, the program’s record remains intact: Not a single livestock animal protected by one of these enclosures has been killed by a wild predator.
 

Members of Pilot’s family stand at the gate of his newly constructed predator-proof ‘boma,’ just a few miles from the edge of the Masai Mara National Reserve.

The effectiveness of the new bomas means that they are in high demand among the locals. And while AKTF doesn’t normally work in villages as far north as Ngerende, when Pilot reached out, the program’s construction director, Felix Masaku, decided to make an exception. “Here is a man whose small village loses maybe ten goats a week choosing not to kill the leopard that is doing much of that damage. That is very unusual, and it is important to support this man so others might follow his example.”

In general, AKTF prioritizes cases in which livestock losses have been greatest. “This is about conservation and co-existence,” Masaku continues. “We want to minimize conflict and retaliatory killings. If someone is losing five goats and two cows every week, that person is more likely to try to kill predators than someone who loses maybe one goat a month.”
 

A traditional ‘boma’ that has been constructed of wood and thorny branches.

By reducing the vulnerability of livestock to predation, this program and others like it aim to reduce, if not eliminate, retaliatory killings, known as olkiyioi. This practice poses a grave threat to lions in particular, especially when angry cattle owners turn to poison rather than spears with the intention of wiping out entire prides of lions. In recent years, there have been a number of high-profile killings. For example, several members of the Marsh pride (of BBC Big Cat Diary fame) were deliberately poisoned in the Masai Mara National Reserve (MMNR) in 2015, and six lions, including two cubs, were speared to death outside Nairobi National Park in early 2016.

One troubling detail about the slaughter of the Marsh pride members is that it was carried out by Maasai seeking revenge for cattle killed while being grazed illegally inside the reserve. This practice is not uncommon. In fact, a paper published in the Journal of Zoology in 2011 estimated that by the early 2000s, livestock made up 23 percent of the MMNR’s mammal biomass — up from a mere 2 percent a few decades earlier. Today, this figure greatly exceeds that of any resident wildlife species in the protected area with the exception of buffalo. This is as much a sign of declining wildlife populations as it is of human incursions into the reserve, and it underscores significant challenges both in terms of protecting livestock and preventing human-wildlife conflicts.

As Anne Taylor, the founder of AKTF, put it:

“Inside the bomas is one thing, but keeping cattle or livestock safe if they are literally brought into the lions’ den is virtually impossible.”
 

Wildebeest pause before crossing the Sand River. While the Masai Mara’s resident wildebeest are all but gone, their numbers decimated primarily by agricultural expansion, each year, more than a million cross the border from Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park.

For many Maasai today, lions and other predators have become an expensive nuisance at best, and a source of deep-seated resentment at worst. In general, this resentment is not directed toward the predators themselves, but toward a government — and the world at large — which often appears to place more value on the big cats (and the tourism dollars they generate) than on Maasai lives and livelihoods.

National parks and reserves cover a mere 8 percent of Kenya’s land area and support only a third of its wildlife. The remaining two-thirds of the country’s wild animals inhabit private and communal rangelands. This is land that they share with the Maasai, Samburu, and other pastoral people who have been here for thousands of years. Many think it is here, outside of the parks and reserves, that the future of Kenya’s wildlife will be decided.

According to a recent report co-authored by Panthera, WildAid, and the Wildlife Conservation Research Unit, loss of habitat due to agricultural expansion, which invariably pushes wildlife into closer contact with farmers and pastoralists, is the underlying factor of all major threats that lions face.
 

To many, the conversion of unprotected rangelands to agriculture might seem inevitable as the region’s population grows, but Calvin Cottar, a fourth-generation Kenyan whose great-grandfather emigrated from Iowa in 1915 and today runs a safari service in partnership with the Maasai community, disagrees. According to Cottar, it all comes down to economic security.

“We are talking about some of the world’s poorest people,” Cottar says. “For them it is about survival.

“Why should we expect them to care about lions or elephants when they are struggling to put food on the table ... Wildlife is costing them money, not earning them money, and that is what has to change.”
 

Calvin Cottar is presented with a goat as a token of appreciation for building Olpalagilagi Primary School, as well as funding salaries and meals. In the long run, the hope is that land lease fees will enable locals to fund their own projects, bringing greater autonomy.

