We now learn that the link between humans and nature is at the cutting edge of modern psychological study. As all indigenous people will tell you, when the environment is under threat they experience a profound feeling of spiritual disquietude, or dis-ease. This is now being recognised as a factor in modern psychoses and solastalgia is the term for this environmentally connected psychic distress.

So it is of great concern that the number of big cats in Africa is declining fast. In fact, so rapidly that the estimated number is less than the worldwide population of rhino (some 20,000 odd).

Caused by the usual culprit (habitat encroachment and all the corresponding issues around that) there is now another, more insidious, agent – the substitution of lion bones for tiger bones in traditional Chinese medicine. Ah yes, the downside of globalisation, I hear you say.

What does this bode for the psychological and spiritual health of Africans?

Many urbanised Africans are still relatively in touch with the natural world – they gather firewood, collect rainwater, cook outside, keep chickens and grow a mealie patch.

And so this destruction of the natural world as signalled by the decline in the continents predators is, I feel, more deleterious to Africans than to those cultures who’ve already become accustomed by centuries of separation from nature. It’s a wrench that is happening all too fast to be absorbed and integrated healthily in the collective African psyche.

Soliphilia is another neologism that descibes “the love of and responsibility (my emphasis) for a place, bioregion, planet and the unity of interrelated interests within it.”

As the rest of the developed world now realises it cannot separate itself from nature – that, in fact, nature needs to be nurtured if we are all to survive – is it not possible that culturally and spiritually a synergy could exist? Africa is still relatively connected. African culture bursts with beliefs and stories around its wildlife and rich natural heritage.

I see a great opportunity for mutual enlightenment and understanding on a deeper psychological level here. And this kind of recognition would do wonders for Africans’ self-esteem.

As the title of this piece suggests, we are married to the Earth. Physically, spiritually and everything in between. Never before has there been such an clarion call for us to fulfil our marital obligations. If we abandon our responsibility? Well then, Earth is in no way obligated to us, now is she?

While in Kenya he listened to the native drums, which asserted that all along the Swahili coast, fish stocks were on the increase.

The upsurge in Somali piracy has had an unintended benefit, fish numbers have started to revive, as fewer foreign trawlers are willing to risk East African waters.

What a difference to the usual consequence of African lawlessness, where plummeting numbers are the norm when the human wheels fall off (e.g. DRC and Zimbabwe).

The critical question, of course, is who is the plunderer?

Outsider (regional and foreign) rapaciousness is the killer. Sensible and controlled temperance is clearly a relief to natural resources and, by consequence, to the humans who rely directly upon them.

I can’t help but ask how Asians and Westerners would feel if Africans started stripping their natural resources. Would this be the moment, then, for Africa to take heed of the history lessons, and save the planet?

I asked her what she preferred being called, Bushman or San. And she answered in a definite tone, “Ek is ‘n Boesman.” I am a Bushman. This apparently started a thought train going because she then went on to explain that really her people were Tsaasi (I’ve spelt it phonetically) and that she was a Khomani Tsaasi.

“Tsaasi?”

“Ja, ons is die mense van die tsaa.” We are the people of the tsaa.  Tsaasi.

“And what is a tsaa?” I enquired.

With great meaning resonating in her voice she explained that Tsaa was the eland, an antelope of profound importance to the Bushmen.  When it cries it sounds like a human being, she continued; and I understood there is a deep psychological identification with this animal.  Her lively eyes, set deep in a lined, apricot face, sparkled as she explained that an eland’s dewlap provided really good medicine.  Eating the fatty meat and wearing the skin of the dewlap would protect like nothing else.

It was so clear to me that she regarded herself and her kinsmen as People of the Tsaa, that I wondered about the other names bestowed on these gentle folk.  “Bushman” was obviously imposed by outsiders, but the politically correct “San” seemed odd, and I couldn’t really see how San would link to Tsaa. Then I thought about the Setswana name, Basarwa. The Ba prefix denotes the meaning People of.    So “People of the Sarwa” seemed closer to what she called herself.

It was time for me to go and I was thinking about a suitable farewell when the Setswana phrase “Sala Sentlê” bubbled up and came out my mouth. Ouma Khunna looked at me quizzically. “Oa bua Setswana?”  You speak Setswana?   I explained that it was very rudimentary Setswana and that I hadn’t practiced for years.  But there was no stopping her.

It was like opening a dam wall. “Oh, dis ‘n besonderlike land, daardie.”  It’s an exceptional country, that.   If she wasn’t so old, she said, she would go and live there.  And I knew that something had touched her in our conversation because she then opened up with a very personal story.  I could see her relatives were nervous about the reception the story would receive.  Would I laugh?  Would I dismiss it as nonsense?  On the contrary, I felt extraordinarily privileged.  It was a story of such personal meaning that I will treasure it forever.

