Cathedral of the Wild

by Boyd Varty

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE OM IN MOTION

  ON SOLO DRIVES THROUGH the park, I sing to myself, rambling songs that flow perfectly into each other. I grin, catch myself finding myself funny. Let’s face it—there’s something innately amusing about rocking out in your Land Rover with only the impalas to witness it. These songs are so much more than songs; they’re the sound of a healthy soul, and to someone who’d lost the joy of singing to himself for so long, each song becomes a sacred chant.

  There is a gift for those of us who have grown up with all the fear, uncertainty, and wonder of the African bush, a moment that God created just for us as compensation for all the years of worry. It’s the moment you come to the end of a long journey, down the final dusty stretch of road where you learned to drive. You catch sight of the big marula tree at the end of the garden and are struck by how unchanged it is, still marking the end of the garden. Home is timeless, in the heart, near love, close to a river. Where the animals are.

  The Intention Circle at Londolozi is set on a piece of high ground near the lodges, where there’s a clear view as the land falls away to the faraway mountains miles off to the west, along the path of the ancient elephant corridors, long since destroyed. Two twenty-foot elephant tusks made of twisted wire—from the old apartheid fence that once separated Londolozi from Kruger Park—frame the entrance to a circle of river sand about fifteen feet in diameter. Around the circle are stones from different parts of South Africa: large chunks of fading pink rose quartz for unconditional love; amethyst for protection; serpentine for releasing negative energy. Scattered around these larger crystals are thousands of smaller ones, so that the flat surface of the circle sparkles like a sequined sky. The circle is a quiet place outside the confines of the camp, the tusks a doorway into a sacred space where visitors can set an intention for their lives.

  The Intention Circle was designed by Simon Max Bannister, Londolozi’s artist in residence, my friend since we were babies and fellow costar of Uncle John’s Bush School series. Even then, he was an artistic visionary. Just after he finished building the installation, Simon asked Dad and me to jot our own intentions on pieces of recycled paper. He sealed them in a jar and fixed a small piece of wire from it to the larger of the two tusks, so that the intentions might be broadcast into the sky.

  There was a time when all of this “intention setting” sounded like rubbish to me, a lot of New Age bunk that had nothing to do with the gritty, practical realities of my life. But that was a naïve perspective. Hemingway said we heal stronger at the broken places, but I’ve found that where the heart is concerned, we also heal more tenderly, more open to the miraculous. Because of the medicine our troubles brought us, my family is unable to deny the possibility that miracles exist.

  One evening, as the sun began to set directly between the tusks of the Intention Circle, I sat inside it with Dad, Mom, Bron, Kate, Kate’s mom, Mo, and a few other staffers.

  Kate bounced her sleeping daughter, Maya, on one hip. Maya is a preternaturally gorgeous little girl with huge, warm brown eyes. Her new pink outfit glowed against her dark skin, her eyelashes curling glamorously even in sleep. She clutched a stuffed bear with a shredded pink blanket for a body, which Kate claims is so covered with food stains that in an emergency we could boil it and feed thousands from the soup.

  After enduring grueling evaluations from authorities, Kate had been set to adopt a baby from a pregnant teen mother. In a cruel setback, at the last moment the girl disappeared from the hospital where she’d gone to give birth. Kate was crushed. Then the social worker said, “There’s another child here at the hospital, a baby who’s been here for four months.” She’d been put up for adoption by her schoolgirl mother. Kate walked into the room, saw tiny Maya, and it was game over. They’ve been a unit ever since. As always, the right people show up if you’re open to them.

  Kate’s adoption of Maya is more evidence that miracles can strike anywhere, anytime, in any of our lives. Maya could easily be an impoverished orphan instead of having one of the most amazing mothers in the world. I think the universe guided her and Kate to each other, partly for their own happiness, and partly to help, in some small way, erode the racism that still infects the small backwater towns of South Africa. I love the shocked look on villagers’ faces whenever Kate introduces a new acquaintance to her daughter.

