Negotiating in the cool shade of Miombo woodlands

It’s hot. Of course it is, we’re driving into a very remote region of Zambia, mid October and with no aircon. After leaving the hectic crossroads of Lusaka, getting stopped for speeding on a road we’d been guaranteed would have no speeding officers (though thankfully by some strike of luck, Bruce recognised the police officer from his hometown in Choma, asked how the family was, chatted a bit and off we went), we arrived in Mumbwa under the chimes of the local minaret and car horns blaring at the overcrowded fuel station. Diesel, it seemed, was a rare commodity these days. Our host met us at the corner of the Petrol Station, and we gladly drove away from the honking serpent that had formed magnificently from the array of hot metal and rubber stretching far down the roads. 

Fairly quickly, we took a left onto what looked like vague terrain. It was, in fact, a small dirt road, meandering through settlements, huts and shacks. Soon enough, as we left Mumbwa behind in a cloud of bright orange dust, the dirt road widened, deepened, and it became clear we wouldn’t see tar for a while. It was like driving through a continuous pit of deep, thin ochre particles. The dilemma was terrible: to keep windows open and have everything coated in dirt, save for the area behind sunglasses, or close them to avoid eating dust and sweat into a puddle of nothingness? (did I mention we had no aircon?).

I tried to compromise, with little success. 

It appeared, however, that this was a ‘shortcut’ to reach another main road - of dirt - but a main road nonetheless, with a firmness to it that meant we could breathe freely once more. From there, it would perhaps take another 2 hours to reach camp, on the banks of the mighty Kafue River. The idea of a flowing body of water seemed exceptionally foreign to me in that particular instant. My black travel clothes were very much out of place, and I snatched the first pair of shorts I could find in my bag. Less than 24 hours after leaving my cats for the airport, it was time to activate bush mode.

For we were driving through a very raw, some would call it ‘real’ perhaps, part of Africa. The de-romanticised, often uncomfortable, dusty, sticky, dirty, populated Africa. Where human-nature conflict is a continuous battle that often never bodes well for the latter... Driving past realities that could seem so foreign to a Londoner, or anyone unfamiliar to what poverty really is; but realities that constantly affirm and reaffirm the challenges that lay ahead. How do we fit continuously steeping human demographics in an ecosystem that is already strained and degraded ? That struggles to be reduced any further? More tourists should see this, I tell myself every time. Instead of flying into a romantic, wild Africa, they should drive past villages and huts and settlements. There is no wild - just humans, fences and nature. Or else, there is a wild, that is present everywhere. In and out. But the wild as we see it exists only in nature documentaries and films made to enchant and inspire. 

After a short stop for an introduction to His Royal Highness Chief Kaindu, we advanced towards the Royal Kafue Concession. A herd of 40 sable greeted us in the distance, elephants in camp at our arrival. Later during our stay, we came across a pack of 19 healthy wild dogs - all unregistered and known to virtually no-one. Sitatunga, Roan, large buffalo herds, lions calling at night…it’s hard to imagine what the state of the land was decades ago, as we sipped sundowners, enthralled by the pink hues left by the blazing red orb that had just disappeared behind the river. Pukus boldly grazing all over the floodplain, quite unfazed by our presence. 15 000 hectares of diverse landscapes - woodlands, forest savannah, floodplain, river - making a comeback nothing short of superb. 

Managed in part by Andrew Baldry, this piece of land located in the Kaindu district reflects a deep rooted communication practice between all major stakeholders. 10 years ago, the concession, devoid of any wildlife, hosted thousands of people, crops struggled to grow on its degraded lands  - a story that could hold true in many parts of Africa. And yet the processes that led to the re-wilding of Royal Kafue, making it what it is today, go against everything we can imagine to be the key to life: hunting. 

The Hunt f/or Survival

‘Hunting is these animals’ best chance’. One would almost like to add ‘discuss’ at the end of this statement (or maybe it’s just me). A recurrent phrase, often heard, both during my time in the Kafue and over the years - a claim that has always seemed quite provocative and somewhat of a paradox. Though it is perhaps a prime example of how perspective is key, both here and in any discussion. For we are only discussing - and this is just a glimpse into an exceptionally complex topic. 

