Shelby

Milima na milima haikutani lakini wanadamu hukutana…

At 5:06 AM on July 26th, I took my first steps in Kenya. My first steps in Africa. A place I had dreamed about visiting for as long as I can remember. A place that housed the animals I had seen in National Geographic programs or at American Zoos. But immediately, riding in a taxi to Diani Beach, I saw a troop of baboons perched on walls or sauntering through streets. I saw Sykes’ monkeys and vervets swinging from branches, grooming, foraging, playing. These magnificent creatures graced this foreign place as endemic locals of the coral rag forest.

As someone who has studied the impacts of global change and who has narrowed in on the magnified experiences of people and wildlife in Afrika Mashariki, I had already taken a couple of language courses in Kiswahili. When I learned that the Georgetown Department of Biology was hosting a trip to the region I had already studied to learn and love so much, I jumped at the opportunity. A group of students would be chosen to assist the local Colobus Conservation organization in revitalizing its education center. Upon my acceptance into the program, I decided to make this opportunity a focus for my senior honors thesis in my major of Science, Technology, and International Affairs. Attending meetings, designing stickers, posters, contributing and listening to discussion, I took part in the formulation of a primate study that would take place at the local Diani Reef Hotel. The focus of my research would be “to envision ways for humans and wildlife to coexist inclusively and peacefully for a more resilient and sustainable future.”

After months of anticipation, I arrived at the Colobus Conservation center alone. I was greeted by Mwitu, and the local troop of Colobus in the trees above me. But I was also met with silence. With loneliness. I sat on the side of the road, petting a mother dog as baboons walked beside us, and then wandered around the beach. I did not yet know how to cope with the attention I attracted as an obvious “mzungu” foreigner. Staying kind yet firm, voicing graciousness of meeting and bidding “kwaheri” and “siku njema” were my common tools for making friends and continuing on my own in this community hounded by the deep need for tourism. I wasn’t sure what I had just done: I caught a plane, by myself, to this place where everything was different, where I felt alone and unequipped to deal with harsh realities on the ground - of development, of poverty, of gender, of exploitation.

Light pink corals stuck up from the forest floor, massive trees gave sanctuary to birds with bright calls and unusual colors. Little suni characters emerged from the brush. Vervets, Colobus, and Sykes’ monkeys seemingly floated through the air of this forested coast. Early on, however, I noticed that the trees were discontinuous. Whole chunks of the forest were ripped open by these gigantic building developments. Rows and rows of only stumps left way to more accessible views. I could see that tourism, in the traditional sense, could simultaneously be the hope of the people and the destruction of the land.

Even as the flames of my courage flickered, it was the kindness of strangers, in the form of Swahili greetings, the beauty of the natural world and these incredible creatures, that gave me comfort in the unknown.

My work on-the ground at Colobus began with the Animal Welfare team, accompanying Simon and Allen with general maintenance of the wildlife enclosures. We swept around enclosures, chopped up and weighed bowls of fruits and vegetables for the disparate primate residents, and went adventuring in search of enrichment items and natural additive trees such as the “mwarubaini.”

The majority of my time at Colobus was dedicated to the testing and implementation of the study at Diani Reef Hotel. For about a week, I learned to identify the animals within their age and sex categories, picking out details as broad as the blue balls of the adult male (“AM”) vervets to as unique as individual monkey personalities. Each day in the field, I would transcribe notes about the efficacy of the study and the potential for improvements or clarifications.

The study began. I followed the Diani Reef Sykes’ monkey troop that resided in the trees that lined the property front. I would spend my days carrying the clipboard and ODK (data collecting phone) in my hands, and looking up. I would look up at the bright blue sky, the interlacing branches which housed such unique individuals. Even though it was hours of repetitive action, it was also hours of moving. There were constant fission and fusion dynamics of the Sykes’ troop, with some individuals moving just out of sight, zigzagging in divergent directions, nestling into hidden crevices of their respective chambers. I would rest my back against the trunk of the tree to gather only a couple minutes of relief until the troop was up and moving again. From dawn to dusk.