  Maya brings magic to our family, signified by the praying mantises that seem drawn to her (one even crawled out of her baby clothes the day Kate adopted her). In certain African cultures, praying mantises are very powerful, incarnations of the gods.

  We’ve been given a hint of how Maya plans to share her magic. Later, at age two, she announced to Kate, “Mommy, one day when I am big, I am going to teach all the children in Africa.”

  This evening, we settled ourselves inside the circle. Simon broke the seal on the jar and removed the papers on which Dad and I had written our intentions a year before. We all noticed that the words had faded away, as if drawn off the page and absorbed into the universal airwaves. Inside the jar, a plant had miraculously started to grow. We’d written about the return of nature, and now our words had been replaced by this small, beautiful living thing, growing against all odds in an airtight container. What better symbol of our intentions’ manifestation could there be?

  Down the hill by the dam I could hear a hippo honking, as if another hippo had just cracked a hilarious joke. I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe they knew something we didn’t.

  The sun dipped below the lip of the jagged mountains. “Boyd, Dave, it’s time for you to renew your intentions,” Simon told us. Without saying a word, Dad and I began to scribble away. Meanwhile, Mom and Bron dozed on the warm sand. Kate made a few lethargic attempts to corral Maya, who’d decided it was much more fun to explore the Intention Circle while tossing sand on her mother and chuckling to herself. Gogo Mo just laughed; she always thinks whatever her granddaughter does is wonderful, no matter how naughty. Eventually Maya tired of her mischievousness and lolled in Kate’s lap. It was a wonderfully casual ceremony, light-hearted and playful.

  Once Dad and I were done, I stood up and read out what I’d written: “It is our intention to support Boyd in his quest to date every supermodel now living.” A murmur of mockery rose up. “Okay, okay, seriously,” I said. “Our intention is to create corridors of wildlife for animals, to advocate and fight for more land to be returned to its natural state. We wish to create a model for restoration that the rest of the world can replicate. We commit to this in love.”

  As I finish reading my note, I noticed Dad looking at me quizzically. “We have written exactly the same thing,” he said, smiling. I looked over at his note; the wording was indeed virtually verbatim. There was so much that should have pulled father and son apart, yet even with all my time away, we’d arrived at exactly the same spot. Those who’d known my father earlier would have been shocked to see that he’d written, “We commit to this in love,” but I’m no longer surprised by these sorts of occurrences. I don’t believe this was a coincidence. Dad and I didn’t create this intention; it simply came through us.

  The next morning I found Dad on the veranda, practicing his meditation. “Well, Dad, I have a bit of an idea,” I said when he was done, feeling a little nervous. Dad’s not one for arrogance, and I didn’t want it to come out that way. “I want to re-create the original elephant corridor,” I said, “and I want your help. I want to see elephants walk again from Kruger to the mountains. I want Kate to build learning centers along the way. We’ve already got two up and going.” I felt like I was babbling as I laid it all out. “Everywhere you go, people talk about how we need to save the planet, and we’re the people who actually know how to do it. We’ve restored land, we’ve restored our connection to the animals, and in a way, we seem to be learning how to restore ourselves.”

  I dreamed we could create a protected piece of wild land that would connect Londolozi to the mountains west of us, the mountains framed by
the tusks in the Intention Circle. This land would allow the elephants, the om in motion, to safely walk the sixty miles from the reserve to the high-rainfall areas on the mountains. The learning centers for rural people in the villages along the way would be beacons of hope. The elephants would give the villages a source of income as well as a source of pride.

  As a boy with Phineas in the riverbed, I felt I had been visited by a mountain. Now I wanted the elephants to be free to go to their mountains.

  Dad grinned. “Everyone will tell you it’s impossible”—for a second I was taken aback—“but they said that to me when we started Londoz, Phinda, and CC Africa. Okay, the tiger project was a glitch—I admit that—but one glitch isn’t going to stop us, is it?” He smiled, his blue shining eyes bright and young beneath his graying hair. “Listen to your old man, my boy; everything is a gift. The things that test you can move you into a new state.”

