Follow our social media and blogs as we take you along on our birthday journey of joy and community. We are sharing stories from Royal Chundu through the eyes of our baobabs and all who love them. Fall in love with the poetry of our river and its residents.

January 25th

I spent some time with the trees today 
I wanted to know what they could show me, tell me 
About themselves 
And myself 
I wanted their lessons 
And sat quietly at their feet 
Like I did when I was young and my grandfather would share his stories
I saw all who they provide for.
You need to be alone when you talk to trees
Like them, you can be silent or you can talk out loud
I wanted to stay much longer than I did
The beetles crawled out from under the leaves and the soil moved, reminding me that it was all alive.
That I was still alive and had many journeys to go on
I left taller
I left with peace.

January 27th

I needed to sit by the river today
To look for frogs, see them in their different stages, tiny tadpoles the size of my thumbnail, then growing long legs from wiggly worm bodies, getting ready to leap out of the water.
I needed to watch my child throw stones into the stream just to see the splash, to see the joy of simple things even when they disturb the peace
Sorry little tadpoles, I said, pretend it’s just the rain falling on you.
I listened to the birds overhead, my child cupping his hand to his ear, asking, what’s that?
What’s that, what’s that? The curiosity of a little student showing me how to listen and learn
I watched the trees, how their roots rise and curve and help guide the water into streams.
I listened to the running trickle and sat in the shade of the tree, forgetting the heat, giving my skin a break from the sun.
My child lifted wet leaves to his nose to smell, his new trick.
There are things he’s learning on these visits to the trees that I won’t realise until later
But for now I can see the simple things and how they’re bringing us peace and happiness.
Sorry for the disturbance trees, and thank you for your time.

February 6th

Between the river and trees, the elephants move, with their babies among the legs of the mothers and aunties and big sisters who help care for them.
I watch them moving about and soft piano music plays in my head, a scene of beauty that calms the heart, my breath takes a moment to be free.
Even beside the world’s largest land mammals, the trees on our riverbank tower up higher, calling out to the birds who need a rest, a better view, an insect feast.
The elephants communicate between themselves, in rumbles, trunk movements, tail tosses, silent vibrations, scents passed from one to another. The trees too, they chat amongst themselves, sharing messages we cannot hear.
I wonder if the animals and plants talk to each other, the way I talk to the trees, to the elephants. In hand gestures, whispers, exhales, the attention of my eyes.
I’m sure they do, they rely on one another, the trees and elephants are family, with generations of stories.
I’m only passing through but I wonder what those stories are. Some are told in the great explorer books about the Zambezi and the adventurers and tribes whose lives have intertwined with the river. Some stories are told around campfires, between old and young, experiences that fill the sky with their tales, like shadow puppets.
I sit with them and listen, building my own stories to tell my family, of how the trees and the elephants talk to each other, and live side by side.