The Land, The Beasts, and The People

An Essay by Roger L. Whiting, President and Founder of GTL

In June and July of 1996, I had the opportunity to travel from my home in Massachusetts to Kenya and Tanzania. My safari experience was mind-numbing, and it was only after a few weeks of "recovery" here at home that I decided it might help to crystallize my thoughts if I wrote down some of my observations. I began the process as if I were writing a story about Africa. As I progressed, however, I soon realized that many of my thoughts ran deeper than that. In fact, the act of committing myself to paper brought forth within me a considerable degree of philosophical unrest which will become readily apparent to those who read on to the end. My conclusion is that my African experience left me with more questions than answers. Someone once said, "the more you learn, the more you realize the less you know."

In many ways, Africa is a contradiction of life here in America. The dirt roads, lack of fences, freedom for animals and people to roam at will, and the overall lack of infrastructure, especially in Tanzania, are all opposite of what we take for granted. Yet in Africa, the primitive conditions often seem appropriate and right. But not always. The beauty, mystery, and immensity of this great continent will unquestionably have a positive affect on the perspective of tourists from developed countries. The negative aspects of African society have had their influence on me as well.

After flying from Boston, to London, to Nairobi we were loaded into vans and whisked away from the city toward the lands of the animals. It is at this point that I begin my narrative.

The relentless dust swirled and swarmed into every crevice of the van as it bounced, squeaked, and rattled its way along the potholed dirt roads of Tanzania. Nostrils burning, lungs choking back the pungent essence of Africa, I wondered why I was subjecting myself to this abuse.

Bumping, swerving, careening down the roads which we would call cart paths at home, our Tanzanian driver deftly propelled us farther and farther out into the vast hinterland called the Serengeti. Through villages of windowless houses and doll-like people we raced with breakneck speed toward the great plain of Africa. Cattle, goats, donkeys, children, and women with containers of precious water balanced precariously on their heads, all clogged our path. No matter, the villages were not our mission. The people were not our objective. The call of the predator and its prey were drawing us deeper and deeper into the origins of life itself. With cameras and binoculars hung confidently around our necks, we expectantly foraged into the grasslands of the animals kingdom for a momentous occurrence.

Perhaps we do not belong here. The process of Africa is not our concern. It will endure long after we have come and gone, just as it has for thousands and millions of years before man was even conceived. Africa does not need the approval of the tourist, the casual visitor. Yet, the beauty and mystery of this exotic continent arouses the intense interest of the newcomer, just as the smell of the wind attracts the primal instincts of the lion and the hyena. This hunt is for the amusement, and perhaps the enlightenment, of the alien guest. But the animals know nothing of the purpose of this intrusion into their innocent realm. One wonders if they recognize, and are saddened by the ever shrinking expanse, and ever increasing encroachment of man into what was once nearly exclusively theirs.

The majesty and truth of nature's meaning is never more evident than in the immense grasslands of the Serengeti. There must be a God to have created such an empire for its regal beings. The rutted, dusty paths which we follow are nearly irrelevant as we meander through this rightful home of the animals. We of a higher intelligence allow ourselves the right of intrusion into this sacred domain. One can only wonder, however, at the consequences of our insistence upon this encroachment. But, perhaps this contribution to our understanding of life's meanings will be worth it in the end. Perhaps,...just perhaps.

As the knowledge, wealth, and mobility of man expands, the world of more lowly creatures lessens. Why should we care? Perhaps we must. Will the shrinking range of the lion, the elephant, and the rhino ultimately contribute to the pace of our own demise? What result can we anticipate if we do not respect, and even revere the temper of our universe? Without reverence for the order of nature's great plan, will we be doomed to living within a lonely plastic orb? It is disheartening to contemplate the potential end result of such insensitive behavior.

Perhaps we should take a step back out of ourselves, and consider the significance of man's fallibility as well as the assumed ultimate of God's intent. Certainly we are merely minor players in the saga of the Serengeti and all of the other lands which are the realms of what we condescend to call the lesser beast. What right do we have to invade this environment to suit our own contrived purposes if it is to the detriment of anything or anyone else? I wonder. I wonder how we so-called civilized beings will fare if the Serengeti becomes nothing but a wasteland of rutted, dusty tracks, pounded into the earth by four-wheel-drive vans carrying wide-eyed tourists, glibly snapping roll after roll of images that will soon be relegated to a drawer, or a cardboard box in the attic.

I was one of those virtuous, eager, excited American tourists. And I would not give up, nor do I regret my intrusion into a world which is not mine. Possibly the Serengeti and all of the other game preserves can withstand the unrelenting onslaught of hundreds and thousands of vans. Hopefully we will avoid the disastrous mistake made in Botswana in the name of progress, where natural migration routes were fenced off for the sake of villages, and countless thousands of wildebeest and zebra died from lack of sufficient water. Conceivably, the measures taken to protect the great herds in the Serengeti will be sufficient to preserve that natural habitat which the animal kingdom requires.

But yet..., I wonder. I wonder what will be left for my grandchildren to see four or five decades from now. I wonder for how long there will be a Serengeti worth exploration.

The so-called primitive herdsmen of the Masai have already been driven from the Serengeti, no longer welcome on the lands which they shared for countless centuries. It makes one reflect on the circumstance of the American Indian, and the great herds of buffalo, doesn't it? Well? It does me. Yet, to some extent the pride, arrogance, and indifference of the Masai to modern-day laws allows them to roam freely at will, across nations' borders, with nary a thought of passport, visa, or government mandated dress code. Good for them!