Effectively, those unfamiliar with the long standing debate existing with and amongst the hunting industry will see that hunters often claim they bring vital support to conservation: permits cost gargantuan amounts, which are funnelled back into conservation-led sustainable development. Thus, the idea behind big game hunting is grounded within the practice of conservation - animals that become solitary/ sick/ old / dangerous can and will have permits issued for their hunt, auctioned off at thousands of dollars, dollars that then supposedly become prime conservation money.

Except that things don’t always happen in the very straightforward, theoretical way it does on paper. Many argue that there are too many gaps and opposing hypotheses within science to ascertain a sound policy for sustainable hunting, particularly in the matter of large carnivores - the impacts of their hunts on ecosystems are yet to be fully understood (1). Aside from various moral and ethical considerations that one may have, we must remember that this is Africa, and that corruption is a reality. A few studies have thus shown that hunting can do more harm than good, particularly in nations where corruption is high (2). If the animal with a target on its head (or, depending on the country,  if it fits within the requirements of the hunting quota) is not found, then hunters should go home with nothing - a safari is a gamble and hunting is no different. And yet it seems not all take their losses. Animals are not constrained to National Park borders, they move and migrate across lands - it’s what they do, it’s what they’ve always done. So protected animals mingle with others that have their territories ranging out of manmade borders. If not without risk, movement is crucial, for it allows diversity of the gene pool. Sadly, this is how the famous lion Cecil, a resident lion in Hwange National Park (Zimbabwe) monitored by the University of Oxford for research purposes, died not too long ago after he had travelled out of the park onto a neighbouring farm. His hunter claimed he did not recognise the cat as Cecil, yet the damage was done. Sadly, this also how many other young bulls, or unsuspecting breeding males - of all species - in their prime end up shot.

Nonetheless, a paper published in Conservation Biology explored the hypothesis that in areas less impressive, bearing little to no tourism appeal (as opposed to the Masai Mara for instance), hunting and its high wages could be a way to ensure sufficient revenue be generated and invested into communities, funding scouts to patrol the area along the way(3). It seems to be a ‘better than nothing’ solution, for the speed at which man is taking over wild lands and drying it of wildlife is astounding. The study looked at hunting policies in Zambia, a country with highly depleted wildlife areas, concluding the country had been doing well in its effort to compensate for its lack of non-consumptive tourism appeal. The Zambian GMA system has indeed been praised as virtuously using hunting for conservation. Game Management Areas (GMAs) are government owned buffer zones between parks and communities that authorise consumptive activities. Though they are public stretches of land, a lease is issued out to hunters who are in charge of supervising the protection and gestion of the concession, issuing hunting permits to locals and tourists alike. These GMAs function as a revolving fund and administrative project whereby revenues from trophy hunting are directly invested into local wildlife management and community development schemes. Which does not explicitly say that it goes into community pockets - especially since poaching is such a contributor to the depletion of GMAs. If the money did trickle down in a way that compensated for income and goods derived from poaching, perhaps one could expect to find more game within some of the GMAs - as the need to poach would be less. And so once again, we find ourselves at a loss in the hunting discussion, its sustainability seemingly highly promising in theory only - until tangible results in isolated cases make us rethink and critique our approach again and again. Critical thinking at its finest. 

The authors from the ‘Trophy Hunting and Wildlife Conservation in Zambia’ paper recommended a certification scheme moving forward, whereby hunting is enacted by management principles grounded in science, quotas strictly monitored, and where trophy meats be distributed to the local population, securing ownership and benefit recognition between both. So far, Andrew Baldry and his joint-venture with the Kaindu community seem to be faring pretty well on that side of the hunting deal. To secure the existence of the reserve, the lease agreement requires the singataries to pay thousands of dollars a year to Chief Kaind nd his people,, hunting being an easy guarantee to ensure this. Communities can fish, and consume the bushmeat from some of the hunts. And though the Royal Kafue shareholders seek to put an end to the practice, transitioning to non-consumptive activities as sole income generator with a project named Kafue Eco Ventures, we must remember that in doing so, they now compete with Africa’s entire photographic and adventure destinations. One can only hope that this secluded slice of paradise will succeed in its very honourable mission to find viable alternatives to hunting.

