Epilogue II: Volunteering

The information book at a hostel in Pretoria is strewn with harsh admonishments regarding behavioural expectations, together with aggressively defensive explanations of the limited services on offer.  I'm particulary drawn to the forthright missive on early departures, as I'm obliged to leave ahead of schedule for my voluntary placement in the suburbs of Johannesburg.  The prospect of a confrontation with Tim, the gruff, foul-mouthed English owner does not appeal.  I mention the 'safe house' I'm heading to and his face softens. 'No, we won't charge you.  Actually, we give a discount to volunteers.'

I love this.  Not the special treatment bestowed on me for volunteering but the extraordinary effect its mere mention can have on people.  As I wrote seven months ago, its philospohy is unquestionably sound.  Extend the discussion to practicalities, however, and I'll be first in the queue to offer criticisms.  Volunteers are too often unprepared; likewise their host organisations.  The planned work is disorganised, never finished or unnecessary.  Money is misspent.  Locals are deprived of work.  Volunteers are completely unsuited to their placements.  For many, the experience is so negative they vow never to do it again - and discourage others from such ventures.  Sometimes, though, it works so well that all the promise is fulfilled; such was my Ethiopian experience.

My extended stay in Addis Ababa limited dramatically my opportunities for further voluntary work but it didn't prevent me from visiting other organisations that might benefit from volunteers.  I think I now have sufficient knowledge of several such organisations across the continent.  With this knowledge, I intend to start a service in the UK that will place volunteers in Africa.  I hope to avoid the pitfalls above.  I'll insist on accountability from the charities; I'll interview each candidate volunteer to identify their skills and gauge their suitability for the various oppurtunities; both sides will be obliged to report back on the experience, so that I can learn from the inevitable mistakes.  Because this service will be free, I'll have the luxury of sometimes saying no; there will be no income to motivate me to make an imprudent placement.

It is going to take a little while for me to set up this service but if you know anyone who might be interested, please put them in touch.  The scale of the operation will be very restricted as I will only be able to run it in my free time, outside of my real job.  However, if I only make a handful of successful placements, I feel compelled to try: the theory of volunteering is too great to dismiss as impracticable.

Epilogue I: Africa

Another car approaches, we reach out our arms and the driver waves in reply.  Paul laughs.  'These white people are so funny.  They pretend they think we're waving at them.  Of course they know we want a lift but it's easier to pretend to misunderstand.  The truth is they don't trust Africans.'

Lack of comprehension abounds in the Western world when it comes to the subject of Africa.  As many an unsuspecting interlocutor will testify, I am easily riled by someone who passes judgement on a country - or worse, the entire continent - based on a news story running that week.  Or one that ran in 1985.  It pains me that I still feel it necessary to utter the words 'there is more to Africa than famine, corruption, conflict, AIDS and poverty.'  I don't blame the media but I do point the finger at those who interpret this news as the be-all and end-all.  Read of this continent in the newspaper or watch the TV reports and you'll never understand more than 1%.

If you want a different journalistic perspective on Africa, you could start by reading Ryszard Kapuściński, who spent decades here and has a wonderful appreciation of both the big picture and the details of daily life.  Better yet, forget the Western perspective and read an African writer like Chinua Achebe.  You'll soon realise that we learn very little from the media.

Better still, go.  Stretch out on the roof of a local's house in Dogon Country, Mali and fall asleep under a night sky as brilliant as lightning hitting a glitterball.  Marvel at the relics of Ethiopia's ancient civilisations, empires of whose existence most of us are entirely unaware.  Climb Kilimanjaro and weep at sunrise.  Be humbled by the world's last mountain gorillas, a charging elephant or a prowling lion.  Above all, observe the people as they sing, dance eat and talk.  Africa is the cradle of humanity and its inhabitants continue to have a great understanding of how to enjoy this human life - something many of us in the West often seem to forget.  Or perhaps we choose to misunderstand.

Out there

I'm lying awake in my tent in Chobe National Park, Botswana.  The only other tent at the small campsite is that of my guide, Godfrey, a few metres away.  During the course of the day, we've seen lions, hippos, crocodiles, elephants and numerous other less dangerous animals that aren't occupying my thoughts quite so starkly at this moment in time.  The frequent howls of the hyenas are also quite distracting.  I can't help but wonder at the various manners of death that lurk immediately outside the very thin layer of canvas.