The people of the tiny villages of Africa, the herdsmen, the nomads, those with virtually nothing that they can call their own are being shunted aside in the name of progress and preservation. What progress? Preservation of what? Turning the land of humanity's heritage into the playground of the wealthy American, European, or Asian tourist? At the same time, what is the alternative--ignorance, disease, and starvation? The plight of the people and animals of Africa was so emphatically expressed in the wretchedness of Tanzania, and the slow, subtle, unrelenting rape of the Serengeti.

I think I will be haunted forever by the memory of a native woman bearing water. Proud, regal. An image which I will never forget. Absolutely one of the most beautiful women on this earth. Penniless, hungry, with nowhere to go but down, she walked with a sense of pride and dignity that totally belied her barefoot, miserable existence. I wanted to scream, "Stop, Stop!" to our driver. A photograph of a lifetime, if only it were possible to capture that absolute serenity without simultaneously destroying the very thing I wanted to preserve. Does no one but me see the incredible beauty of these people? But again, no matter, the image is indelibly burned into my mind, never to be crammed into a drawer, or a cardboard box in the attic. I guess I really do not need a photograph after all. I know what I saw.

Then again, perhaps it was not absolute serenity that I saw. Perhaps it was the look of absolute resignation to a life of poverty and futility. A life with an infant mortality rate of 109 for every 1000 births, an average life expectancy of less than forty-five years, and a minimum wage of $30 per month. I guess I'll never know.

So what is the solution? Should we assume as righteous Americans that it is, and should be, our responsibility to commit our affluence and vigor to the creation of a facsimile of our own culture? Is it appropriate to rigorously impose our definition of religious and social ideals in order to enhance the creation of an acceptable standard of living upon the unsuspecting African? Are the well-intentioned efforts of the Peace Corps truly effective in diminishing the misery of the African people? Should we be teaching them how to do it our way, or how to do it their way, but better?

I well recall speeding through a Tanzanian village, and asking the driver if he objected to the desecration of the landscape by signs and billboards promoting various products. His puzzlement led me to conclude that at least to him, the improvement to the economy far outweighed the negative impact of the invasion of tourism, foreign products, and the imposition of the western perspective. When I pointed out to him a battered, rusted road sign advertising Coca-Cola, he merely shrugged it off as totally insignificant. Perhaps he is right. But yet..., I wonder.

I am sure that to the average Tanzanian, the negativity of that dejected sign is totally beyond his ability to comprehend. A people without food, electricity, running water, sewerage, telephone, or medical care can scarcely be expected to be even faintly cognizant of any of the negative aspects of capitalism. To me that singular blight on the countenance of Africa was an omen of what lies ahead, the implications of which are enormous.

There is now a flurry of thought and energy roiling within me, and the questions vastly exceed the answers. Many years ago, when I thought I was really down and out because I could not afford to repair my automobile, my mother said to me, "Well, you are healthy, you have a roof over your head, and food on your table, what more do you really need?" Africa, Tanzania, and the Serengeti have emphatically answered that question for me. I need nothing else.

The "haves" and the "have nots," the circumstances of our birth, the color of our skin,... the luck of the draw. Who is to say who deserves everything, and who deserves nothing. Undoubtedly it is beyond my ability or purpose to solve the riddle of life's accidents. But yet,... I do wonder. Contemplating the dismal plight of so many, many beautiful people,...and beautiful animals,...and beautiful earth,... I do not sleep so well anymore.

One thing is undeniable. My experience of Africa has had a very profound impact on my outlook, and philosophy of life. The resulting process of introspection which my visit encouraged has been invaluable to me if for no other reason than to realize that I am not quite so almighty after all. After seeing it with my own eyes, I find it intolerable that so many people are living in such poor conditions. Perhaps for the first time in my life I am truly grateful for the many advantages I have received here in America, and, at the same time I gained some first-hand insight into the nature, beauty and majesty of this great continent.

Perhaps the following poem will help to express my awe of the magnificence of Africa:

A Land Called Africa

A land of wonder, mystery, and incredible beauty--
A land where people and animals become as one--
Coexisting with the inevitable forces of nature,
A land which exists as a process rather than as a place.

Kill to eat--eat to live,
How simple, yet beautiful is the process.
Shame and guilt have little place in the innocence of Africa,
A land too great, too grand, for such irrelevant pursuits.

Dusty, acrid, musky, raw--free,
Untethered by time or space or mindless pretense,
Having no need to justify its existence,
A land with a heart beat of its own.

The endless continent of Africa seems frozen in time,
Each day different from the last, yet remaining the same as before.
The animals, the people, roaming the vast terrain,
Looking for nothing but the life-giving force of a land called Africa.*

*I was more than startled at the similarity of thought to hear the following passage in the movie, The Bridges of Madison County, which I saw three months after I wrote this poem. Here, Clint Eastwood, playing the role of a world-traveling photographer, says,

"I guess I'd have to say that the most exciting place I've ever been to is Africa. Because it's another world there. It's not just the cultures and the people. That's great,...but it's the air,... the colors from dawn to dusk, and there's something tangible about the whole thing. The cohabitation of man and beast, and beast and beast--who'll survive and who won't. There's no judgment about it either you know. There's no imposed morality. It's just the way it is. It's just beautiful really. There's nothing like it...."

Last modified: Mar 07, 2004, 22:00 EST