There is no black or white, and it seems that extremely monitored and strictly low quotas for consumptive activities, fitting within a framework of discussion and community support in very localised - and perhaps non-government owned - parts of Africa can indeed be better than nothing. Particularly when it it seems obvious that for now, hunting will certainly not be going anywhere - though whether it should is definitely a discussion to be had, for another time. However, it remains clear that regardless of the practice at bay, working with communities to secure their part of ownership and benefits is key. 

Talk, talk…and more talk. 

It’s taken 10 years of constant discussion, negotiation, collaboration between the concession leaseholders and Kaindu residents for this project to reap its benefits. According to a government statement released in 2019, Zambia has 55 100km2 of degraded lands (4) - lands considered to be much less productive and nutrient rich. Increases in the surface of lands now under agricultural activities, one of the main causes for deforestation, have accelerated the degradation process, amplifying effects of drought - particularly vicious in the last two years in Zambia (5). And so with population increasing, lands degrading, trees disappearing and rainless seasons, the hunt for survival is very much on. Working with communities has never been more important. 

About 20 years ago, a term coined ‘Milking the Rhino’ emerged in a very isolated part of Northern Kenya. A Maasai community - the Il Laikpiak - decided to take a leap of faith, and set aside 80% of their land for conservation . Today, this group ranch, called Il Ngwesi, meaning People of Wildlife, is a successful 100% community owned and managed operation. We must remember that the Maasai are not traditionally conservationists. Their nomadic ways of life intertwining nature and culture date far back, long before the formalisation of conservation within the Western world’s science. But formal practices in the name of science that were then embedded within the colonial rule. Narratives supporting pristine gardens of Eden, preventing people and wildlife from living together suddenly meant that nomadic herding of cattle was severely affected (6). Restrictions in movement and evictions from native lands (such as the Serengeti-Mara ecosystem) were not accompanied by shifts in traditional values, like those linked to cattle. Which meant that as herds grew, and tribes became more and more sedentary, the land started to face increasing pressures each year (7). Exacerbated by droughts, inter-tribal conflict and later armed attacks on farmers, the future of these degraded rangelands seemed unclear. Until talks and talks ensued, day after day, between elders both Maasai and neighbouring mzungus, before the Il Laikpiak Maasai took their leap of faith to try and ‘milk the rhino’ rather than cows. For Maasai, whose word life ‘engkishui’ comes from the word cow ‘eng’kombe’, accepting to reduce herd numbers whilst letting wildlife roam freely on their lands was a dramatic shift. In the words of Kip Ole Polos, the community chairman, it was ‘a way for us to bring Maasai culture into the 21st century, and preserve only the good parts of it’. Cultural shifts are tremendously powerful - some often very uncomfortable to ignite. And yet we must all take part in these adaptations, regardless of our cultures and backgrounds. Perhaps one of the greatest shifts of all lies in the way the West lives, the way it has became a model for developing countries and the way that humans populate the earth. 

But I digress. Today, the Il Laikipiak Maasai have rhinos returning to their land - creatures that were believed to be extinct by some members of the community. Poaching is punished by social exclusion, or worse, and the members of Il Ngwesi are terribly proud of their wildlife. For it is these animals, now, that bring new sources of milk - tourism, international attention, visibility. My good friend Dixon Ropot once told me ‘I prefer watching the herds of elephants now, much more than I do my cattle’. It amazed me that a shift that had occurred for instrumental reasons - survival and development - had perhaps become intrinsic as well.  Elinor Ostrom’s neo-institutionalistic theory for governance at grassroot levels is in full works within this community (8).

Ownership of a project is perhaps one of the single most important components for its safeguard - but we must remember that ownership is inherently complex in itself, and does not guarantee an automatic success of said project, at least not on its own (9). Within the community, ownership perceived by various groups (for a community is not a homogenous entity) is often different to that of those who manage the projects and hold power. Thus, ensuring that benefits seep back within all, or most, of the community is crucial for effective project management (8) . Roles are often guided by community dynamics (gender, age, tradition, status, lineage…) that must be understood before investing millions into a project (10). Communities are not one entity, they all have power dynamics at play, regardless of size and scale.