Thank You, Ouma Khunna.

Dignity and respect are mentioned in at least two southern African countries “Visions” that I know of.  Botswana and Lesotho.  Could it be that this will become a worldwide phenomenon?  Global civility.

Like the pre-shock waves of a great tsunami (when animals respond by moving up to high ground), we are discerning the outlines of a new human consciousness arising in response to the forthcoming turbulence in human civilisation.

The challenges are well documented: food and water scarcity, climate change, increasing violence and crime due to desperation and a sense of hopelessness. It’s inevitable.

But how do we humans deal with this impending turbulence and loss? Physically we are well equipped: we have lots of forewarning (thanks to science), we have incredibly fast communication systems (effective in our response times) and we have a good historical knowledge database (we know from previous experience what works and what doesn’t).  That takes care of the doing side of things.

And then there is our humanity, where our responses will be shaped by who we are, where our being determines our action. It is well recognised that the human spirit finds fulfilment in adverse conditions. Or put another way our lived experience is more important than the conditions we live in, so that by exploring our being dimension we can have a better experience of the turbulent times to come.

If we were to track human history against the growth of an individual we could say we are in the adolescent stage. We have an untidy global bedroom right now. It’s time to grow up.

So what are these signs of the emergent human consciousness?
The transition towns movement and its extrapolation is an early sign. We are also seeing a change in values, especially in the West, as indicated by an increase in altruism and philanthropy. It’s important to note that values change over time and across different cultures and are shaped by conditions of living. For example private wealth creating agendas in the face of collective struggle (e.g. WW2, apartheid and the forthcoming civil turbulence) would have been and will be unconscionable.

Where does Africa sit in all of this? How people respond to crises depends on communities and their leadership and in Africa we are seeing the emergence of a new kind of African leader in the form of Khama, Kikwete, Mills and Sirleaf. Are our communities ready for change? It is important that communities are not driven by fear but rather a genuine wish for a new spirituality. Historically Africa has displayed openness to transformation and new ideas. While recently researching Lake Ngami in Botswana, I learned that Chief Lechoalathebe requested that missionaries be sent up from the Moffat Church at Kuruman, a fine example of being mentally and spiritually mature to transformation.

If Africans can tap into that historical receptivity there is no reason why her societies will not make the most of the forthcoming turbulence. Blaming the West for everything won’t cut it; a genuine revival of that mature spirit, so well demonstrated in the past, will be required.

And it’s not only a one-way street where Africa does the learning – not at all. Before us we have a great opportunity for a reciprocall learning experience where Africa teaches how to live a fulfilling life without all the materialistic stuff , the desire for which has become so entrenched elsewhere. Many Africans live close to Nature, whereas other continents have lost touch with her. Through Africa’s teachings we can relearn respect for the environment and for each other. I remember being moved by a Balozi family greeting ritual where each and every family member was honoured individually with three kisses on the palm of the hand. If we can get that kind of respect back into our societies we’ll be well on the way to a new human consciousness.

The population issue is one that I’ve mentioned before but it’s a subject that can ably emphasise a shift in consciousness. Instead of seeing population control/self-control as a rebellion (adolescent term) against our innate nature, what if we saw it as a gift to others and to life’s biodiversity? The theme of self-sacrifice is universal and appears in most of the major religions.  If we have issues around being dictated to, or controlled, what if we were to see population self-control as empowering and enabling to our children and to others? It’s also possible that we need a quantum of souls incarnate for transformation to work.

So some inner work is before us, where we need to reframe our questions, often widening them up, towards more openness and a new consciousness. It’s happening, and it’s easier to work with it than against it.

Anonymous arms handled large woven bags over the heads of the throng – an elevated baggage carousel.  The crowd surged as we stepped off the ferry.  “Bananas, bananas,” one vendor shouted as he thrust a bunch of squat green fruit into our faces.

Tradeswomen sat straight-legged on grass mats that displayed small mounds of groundnuts, tomatoes and onions.  “To make babies grow,” said one as she held out a piece of pale clay.

Two ragged boys ran past kicking a homemade soccer ball of old plastic bags lashed with string.

Suddenly the crowd hummed and parted around a wild-skinned man handling a bright green snake.  Holding the audience in fearful transfixion, he fed it into his mouth and out, as proof of his doctoring powers.

Clanging and grinding the rusty ferry departed, and the crowd dispersed.

“OK, what now?”

“We’ll have to hitch-hike, there’s no other way to get to the north shore of the lake.”

“Where do you think the main road is?”

Just then a young Malawian walked over.  “You look like you need assistance,” he said in perfect English, with a dazzling smile. His name was Peter and he insisted on carrying our packs to the road.   We looked around; the track was overgrown, hardly used. Where had all those people gone?   “Don’t worry,” said Peter “I will stay with you until a lift comes.”

