The shifting lives of the Luchazi people

These rivers carry amazingly clean water down into a river basin that supports over a million people―and Botswana’s Okavango Delta. We might think of rivers as permanent features of a landscape, but they can change course frequently. These ecosystem lifelines adapt to the slightest change in topography, forming sudden diversions that carve out a new path quite suddenly. Like the rivers themselves, communities living along them are also evolving—searching for ways to adapt their traditional livelihoods sustainably, in ways that keep the course of these waterways from shifting too drastically.   

Life here relies on navigating the rivers, therefore boys like (from left) Alberto Mussenge , Joåo Lipalo, and Elias Mateus learn to pole from as young an age as possible. After crafting their own “training” mekoro—traditional dugout canoes—from tree trunks, they practice the basics before committing the waterways to memory and learning how to fish, hunt, and help provide for their families.

Often only the boys in a community learn to navigate the rivers and pilot a mokoro, but this is beginning to change. Even though there are different specific activities performed by men and women, there is an imbalance in how some knowledge and skills are spread throughout the community. When women and girls are able to inherit the same knowledge as males, the whole community gains the skills needed to improve livelihoods. Facilitating equality is an important principle in conservation movements, and the Okavango Eternal partnership supports the inclusion of females in the building of abilities and adapting traditional practices to adapt to a changing environment.   

Cristina Macua represents her village in a discussion among community elders and the Okavango Eternal partnership about hunting. Hunting is an important part of life here, ensuring that valuable protein is part of the local diet, and Indigenous people have hunted sustainably in these forests for centuries. Today, outside commercial hunters are exploiting this sustainable means of nutrition—increasingly entering the forests to hunt―and sell―bushmeat. The commercial wild meat trade negatively impacts animal populations and overtaxes ecosystems. Elders at the meeting agreed that monitoring the forests will help combat this escalating threat.  

Wildfire is crucial to the ecological cycle here—natural fire spreads and initiates important biological changes, such as enriching the soil with ash and stimulating new growth in plants and trees. Communities rely on these natural fires to nourish their farmland and keep the forest ecosystem regenerative, and residents often stand vigil over fires as they burn. In some cases, though, fire is deliberately set to clear land for agriculture, or flush out wildlife for bushmeat hunting; these fires can easily burn out of control, and necessitate careful monitoring of land to discourage this practice.     

At the blackboard, community liaison Ifafe works with a group of volunteers planning on becoming “forest guardians”—teams that monitor the forest borders to deter commercial hunters. Participants, deep in thought regarding the logistics of such an endeavour, discussed critical topics, including how to stop outsiders from setting uncontrolled fires to flush out wildlife while hunting endangered species. They agreed on the need for a unifying and inspiring name―Guardião, meaning “custodian” or “guardian,” was a frontrunner.

Indigenous people have developed an intimate knowledge of the forest, and use the trees as a source of medicine. Over millennia, they have compiled comprehensive medicinal knowledge, which has been passed down from generation to generation through oral cultural traditions. Today the forests remain a wellspring of sustenance and health—almost everything people need comes from these sacred spaces. They use sap for medicine, honey for food, and bark and wood for their homes and mekoro.

Quinta Likumbi works her plot by hand before the rains arrive. As well as protecting forest resources, local people are moving to farm the land more productively―and in a more sustainable way—in the face of climate change. Ongoing soil tests determine what range of crops might grow here, and farmers and others are learning different agricultural techniques in workshops organized by the partnership.

Quintas Fulai provides leadership for his community in many ways, including working with the Okavango Eternal partnership to oversee a project to modernize beekeeping practices and facilitating new agricultural initiatives that create more livelihoods, especially for the youth of the community. Fulai also leads his people spiritually, conducting the village choir in a rousing harmony filled with incredible grace and power.

As more initiatives begin, Quintas Fulai leads a discussion with local villagers of Tempué, Angola, comparing modern GPS mapping techniques with traditional ones. Once familiar with the new format, individuals can decide how and where GPS technology—which uses smartphone apps to track, monitor, and better understand which forests are most vulnerable and in need of protection—can be useful to their practices.    

A group of children laugh, play, and practice poling at sunset. Everything their parents are doing now is in the service of ensuring a future for their offspring: only when the children’s indigenous culture is empowered will people and biodiversity continue to thrive. Okavango Eternal is committed to uplifting the local people of the Okavango Basin, recognizing that any effort to protect or conserve nature must begin by empowering Indigenous peoples and local communities.