The Value of Ancient Wisdom and Cultural Regard

My grandfather and father were the first “conservationists” I knew—though we never used that word. It was just Natural. In my youth, I learned from my family and my own experience what it meant to be part of Nature: to watch, to listen, to feel—with mutual reverence for our wild kin.

When I was 12, the government relocated us to a village. Our ancestral land became part of the concessions leased to safari companies.

The idea was to create the Okavango Community Trust (OCT), which would help local communities by sharing concession lease revenue and offering jobs in the growing safari industry. My father was the Chairperson of the OCT.

I feel like this happens to many local people when outsiders bring a plan that is unfamiliar, say it will help, but don’t explain how it works. The people are told to run it, but they don’t understand the system—and then they get taken advantage of. The agreements weren’t written in Setswana, and many elders didn’t know English well. So, the community didn’t really understand how things worked—how decisions were made, or who had the power. Even though the community was supposed to lead, the lack of understanding and experience made it hard, and it caused disagreements among us.

The first safari company allowed to work on our land was owned by non-Batswana. People were told the company would train locals so that, in time, OCT could run its concessions independently—and individuals could start their own safari businesses on their ancestral land.

I became a camp manager for one of these non-Batswana safari companies. When the OCT board visited the camp and saw me in that role, they believed the company had fulfilled its promise to grow leadership from the community. I became an icon to the OCT. But the truth is, I wasn’t trained or promoted by the company. I had pursued my own education in Tourism Business Management, and when the company hired me, they didn’t know I was from the OCT. They only found out during that visit—when my father, as chairperson, introduced me.

The board saw that there were no Batswana in management at the safari camp on the other concession and told them they were not fulfilling their promise. That company tried to hire me away with a higher salary. But I stayed, because I felt the one I worked for cared more about conservation, and I hoped to work in that part of the company one day. As you can see in Catherine’s story, that hope was not fulfilled.

Today, the profitable safari lodges on the concessions are still owned by non-native Batswana. They pay low lease fees to the communities. Since I left, there are no local people in management. Most local employees work in cleaning, maintenance, and kitchens.