Jan 23, 2014

Village Meeting, Loliondo



‘But why can’t you employ more night watchmen this year?’

It’s 3pm.  I’ve been sitting on a hard bench since 11 this morning, without a break for a drink of water, let alone lunch.  This particular question has been worked over for at least 45 minutes, with no end yet in sight, and we haven’t even touched on what I consider to be the crucial issues facing the assembly.   It's going to be a log session...

The village elders are an interesting bunch: a group of Maasai men, with a smattering of women, for the most part dressed in red shukas (Maasai blankets), with lots of stretched earlobes and bright beadwork on show.   They are the elected officials of the village government, the people who decide what can happen in this part of Maasailand, adjacent to Serengeti National Park.

It can seem pointless and frustrating at times.   I’m a guide, so I spend most of my time (lucky me!) introducing visitors to the wonders of the African bush.  I don’t relish the long hours going through the minutiae of village contracts - always dealing with the same issues, year in and year out. 

 And yet, these village meetings, where we sit together a few times a year and talk about all the ‘stuff’ of running a safari camp on community–owned land can be of great significance to wildlife and conservation.  And besides, it’s all part of the job description.

Across much of Maasailand (and elsewhere in East Africa) wildlife numbers, which have done remarkably well over the years, are now in decline – largely due to recent increases in human and livestock populations.  Predators are routinely killed because they are a threat to cattle and goats, while vast herds of domestic stock roam across the land, consuming all the available forage, leaving nothing for wild herbivores.

The Maasai themselves are struggling: overstocking means that they suffer big losses every time there is a dry spell.  There is much talk about climate change, but increasingly, people are realising that the land just can’t support all those cattle, the backbone of their economy for hundreds of years.

Which all seems terribly gloomy.  But there is a silver lining: some communities, especially those bordering national parks, are living on a gold mine, in the form of tourism dollars.  But how to unleash that potential?

For a would-be investor, there is a complicated bureaucratic and political landscape to navigate.  Anything to do with land is a potential minefield, so village leaders are rightly very cautious about any commitments they sign up to.

Luckily, there is a growing band of safari operators across the region who believe in community-based tourism and who are putting in the time to talk to the owners of the land - the local communities - and are investing.  Success means a win-win-win situation: a great safari experience for camp owners and visitors; a steady source of precious income for villagers; and a safe haven for threatened wildlife populations, a precious buffer zone for beleaguered parks and reserves.

It’s dusk by the time I get back to camp.  A pregnant moon is hanging low in the east.  A herd of wildebeest is walking across the plain in front of us, their demented grunting (mooing? honking?) fading to a distant oceanic rumble as they move away.  In the distance, a hyena calls.

Later, we're sitting around the campfire enjoying a pre-prandial drink. Jenny, a first-time visitor to Africa, says: ‘Can’t we cancel the rest of our trip, and just stay here instead?


Suddenly, the tedium, the hours in a dusty village office, my aching back, the overly sweet tea – it all seems hugely worthwhile.

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