Toward this end, while working with the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS), the Cottars Wildlife Conservation Trust has initiated the formation of several district wildlife associations in an attempt to help local landowners acquire ownership rights to the wildlife residing on their lands. Because all wild animals in Kenya have historically been considered property of the state, benefits to the local communities that have to co-exist with these creatures have generally been few and far between.

Now in his 50s, Cottar says there is much more to be done. He is more convinced than ever that the future of Kenya’s wildlife lies with the people sharing the land with them — and with a shift in government policy.

“It’s really quite simple,” Cottar explains. “We all have to pay for ecosystem services. Pay the Maasai landowners a monthly lease for their land in return for leaving it intact. The problem is that wildlife has no value to them, whereas cattle and commercial agriculture do.”

While removing snares, building livestock enclosures, and monitoring lion populations are all important management practices, Cottar says, they don’t solve the root cause of human-wildlife conflict. Wild animals are basically a nuisance and a liability to the Maasai, he explains.

“We have to make maintaining wildlife the most productive land use, and do this in a way that respects the Maasai lifestyle and culture.”
 

Local schoolchildren perform a traditional Maasai dance to open proceedings at a meeting hosted by Olpalagilagi Primary School.

That is why Cottar now finds himself sitting in a circle with perhaps 50 Maasai — young and old, men and women. The topic for discussion, just as it has been for the last three years, is the formation of the Olderkesi Conservancy, on the land where Cottar’s safari camp currently stands.

In general, the conservancy model consists of land being leased directly from its owners for conservation purposes. Olderkesi is slightly different in that the 100,000-hectare ranch is yet to be subdivided, making it the last communally owned ranch left in Kenya. As a result, the land will be leased from a trust representing all 6,000 land owners, and because the agreement involves the Maasai, complete consensus is required before anything can be signed. In Maasailand, patience is not so much a virtue as an absolute necessity.
 

Members of the Maasai community meet at Olpalagilagi Primary School to discuss the formation of the Olderikesi Wildlife Conservancy.

Joining Cottar in the circle is one of the community’s most respected elders, Kelian Ole Mbirikani (58), a member of the Olderkesi Land Committee and Chairman of the Olentoroto land owners group, which holds the deeds to the land immediately surrounding Cottar’s safari camp. Mbirikani is also one of the key driving forces behind the conservancy initiative.

“The Maasai depend almost completely on their cattle,” Mbirikani explains, “so convincing them that it is possible to have both wildlife and livestock at the same time is our biggest challenge. In their experience, when land is set aside for wildlife, all of the cattle disappear. That’s what national parks do.”
 

Kelian Ole Mbirikani, a member of the Olderkesi Land Committee and Chairman of the Olentoroto land owners group, with his cattle. 

Mbirikani is convinced the conservancy concept can work, though. He and a group of other Maasai traveled with Cottar recently to conservancies as far north as Samburu. There, they saw wildlife and met landowners who are still able to graze their cattle. “The people are really benefitting,” Mbirikani says. “Their children are being educated all through university level with the money from the conservancies. That is what we want for our people, too.”
 

The AKTF team spend much of their time searching for and removing snares from inside the Masai Mara National Reserve. Although the snares are set primarily to catch herbivores they are indiscriminate killers, also trapping lions, leopards, and other predators.

There are nine other conservancies around the MMNR, and a handful more in other parts of the country, which all make regular, direct payments to local landowners. Similar approaches have been employed by Wilderness Safaris in Namibia and the Nature Conservancy in the United States, among others, and while none can be said to offer financial benefits on the same scale as Olderkesi, Cottar is clearly not alone in seeing this as a promising solution.
 

The snares displayed here by the members of the AKTF anti-poaching team were found during a single morning’s patrol in the Masai Mara National Reserve.

Indeed, two studies published last year demonstrate the effectiveness of Kenya’s conservancy approach. According to one of these assessments, despite lack-luster political support conservancies managed to achieve “direct economic benefits to poor landowner households, poverty alleviation, rising land values, and increasing wildlife numbers.” The other study saw a direct positive effect on lion populations within Kenya’s conservancies, with a nearly three-fold increase in just ten years.

However, while these results seem promising, there will always be areas outside conservancy boundaries — borderlands and buffer zones — where human-wildlife conflict are bound to continue. There is simply not enough funding to expand conservancies enough to eliminate these conflict zones.

The question, then, is whether people can learn to co-exist with lions and other wildlife even when there is no monthly payment to be collected.
 

Lion Guardian and accomplished tracker Kamunu Saitoti keeps a lookout.