And yet, I fall asleep with ease.  Despite the hazards, it's the serenity and beauty of this place that wins the battle in my mind.  The next day, I sit writing in the open air, surrounded by the lush and improbably-leaning acacia trees that provide a patchwork canopy to the campsite.  The calls of at least ten species of bird are audible from every direction.  The wind rustles the leaves above and every now and then, an animal will make its presence known: the snap of a branch by an elephant; the call of a baboon; an impala darting from the bush and disappearing just as fast.  If I didn't have a flight to London in two weeks' time and an awful lot more to fit in before departure, I could sit here for days and just marvel.

Pressing on the following day, I reached this country's other wonder of nature, the Okavango Delta.  We venture into this region by mukoro, a local version of a canoe that provides a similar waterway experience to a Cambridge punt; the small boat being propelled by the thrust of the guide's pole against the bed beneath the clear, shallow waters.  A short journey through high reeds and bright flora under a perfect sunshine evokes a feeling of genuine escape from the world of people.

On the walking safari conducted on our destination island, this feeling is only reinforced.  A small bloat of hippos in a tiny lake is the first sight and then, on the other side a vast open plain teeming with zebras and wildebeest.  There's something far more satisfying in seeing such animals when on foot; there's a sense that we're not intruding in the same way a car does, that our vulnerability makes our observation juster.  The behaviour of the zebras exemplifies this, as they boldly trot in our direction.  I raised my camera to capture the scene, only for it to malfunction and switch itself off - it lies broken still in my rucksack.

Still, a guy I met whilst gorilla-tracking in Rwanda commented to me that his favourite moment of the day was when he remembered to lower the lens and just watch with his eyes.  I endeavoured to banish my annoyance and take his advice.  It worked.  On who knows what whim, the zebras to my left embarked on a gallop across the vista, taking the wildebeest with them... an ostrich appeared from the undergrowth and joined the run.  I have no photos but it's a perfect memory to take home with me.

The smoke that thunders

I had my reservations about Victoria Falls, never being overly-excited by sights that are just that: things to see.  Without accompanying activity, or education or further sensory stimulation.  But then I saw them and I spent the next couple of hours trying to see them from as many angles as possible.  The first glimpse is through a fram of lush African vegetation; a perfect picture-postcard but one that deceives, for the falls stretch far further than this view affords. 

So, we continue across the 'knife' bridge in search of a wider perspective.  Thought very clost the cascage, the bridge offers no view at all, as the water here is overwhelming.  If one manages to turn one's gaze against the onslaught and toward the falls, it's met with only a sheet of sunlit spray - watery white noise.  At the other side, I'm saturated and bemused that this soaking emanates not from rain as such, though whatever chaotic eddies generate the blankets of Zambezi river hurled upon us can be just as violent as a torrential downpour.

On the island on the other side, we're precariously perched in the jaws of the deluge.  The water streams over the drop in front and flows either side of our sanctuary.  Rainbows abound, thrown up everywhere by the abundant showers and perfect Zambian sunshine above.  They arch through the valleys and flicker briefly across the paths we tread.  The experience is wonderfully ethereal, as if we've been transported to an ultimate domain of Nature.  Where her immensity is on full view, visual wonders appear on all sides and we, mere people, are utterly humbled.

Heartwarmer

Malawi really is home to the loveliest people on the face of the earth, of those that I've encountered anyway.  Yesterday morning, I walked through town to the bus station and was greeted countless times en rout.  One more engaged in a little conversation and then, before we parted, mentioned he ran a curios store.  I didn't bite and he said goodbye.  No 'please come' or 'just look' - nothing.  It was a delight.  Later in the day, I encountered a couple more livelier vendors but they displayed none of the pushiness frequently encountered elsewhere.

The next day, I'm sitting on a swing in Lilongwe Wildlife Sanctuary.  Monkeys are jumping from tree to tree overhead and my guide is cutting at the grass in the mid-distance.  We've just finished the tour and a warm glowing feeling is compelling me to write.  My train of thought embarked when Cheba (the guide) began explaining how much of the forest in the sanctuary is to be cut down.  These species of tree is an Indian import but has proved to restrict the growth of other vegetation and plunder the soil of its nutrients.  They'll be replaced with indigenous forest.

So, the land is cared for.  The animals - in rehabilitation following their deliverance from zoos around the world - are cared for in impressively large enclosures, fed well and given medication.  Those young and adaptable enough will be released back into their natural habitats in due course.  Others, the old and the lame, will see out their days here.

This place only exists because of people's desire to care for animals.  Sure, it's open to tourists like me, but my admission fee is a means, not an end.  A very simple observation but one that made me smile.  Plenty of such enterprises exist around the world, of course, but I can't think of anyone who could work for one with greater charm than a Malawian.