Concluding thoughts

I bring up cultural shifts in Kenya because Zambia is no different. Communities and tribes that have engaged for centuries in rapports with the land within a set of environmental conditions quite different to those of today. Less fences, less droughts, less degraded soils, more forests, more freedom. In the light of any form of development practice, ownership and recognition of values in said practice are perhaps some of the key elements to look out for. We protect what we value, after all. This therefore implies working with communities to collaborate on the use of the land in a way that hopefully will let it recover, as the Maasai did in Laikpia and as Royal Kafue and the Kaindu community seem to be doing. Until children are not fed, the fight to preserve wildlife and ecosystem diversity is all but useless. 

And so we must talk. Sit in the shade of Miombo or Mango trees, and discuss, consult, talk, explain, communicate. A process that can be as slow and as frustrating as our drive back to Mumbwa in first gear - our speedometer surrendered to the potholes - but that is inevitable if we want to move forward.

Cultural shifts and communication are perhaps of two the most transferable processes - they can relavant to any culture and scenario. For a relationship to work, one must adapt their cultural upbringing and references to fit that of the other’s. Failure to communicate, be it on matters of issues or happiness, is as problematic as allowing problems to build up without addressing them. Conservation very much works in the ways relationships do - and for that matter, so too does any dynamic bringing people together. 

Bibliography:

1. Treves, Adrian. “Hunting for Large Carnivore Conservation.” Journal of Applied Ecology, vol. 46, no. 6, 2009, pp. 1350–1356. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25623126. Accessed 10 Dec. 2020.

2. Hall, Jane. “Cecil the Lion Died Amid Controversy—Here's What's Happened Since”. National Geographic, 2018, [online] https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2016/06/cecil-african-lion-anniversary-death-trophy-hunting-zimbabwe/ Accessed 4 December. 2020.

3.  Dale M. Lewis and Alpert, Peter. “Trophy Hunting and Wildlife Conservation in Zambia.” Conservation Biology, vol. 11, no. 1, 1997, pp. 59–68. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2387276. Accessed 4 Dec. 2020.

4. Jere, Joshua. "Zambia Has 55,100 Sq.Km Of Degraded Land". Znbc.Co.Zm. 2019. https://www.znbc.co.zm/news/zambia-has-55100-sq-km-of-degraded-land/.

5. "COUNTRY FOREST NOTE: ZAMBIA TOWARDS A SUSTAINABLE WAY OF MANAGING FOREST". World Bank Group. 2019. http://documents1.worldbank.org/curated/en/571651580133910005/pdf/Zambia-Country-Forest-Note-Towards-a-Sustainable-Way-of-Managing-Forest.pdf.

6. Neumann, Roderick P. "Ways of Seeing Africa: Colonial Recasting of African Society and Landscape in Serengeti National Park." Ecumene 2, no. 2 (1995): 149-69. Accessed December 14, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44251756.

7. Homewood, Katherine. “Ecology of African Pastoralists”. Ohio University Press; 1st edition. 2009.

8. Ostrom, Elinor. “Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action”. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1990.

9. Harvey, Peter A and Reed, Robert A. “Community-managed water supplies in Africa: sustainable or dispensable?”. Community Development Journal. Volume 42, Issue 3. July 2007. Pages 365–378. https://doi.org/10.1093/cdj/bsl001

10. Cleaver, France. and Toner, Anna. “The evolution of community water governance in Uchira, Tanzania: The implications for equality of access, sustainability and effectiveness”. Natural Resources Forum. 2006. 30: 207-218. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-8947.2006.00115.x

11. Gleitsmann, Brett & Kroma, Margaret & Steenhuis, Tammo. “Analysis of a rural water supply project in three communities in Mali: Participation and sustainability”. Natural Resources Forum. 2007. 31. 142 - 150. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-8947.2007.00144.x