Seen Into Being – Reciprocity Reclaimed

From the moment I met Tebogo, I felt a deep resonance.

His connection to Nature was not something he spoke of to impress—it was something you could feel in his way of being. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did share, it came not from bravado, but from wonder. His words held a blend of innocence and wisdom, curiosity and depth.

When met with genuine curiosity, he offered his inner world freely—not as performance, but as a natural response to being seen. In the culture I come from, this kind of reverent humanity is rare. But in Tebogo, it felt instinctual. Alive.

To me, Tebogo’s pure and authentic way of being was a salve.

In contrast to the authority and self-promoting style of interaction so common in my culture, his presence felt like nourishment—like water to parts of me that had long been thirsty for something real.

As our trust deepened, I saw the depth of his ecological wisdom—rooted not in books, but in years of lived relationship with the land.

And yet, Tebogo carried a quiet ache: the belief that without formal credentials, he couldn’t fully realize his conservation vision. His lack of institutional validation made him feel disqualified in the eyes of the very systems that claim to protect nature.

This was the first inequity we spoke about, but it soon deepened.

Tebogo’s way of being made him beloved by guests at the safari camp he managed for a major conservation organization. Encouraged by our support, he asked to move from hospitality into their conservation work.

They declined. He was “too valuable” where he was. Instead, they offered him a promotion and more money—unable to see the essence of who he is.

When they learned he was teaching local children about conservation during his leave, they disciplined him; claiming rights over the land his village sits on.

In this, the absence of reciprocity was stark—his gifts were welcomed when they served the organization’s interests, but when he acted from his own integrity and devotion to community, he was not only unsupported, but punished. It left him feeling afraid.

This kind of blatant exploitation broke my heart. But Tebogo, with quiet resilience, assured me he was not harmed—he had long grown used to such responses.

Still, it felt clear to both of us that something more life-affirming was possible. Through a shared commitment and the support of aligned others, we found the means for him to leave the job and return to the wild, where his conservation work could unfold in its true form.

When I shared Tebogo’s story with white friends of colonial descent, a few suggested he had was soliciting me. Their reaction revealed how deeply the colonial narrative still runs and how its shadow can cast suspicion on authenticity and distort even genuine, reciprocal relationships when unchecked.