  I’ve learned that nothing is worth doing if it cannot be done from a place of deep peace. If we want to restore the planet, we must first restore ourselves. I believe that you find your way to your right life, your mission, the same way you find an animal. First, quiet your heart and be still. Then find the fresh track and be willing to follow it. You don’t need to see the whole picture; you only need to see where to take the next step. Life isn’t about staying on track; it’s about constantly rediscovering the track.

  As I write this, my restoration proposal includes a thicket of details on building the elephant corridor, a speaking tour, and, in conjunction with Bron, an online arm that will carry stories of restoration all over the world. Dad, Mr. Logistics, has been working to get high-level government support. Kate has discovered her gift and passion for building learning centers; her dream is that every single African child will have access to a world-class education. That’s why she and Mom created the Good Work Foundation. Kate has already been working at centers at Londolozi and in a little town called Philippolis and has just finished building a new learning center at Hazyview, a village near the proposed corridor. Our plan is mostly still pie in the sky. It might not get off the ground, or it might go down in flames. Or, hell, it might even work; we’ve pulled off madder schemes. The important thing is to dream big.

  The first twelve thousand acres have been tentatively scheduled to become a part of the elephant corridor. It’s all been happening without struggle. The more we all come toward peace, the more things flow. The court case rages on, but the outcome doesn’t matter. We’re sticking to our process and putting our energy and focus on what does.

  The outer healing of the land will always be my and my family’s work. But our inner healing is even more important. We see the world through inner frames. Healing ourselves is as much a part of the restoration of the planet as building a place for elephants to walk to the mountains as ambassadors of peace.

  Maybe, like me, you also need to heal but you can’t walk out into the wilderness this afternoon. But you can look up at the sky or that tree poking through the concrete and know that there are thousands of other people who feel equally disconnected from their inner and outer worlds. You can, from where you stand, make a decision to restore from within, even if your mind screams that it is not possible. Whatever feels unresolved, the animal part of you is already tracking the healing you need. Follow that trail; the medicine will feel like freedom. In that moment, you’ll become a part of restoring Eden.

  Last night, I lay down on the earth at Londolozi, its red warmth exuding comfort into the marrow of my bones.

  Lying on my back, watching the stars emerge, I was struck by how they’d been there all along, invisibly lining my day even when I couldn’t see them. Sometimes the darkness reveals, its ways more mysterious than light’s. Sometimes the darkness gives a gift of stars by which we can navigate our way home.

  In 1926, just getting to Londolozi was an adventure in itself.

  An early hunting party heading into the bush on buckboard.

  My grandfather Boyd Varty and his tracker after a kill. Hunting lions brought us to the bush, but hunting would later give way to a deep desire to conserve.

  The early Londolozi start-up crew, young and unafraid, launched themselves into the safari business. My father is seated on the ground at center, with Uncle John second from the right and Shan behind Dad’s right shoulder.

  ABOVE LEFT: Dave and Shan during the decade-long wait for Dave’s marriage proposal. ABOVE RIGHT: Uncle John reluctantly driving some reform school boys—the only guests they could get—across the Sand River.

  Dave, Shan, and John with Madie Varty, the matriarch of Londolozi. She supported her sons’ crazy idea for a safari business without hesitation.

  Uncle John, in typical “JV couture,” and Elmon Mhlongo tracking Manana, the Mother Leopard.

  Uncle John and Shingalana, in many ways the love of his life. His relationship with Shingi converted John to the belief that animals are our kin.

  Dad in his bath. Early ablutions did not fall into the category of luxury.

  With his passion for flying, Dad is chief pilot of the White Knuckle Charter Company.

  A wild male leopard jumps up to investigate Uncle John. Where other photographers would flee, Uncle John is always up for the “high-action sequence.”