Over time, I could identify their general movement patterns; I could move through the forest with lighter feet and knowledge of the terrain; I could admire the troop’s specific culture and the individuals’ personalities. There was Sassy, an adult female (“AM”) missing half a front limb. She had this quiet, gentle, private nature, where she would spend a lot of her time moving, natural foraging and feeding on her own. In spite of any obstacles she faced as an arboreal creature missing a front hand, she was able to move with an impressively flowing ease. Stubbs, a silly juvenile with a stumpy tail. There were numerous mothers with infants strapped to their chests. At the sight of a crying infant, these mothers would jump, climb, and run to wrap them in her firm embrace. The sole adult male troop leader, “Shujaa” (or Hero), allocated the majority of his activity budget, at least empirically, to vigilance, surveying any threat to his kingdom and sweeping in to protect its most vulnerable members.

One day, a single baboon sauntered down an offshoot path to the resort. With his curious mind and brimming intellect, he was able to identify an accessible location to satisfy his primal needs. The door was unlocked to the rubbage room, and became a play location filled to capacity with anthropogenic garbage and foods. Like a child whose mind flutters with excitement to new things in this big world, he set a box between his legs and pulled out tissues one by one. He took his time exploring the contents of the rubbage room until his curiosity faded and he moved on to other more unknown locations. A male employee of the hotel latched and locked the door closed. A couple of hours later, the baboon sauntered back. Confused by the difference in ease, he banged on the doors with his hands, desperately clambering to reach the site of his play and relief. To no avail. Moreover, this time, the air was pierced by alarms of vervets and whistling rings of Sykes’. While vervets are supplied with a boldness that maintains their communal aggression toward their predator, the Sykes’ largely fled to higher and farther branches. Not Shujaa. Once the baboon gave up and began walking up the path he had followed, Shujaa followed him to the very edge of the property calling and pursuing the bigger, more dangerous threat. Largely, humans denigrate these animals, subjugate them to lower orders of the global Social Darwinist order, chain them to our prejudice, to our abuse, to our exploitation. And yet, in these moments, I can see personality, courage, and love. I can see culture in these animal societies in ways as unique as our own.

My time in Kenya was an adventure, the highest of highs. But it came to a shortened and abrupt close when, on a barge at Wasini Marine Park, I began releasing days of content from my gut. It felt as though my insides were rocketing up my throat, as though my stomach was smashed to nonexistence. After an hour tuk tuk ride, I fell to my knees in the grass outside of the Diani Hospital. After clinging to the IV for my consciousness, after numerous tests, it was concluded that I had acute appendicitis with a score of 9, meaning that I had only moments before my appendix would rupture. Despite the screams of my father, the pleas of my mother over the phone, the aimless suggestions of my insurance company, I made the decision to go into surgery. Then and there. It is a decision I continue to take pride in, trusting my gut to trust people.

From Kenya, back home and recovering in the US, I carry with me various lessons. Lessons of patience, of kindness, of courage, of love. Privileged in the Western world, we can be so quick to paint whimsically false narratives of places and peoples elsewhere. Like in the US, people in Kenya are hurting from poverty, hunger, and systemic barriers to prosperity. Like in the US, there are both public and private hospitals that have differentiated capacities for delivering necessary care. Like in the US, people cling to religious cosmovisions as they seek to understand and come at peace with the pain and the beauty this world holds for us to uncover. Transcending oceans and continents and borders, we all have a lot to learn, to change, to equalize. As I continue on my academic and professional career, I hope to carry with me a maturity to analyze the social, economic, and environmental layers of complex problems. The good and the bad of tourism. The prejudice in our society which elevates one type of man (white, heterosexual, wealthy) over the diverse and beautiful spectrum of personhood and livelihood. My call to environmental action, to wildlife protection, to sustainable development, is one of social justice. It is helping to create a world that holds up its most vulnerable in its warm communal embrace, that preserves the sanctity and dignity of all life, everywhere.

My Thank You Note To Colobus

To the Colobus Conservation Team:

I arrived in Kenya terrified of being alone in a foreign place, halfway around the world from the familiar. And as I pack my bags to leave, I have that same feeling I felt when leaving America. Because of each and every one of you, Diani has become my home, one that will traverse and transcend geographic borders and oceans and time. And one that is very hard to leave. Your hard work, perseverance, and dedication to protecting the wildlife of Diani truly inspires me. Speaking with each of you, it is clear to me that a love for life is what drives this collective passion for conservation.

I hope to bring this love and light I have seen in all of you back to my own community in the United States through rolling up my own sleeves to make a positive change. Thank you for showing me that change starts locally, and it starts with the people that have it in their hearts to see and dream about how things can be better, and to make it so.