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"My nomadic forefathers were arable and pastoral farmers and moved from island to Island in search of an area free from Tse Tse fly. They found peace here and lived on this island. They were of the Bayei tribe, also called the river people because they were dependent on the water based plants for food and medicine. This island also hosted the ancestral worshiping places which are the Baobabs. I was born on this island and raised by my family of natural conservationists who taught me survival skills and conservation methods. My grandfather died in 1992 and was buried on the western side of the ancestral Baobab (Mowana). When the government initiated land rights registration in 2017 I had a dream of creating a camp on this land and as the first born, my parents permitted me to apply and I got a positive reply in 2023. This land gave me my first breath and it is a dream come true to be here again, to be guardian for all the wild ones and to be a home for our conservation work and our local school conservation program. We want to host our supporters to share this story directly.  "

"Soon after our return, we experienced another side of what it means to build something like this. The safari vehicle that Tebogo had purchased two years ago — with donor support — was being driven across a deep channel to collect us from the airstrip. The water was higher than expected. The vehicle became submerged, and the engine stopped. Once that happens, it cannot simply be restarted. Water entering the system can cause irreversible damage. The driver sought help from a nearby camp, and a plan was made. A large truck, passing through from Maun with building supplies for another camp, would assist in pulling the vehicle out. A few days later, the vehicle was recovered. But when Tebogo arrived to retrieve it, he found that key components had been removed: All five tyres. The fuel injection system. The battery. They had been taken. The large truck was later searched in Maun. Nothing was found. The parts had been offloaded somewhere along the way. Holding the Reality This has been a significant blow. Not only financially — though the impact there is real, as funds intended to complete the camp and support ongoing work must now be redirected — but also in spirit. There is something deeply disheartening in encountering this kind of loss within work that is rooted in care, trust, and relationship. And yet, this too is part of the landscape. Not separate from it. What This Asks of Us It is easy to speak about new ways of being in conservation and philanthropy when everything is flowing. It is more revealing to remain in that orientation when things do not go as hoped. This experience does not diminish what is being created. But it does ask something more of it — and of those of us who feel called into relationship with it. Patience. Resilience. A willingness to meet uncertainty without retreating into control. And perhaps, a deeper understanding that work like this does not unfold in ideal conditions. It unfolds in the real world — with all of its complexity. Staying With What Is True Nothing about what we witnessed in the Delta has changed. The quiet, steady creation of something rooted in place. The absence of performance. The presence of real relationship. If anything, this experience has clarified what it means to stand alongside it. Not only in moments of awe and coherence — but also in moments where things fall apart, and must be tended to, patiently, piece by piece. An Invitation to See the Whole If we are to support work like this, we are not supporting a polished outcome. We are participating in a living process. One that includes beauty and difficulty. Creation and loss. Trust and the testing of that trust. And perhaps this is part of the shift. To move away from expecting certainty, control, and clean narratives — and toward a form of participation that is willing to remain present within the full reality of what is unfolding."

"I have leadership experience in mentoring or interpreting nature, so i have a dream of making my own kids conservation program in my village. just to make an understanding of how important nature is."

"There was no fixed itinerary. No constructed experience. No separation between “guest” and “host.” We moved within the rhythms of the place, responding rather than directing. We were not visitors to nature, nor participating in an industry built around it. We were simply other beings within a living system — attentive, responsive, and learning. There are ways of being in conservation, in philanthropy, and in relationship with land that do not need to be constructed. They already exist. And when we encounter them, we recognize them — not through explanation, but through a feeling of being held within something profoundly real."

"Months ago, Tebogo and I made a plan to visit him again in the Delta. I brought a small two-person tent for Amy and I to share while we were there and then leave it with Tebogo — a simple gesture of continuity. On our way to meet him, we were caught in a massive electrical storm. Torrential rain came down as we traveled in an open-sided vehicle. The sky closed in, the ground blurred, and the cellular networks went down completely. There was no way to reach Tebogo. So we waited. Sitting in the rain, soaked through, I became aware of how little control we actually had. I found myself thinking about the small practical things — like the fact that I hadn’t brought a groundsheet for the tent, and wondering how we would manage in these conditions. Eventually, connection was restored, and we found Tebogo. We crossed by boat and stepped out onto an island, walking through the rain, visibility still low. In the distance, I began to make out shapes — structures of some kind. I wondered, briefly, if perhaps we were being taken to an existing camp because of the weather. But Tebogo kept walking. He led us to a large, beautiful safari tent and opened the entrance. Inside were two beds, tables, and, beyond a second opening, a simple bush toilet and bucket shower. Only then did I understand. For months, without announcement, he had been creating a tented camp on his ancestral land — land for which he had recently been given guardianship. He had not spoken about it. He had simply been doing the work. When he opened the tent and we stepped inside, I was speechless. In awe. In wonder. I felt so held in a life so real that it took my breath away."