  Winnis Mathebula, naturalist extraordinaire, was a second father to Dave and John. He had been gored by a buffalo and bitten by a black mamba, but his only weakness was telling stories in which he was the valiant hero.

  Elmon Mhlongo, John’s best friend and chief cameraman, filmed cheetahs in the Mara and leopards at Londolozi, and starred alongside Brooke Shields in a feature film. (Photo: John Varty)

  At age eight, I was already piloting the Land Rover so Uncle John could get his “high-action shots, buddy.”

  School with Kate Groch, a.k.a. “Teach,” included Ngorongoro Crater as one of its classrooms.

  Teacher Kate rolls sound for Brothers in Arms, Uncle John’s documentary about the Masai. A few minutes after this photo, a massive argument broke out among the heavily armed and reluctant warrior stars, which almost resulted in bloodshed.

  Teacher Kate, Bron, our cousin Savannah, and me among our Masai friends after a day of filming. Later Bron returned to fetching water while I practiced my spear throwing.

  Elmon helps me track a lion. My entire life is now guided by the principles of finding the right track.

  Nelson Mandela at Londolozi. Everywhere he went, elated crowds would gather. Madiba’s birthday remains a day of celebration at Londolozi.

  In Luangwa Valley, this road is considered a good one.

  Two lionesses take their freshly baked cubs on a stroll. Once hunted, lions are now protected and prolific at Londolozi. (Photo: Rich Laburn)

  Because of the legacy of the Mother Leopard, Londolozi has become a place for amazing sightings of these wild cats. (Photo: Rich Laburn)

  Martha Beck taught me how to follow my inner tracks. (Photo: Rich Laburn)

  Mom, Dad and Tatty, Africa’s worst watchdog, renowned for wagging her tail at danger.

  The wire tusks at the Intention Circle, made from the fence that used to keep wildlife out of Londolozi, bring the hope of restoring a passage to the mountains for elephants. (Photo: Rich Laburn)

  Riding around in the battered but beautiful BB Jeep, which survives to this day.

  Stuck in the mud but inventing yet another escape: Bron’s and my childhood in a nutshell. (Photo: Elsa Young)

  Friendi and me. Still best friends, still at Londolozi. (Photo: Elsa Young)

  The Sand River is a current of life that cuts through Londolozi. My father has spent literally decades protecting it for the hippos, crocs, and elephants that depend on it. (Photo: Adam Bannister)

  The famous wildebeest crossing of the Mara River. It was here that Uncle John captured his best footage for his documentary Troubled Waters. (Photo: Rich Laburn)

  When these peaceful creatures returned to Londolozi, it was a great act of restoration. (Photo: Rich Labu
rn)

  Jamu was a young leopard with a gentle, affectionate nature. Unlike many leopards, she loved to sit close and put a paw on you while you prayed she kept her claws in. (Photo: John Varty)

  For my mother, who has been so quietly supportive, innovative, and steadfast.

  Not everyone knows the immense contribution you have made, but those who do are nothing short of amazed! With love.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SO MANY SPECIAL PEOPLE have helped me write this book; to them I owe a huge debt of gratitude.

  I would like to thank my mom, my dad, and Bron for the amazing support they have given me, not just in the writing of this book but through everything. It has been an amazing and intense journey, and I’m grateful that everything that has happened has served to make our bonds of love stronger.

  I would also like to say a huge thank-you to my mentor and friend Dr. Martha Beck, who has played such a significant role in not only getting me to write but also in shaping so much of my outlook. Without her, I would never have had the courage to undertake this project.

  Then Betsy Rapoport! I cannot say enough about how exceptional her support has been. Without her, this book would never have happened. She has provided immense editorial as well as emotional guidance. And that was before she let me move in with her and her family and made me feel so welcome and at home. I have been astounded by her amazing love and her belief in this project. I am so grateful to you, Betsy, and to Ken, Sam, and Kate Weiner.