Several hours later a tractor came chugging down the trail.  Peter stepped out into its path and held up his palm officiously.  The tractor sputtered to a halt.  Returning to us Peter said that the driver would gladly help but as the tractor wasn’t licenced for this national road (national road?) he would have to use the back roads.  Would that be all right?  With no other sign of impending transport we climbed onto the flatbed trailer.

And held on for dear life. No suspension and no load made it a bone-jarring, tooth- loosening experience. Turning off the road onto a wide footpath we headed up into the tea plantations of the Malawi uplands.  Conversation was impossible as we hung onto the only upright on the trailer, the frontpiece. The lake came into view, a turquoise cat’s eye stretching to north and south.

The path twisted and turned between verdant hills covered with tea bushes and a vast crisp cerulean sky arched over us.  More turnoffs were taken, cutting ever deeper into the unknown red-earth hinterland.  Where were we?  A roll of thunder drummed ominously as pavlova clouds whipped up tropical steam.  A creeping sense of foreboding crawled into our chests as we realised we could never find our own way back to the “national road”.  Utterly at the mercy of a man we didn’t know, and with whom we hadn’t exchanged two words, we were well and truly lost.  There was no sign of human habitation anywhere, just endless green hills.

And then at the top of a rise the tractor came to a halt.  Muscles tensed in preparation to leap and run for our lives.  Our driver turned in the cup-seat and looked at us.

“Would you ladies like to urinate?”

In deflated and dumbstruck relief, we shook our heads – our imagined abductor was a considerate guide.

Understanding we weren’t going to be kidnapped and sold into slavery, we started to enjoy the scenery bouncing past.  Tea plantations gave way to bush and tropical forest.  Monkeys chattered in the overhead canopy as a duiker daintily picked its way across a glade. The sweet, warm smell of fecundity assailed our nostrils.

Through a village, where children danced and yelled “Muzungu, muzungu,” and women wrapped in colourful chitenges bent over washing or pounded maize in mortars, stopped and waved, flashing broad unselfconscious white smiles.

The track turned east and started its descent back towards the lake, which glowed in subtle shades of  purple as the sun began its own decline.  The lake rush hour was in full throttle.  Returning dugouts streaming towards shore filled with the catch of the day.  People appeared, walking home after toiling in the fields, each one waving and greeting us as we bounded along.

The trail levelled out and the tractor stopped.  Before us ran the national road, looking much the same as it had hours before.

“I may not go further,” our guide said.

We thanked him profusely and heaved our packs off the trailer as he chugged away back up into the hills.

“OK what now?”

Just then a young Malawian walked over. “You look like you need assistance,”  he said in perfect English, with a dazzling smile. His name was Ernest.

Let me put my cards on the table.   As a young adult with an innate curiosity in the world I became convinced that,  in our time in history, the gravest danger to humanity was humanity itself.  Considering this,  I believed that the most generous gift one could give to this amazing phenomenon called Life was to forego the joys of personal procreation.

Sounds weird but stay with me.

I thought about why people have children. To leave a legacy? My question here revolved around what kind of legacy would you leave?   The science is indisputable. Human numbers are gobbling up the planet like a cancer. Feeding the cancer doesn’t seem to be such a good legacy to me. And once the cancer consumes the host, well, then the cancer dies off too!

The desire to love unconditionally? Well, if that’s the driver I can’t think of any better way to test it than by adopting a child. Now that’s Unconditional Love. In other words, it seems to me the issue is not that there are not enough children in the world, rather it’s that there is not enough love for the existing children of the world.

In Africa human reproduction has a lot to do with tradition and what society expects of you. But we live in the Age of the Individual, where individuals can (and do) get to choose their lives. Barack Obama’s “Yes We Can” campaign is about just that. If there’s one thing in Life that’s constant, it is Change.

Several people have said “But you should have children. Your genes are good and need spreading.” This notion appals me. There are Nazi strains in that tune.

Having said all this, if I had a life partner who had strong feelings on the subject  I would co-operate.

But back to the transpersonal.  The links between overpopulation, over-utilisation of natural resources and poverty are clear and direct.

Anyone who’s travelled through the back streets of Africa, Asia and South America’s most populous cities will have witnessed the naked horror of poverty caused by overpopulation. Thanks to India’s blossoming global culture (e.g. Slumdog Millionaire, White Tiger) the misery of penury is slowly filtering into mainstream imagination.

Is it wrong to desire a decent standard of living for human beings? Is it somehow anti- humanity? On the contrary, it is hostile to carry on breeding as before.

The groundswell of voices calling for self-restraint does not propose that people stop having children altogether, but rather that sensible numbers be considered.