BACK IN THE BUSH, KAMUNU SAITOTI WAITS PATIENTLY, HOPING TO GLIMPSE THE NEW LION CUBS WHEN THEY FINALLY EMERGE FROM THE THICKET.

He has been joined by a younger Lion Guardian, Kikanai Ole Masarie, and not long after, a battered Land Cruiser arrives with one of the organization’s founders, Director of Science Stephanie Dolrenry. The two warriors pile into the vehicle and they all set off in search of the cubs. “These lions are not like those in the parks,” Dolrenry explains. “There’s no tourism here, so they are not habituated to people or cars. We’ll be lucky if we find them at all. They can be extremely shy, especially with young cubs.”

But this is a lucky day, it seems. With thorny acacia bushes screeching against the glass and metal of the bouncing vehicle, the team suddenly finds itself in a veritable crowd of cats. Dolrenry, like the Guardians, is able to identify them all. Mere meters from the car, Meoshi, her three cubs, and her mother, Selenkay, lounge in the shade. A few dozen paces away, but on their way to join them, Meoshi’s sister Nenki with her own four cubs. Much smaller than Meoshi’s, these were the young lions whose tracks Saitoti was following. This is the first time anyone has laid eyes on this new generation.
 

The team’s first sighting of lioness Nenki’s four young cubs.

“Selenkay is a bit of a celebrity around here,” Dolrenry says. “She causes problems like no other lion, but she’s a tough one, and it’s hard not to admire her.” Saitoti nods. Selenkay is his favorite lion — her guile and tenacity are something to be respected. She and her family frequently target cattle and are well known for giving the Guardians plenty of headaches. She has been hunted more times than anyone cares to remember. One of her sisters has fallen victim to poison, and so too has one of her mates, while another sister was killed by spear. She has endured three male takeovers, and has even attacked a Maasai moran to protect her young cubs. Like the owners of the livestock she frequently kills, Selenkay is a true warrior.

Yet Selenkay’s legacy is far greater than her own reputation. Her longevity, itself the result of the unyielding commitment of Saitoti, Masarie, and the other Guardians, combined with the growing tolerance of the Maasai inhabiting these rangelands, has helped to connect populations in vital conservation areas, and has added much-needed genetic diversity to established prides in the region. One of her sons has made it as far north as Nairobi National Park where he is now breeding successfully.
 

A pair of male lions seeks respite from the heat in the shade of a tree.
 

Saitoti did not become a Guardian because he loved lions. Instead, he was in trouble and needed a job. Arrested for being part of an illegal hunt, his father had to sell three cows to have him released on bail. That made him reconsider his path. Killing lions, despite bringing prestige and honor, also brought hardship. “For the first two years my feelings about lions were the same,” Saitoti says. “This was just a job. But slowly, things began to change. They give food for my family, they help educate my children, I even buy veterinary medicine for my cattle with my salary from the lions.”
 

Lion Guardian Kikanai Ole Masarie celebrates the sighting of lioness Nenki’s cubs with a fresh cup of tea. Note the Lion Guardians symbol hung around his neck, alongside his traditional handmade Maasai beads.

“And we still get the girls!” Masarie chips in with a broad smile, referring to the social status that killing lions — and, more recently, protecting lions — can bring to an eligible young Maasai man. At 24, he is part of a younger generation of Guardians, and his words are significant, as they hint at an ability for long-held Maasai beliefs and traditions to change. “The other warriors mostly stay at home, but here we are, close to the lions every day, tracking them and finding lost cattle. The girls know we must be very brave!”

Saitoti smiles and continues, “For me, now, I feel there is no difference between the lions and my cows at home. I care about them equally.”
 

LEARN HOW YOU CAN HELP TODAY

The success of conservancies like Olderkesi, supported by Cottars Wildlife Conservation Trust, indicates their importance as long-term viable solutions for conservation in partnership with the landowners themselves, the Maasai people. Explore more about other Masai Mara Conservancies here.

The Lion Guardians organisation have been conserving lions and preserving cultures since 2007. Learn more about their work and donate to support them at lionguardians.org. The 750 predator-proof bomas constructed by the Anne K. Taylor Fund have saved many lives and you can learn more and support their work at annektaylorfund.org. I hope you will join me in supporting the work of these dedicated organisations!

 

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA. 

 

MARCUS WESTBERG

Marcus Westberg is a a Swedish photographer, writer, conservationist, and guide working primarily in Sub-Saharan Africa.