Mtunzini is a remnant 40 km fringe of unique dune forest that once claimed hundreds of miles of the Natal coast in South Africa.

The rest has been taken by holiday apartments and hotels, sugar cane farms, eucalyptus and pine forestry, and dune mining and a huge port for sea transport at Richards Bay.

This small untouched forest is where we go to shed our skins and watch with awe

As I write,
and despite the extraordinary efforts of the local conservancy who invite people in to experience this magical dynamic ecosystem,
these remnants are being visibly destroyed by drying of river sources by inland forestry
and damaged by a hotel consortium with chalets in the forest that endeavors to match their resort to meet the expectations of their visitors:

‘snakes/monkeys will get into the cottage if the trees touch the roof’
‘the paths through the forest must be clear of leaf-litter so we do not stand on a snake/scorpion/unseen death threats’
‘and the branches must be cleared above our heads’
‘and the trees that drop leaves and bird droppings and fruit on our cars’

‘Why are you here?’ I want to ask
as holes appear in the interconnections of the forest canopy where new alien plants  encroach
and my heart aches

Monavale is the small suburb in Harare, Zimbabwe, where we have lived for 30 years
It is a magic place – a large wetland enfolded by a strange outcrop of rocky hills with about 60 houses and an old age home.
The growing community has always been held together by a shared borehole (historically we had no municipal water)
For the past 10 years a number of dedicated residents in this community have established Monavale as one of the very few an urban bio-diversity centers in Southern Africa with the blessings of City Council and support from various environmental organizations.

It has been an exciting project which has involved huge work
we have now established  a wetland bird sanctuary,
protection of the unique local tree community,
an indigenous tree nursery,
vermaculture in our households,
community litter collections,
and bi-annual cleanups of dumping that have been left on the vlei surrounding us.

. . . I came home to the sound of cement mixers and banging and trucks

A 45m cell phone base station is being built 40m from our bedroom window
on the highest point at the centre of Monavale hill

no one, least of all the surrounding properties, were notified in advance

the places that I hold sacred
are being moved into that unseeing world
where development and safety and control
lay to waste to the wonder of the nature surrounds us.

This month, my friend and poet, Bev Schofield wrote in her poem ‘BUT’

I ranted and I raved
about world evil, all  the wrong
wrung out in songs and tortured poetry.
“Dear God” I cried “have you forsaken us?
If evil must be wrought then surely justice must be brought…”
“Good,” said God. “Go do it.”
“But me?” baulked I,

and like her, my heart shudders
as once again, I find myself being called to stand
at a time when my soul calls me to the garden and the simple tasks of daily living

BUT

from the first day the construction workers arrived, they were presented with the signed petition from members of the Monavale community
our letters of protest were sent to the cell phone company, to the city council, to the mayor, to every relevant authority,
and we called them in repeatedly

BUT

no legal permit to build has ever been produced
and our last feedback from the Deputy Urban Planner was as follows:
‘you will have to sue both us and the cell phone company to prove that you were not notified’.

the building continues as I write

And I rave at the unstoppable-ness of it all
how do I remember to love in this space of un-loving?

God flies past on butterfly wing
peeps over the windowsill  in a new-born bright-eyed gecko
whispers beauty in falling orange leaf
touches my coldly shedding skin with the warm sun

what is my place in all this?
is it in the stopping?
or learning to love before we have lost everything?

This entry was posted on June 8th, 2010 at 2:41 pm by Bev Reeler and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.