At the Fringe one already hears that it’s way uncool to have more than two kids per couple. In twenty years time I’m pretty sure the youth will be saying it’s totally selfish.

So out of a Love for Africa and her People I add my voice to the clarion call for sensible population self-control (read self-empowerment) on our continent.

That’s Al Gore talking about climate change and the scary place the world’s at right now.

The proverb rings true for Africa. It’s through collective, not individual action, that things will change. Traditionally, Africa is about the collective. There’s a neat tie-in with Al’s message about the natural environment. Africa is, after all, the continent of Nature.

There is something positively Gandhi-esque about the initiative and in a country so beset by HIV/AIDS and overpopulation, a ban on sex couldn’t be more to the point!    Viva Mama Africa!

Elim houses

It started out in March 2008 as a way to educate people how to care for their animals and since then Andrea has seen an enormous improvement in the animals’ condition. “Sometimes it’s as simple as saying ‘It’s OK to care for your dogs’”, she says. The dogs are brought to a central point in the village where mange, ticks and open wounds are treated. Matted hair is cut away and de-worming medication administered. Belinda keeps the records. Says Andrea “Putting down an animal is not a solution as the owners will just get another one. Sensitising people on how to care for their dogs is the only way.” The success rate is good and those who return, like Rover, a very handsome Boerbul are proof. Slightly undernourished, the only other sign of previous ill health are the remnants of mange scars. Rover’s owner and his son are justifiably proud of their pet. Funds for spay days are being raised as Andrea says there is an explosion of puppies in the village. An animal behaviourist by training, she is planning puppy classes to socialise the dogs to livestock.

There are many layers of encouragement in this kind of help. Firstly, it’s education and therefore enabling, rather than encouraging dependency. Then it’s about self-esteem for people who have well cared for dogs. The psychological scars of apartheid are still lurid amongst many of the so-called “coloured” communities. Of course the dogs benefit too. And then at the deepest level is about a sense of husbandry for the natural world. As we go into an era where man’s responsibility to the natural environment is going cause make or break situations (I’m talking water and food wars, too little for too many fomenting terrorist attacks etc.) an exercise in taking care of “those who cannot speak for themselves” will hopefully engender a less narcissistic, and therefore healthier, attitude. For me, teaching people how to care for their animals is up there with tree-planting initiatives. They are positive on so many levels.

Elim is a story in itself. Established in 1824 as a Moravian Mission it was dedicated to the indigenous people. Through the dark years of apartheid its excellent school attracted the children of surrounding farmers and it was one of very few multi-racial institutions in South Africa. Since the advent of democracy in 1994 Elim has not succumbed to the temptation of opening up to outside political influences and has maintained its municipal independence. This is achieved by the fact that Elim is situated on 7,027 hectares of private land, owned by the Moravian Church. By avoiding becoming a municipality it has averted the mushrooming of low cost housing that has sprung up in similar villages, and by doing so has kept its olde worlde charm. The houses and cottages of Elim are quaint and steeped in history. The population of around 3,000 is predominantly elderly as there is not enough work to keep the youngsters in the village. There may not be much work available but what is, is conducted with immense pride. Elim thatchers are world-renowned and the skills, which are handed down from father to son, are sought internationally. Women are engaged in two areas. The wild flower industry employs many Elimmers as the village is situated in the fynbos belt and the Elim Home is a well-known school for disabled children where children from far and wide are taken care of. No liquor sales are permitted in Elim and the village recently won an award for taking ownership of its self-governing responsibilities. It boasts a primary school, a pre-primary library, an E centre, a post office and a police station. How does the sewage system run, for example? After 1994 the provincial government installed a sewage system for Elim but instead of a municipality (there is none) the Overseers Council manages the maintenance and operation of it.

The annual Church Bazaar is a fund raising event that all Elimmers participate in. Women bake delicacies and sweets and, for a week prior to the big day, they are sold from the homes of the bakers. Then on the big day itself there are cake sales, children’s plays, raffles, a blind auction and general hilarity. The Church hall is the venue and from the outside you see a few cars and people milling around. Take a step inside and it hums with activity and fun. On the floor the business is taking place with everyone buying everyone else’s koeksisters, samoosas and ginger beer. On the stage the children are fishing for prizes in a blow up splash pool and in an annex the men are loudly slapping dominoes down in exuberant play. The old folks sit outside and watch the passing parade and visitors come from far and wide for the big event. The atmosphere in one word: delightful.

Elimmers’ sensibleness and sensibilities are something they can be proud of and with the help of individuals like Andrea Booysen and Belinda Owens much is being achieved. If not already the case, outsiders will wish they were born into this community because that’s the only way you can live here. Otherwise you may get a feeling for this uplifting South African story and gorgeous Overberg village by visiting and staying in the guesthouse.