by Linda Tucker
My darling godmother has been appointed chair of the Global White Lion Protection Trust, having chaired many church groups and charity committees in her day. It is a tough position for which she is ideally suited. I hope she’ll always hold this position, chairing our organization. Our overriding objective, as always, remains the lions’ safety and welfare; step by step, we intend to put all the necessary procedures in place to protect not only Marah and her family, but also their next of kin all around the globe, held in captivity against their will. It feels like we are the Resistance, surrounded by electric fences, waiting for invasion.
There’s a momentary silence, and the scientists look particularly grave. True to form, Jason uses the lull to add something encouraging: “We’re gonna get through this. Just take it step by step.”
“We can expect a play of light and dark,” I caution, making a reference to the badger I’d just seen, who showed himself as a meaningful sign from Nature. “We should recognize this as a chess game, and be very careful and strategic about every move we make.”
“Got you!” Harold responds, clearly enjoying the challenge.
“Our main difficulty is,” I continue, “it’s impossible to anticipate next steps. Will we be granted the outstanding permit necessary to proceed with the White Lion reintroduction, on the strength of our first two permits?”
There’s a suspended pause, as I take a deep breath to complete my sentence. “Or will the objections lodged by our neighbors sway the decision of the authorities, who could then proceed with action against us, and the lions?”
A grave silence.
Again, I feel the shudder of fear run through the assembled group. Knowing that White Lion conservation relies on lionhearted action, and not fearful inertia, I look to Mireille to provide cheery guidance.
“Chin up, everyone,” our chairperson announces on cue. “It’ll all work itself out. Remember, we’ve got Mother Nature on our side!”
“Okay,” I continue. “So we’ve covered protocols for dealing with Nat Con officials hammering at our gates. What’s important now is we need to get beyond the immediate challenges and look at the bigger picture, and what Marah’s return really means for this region. Although we’re not in attack mode, we are ultimately poised for a territorial takeover.”
I unroll my topographical aerial survey map of the entire region and pin it to the wall, the same map I pored over so many nights in succession, when I was holed up in The Cupboard. Only now, it makes real, solid, tangible sense. Standing so everyone can see, I identify our exact position. Sweeping my hand over the whole region—a massive million-acre area of largely unspoiled wilderness known as the Kruger to Canyons Biosphere Reserve—I pinpoint the land I’ve secured for Marah, at the epicenter.
“That’s the ultimate purpose of Marah’s return to this region, to create peace and unification. We won’t exactly aggressively claim and reclaim the White Lions’ heritage lands, but we’ll invite in any party who shares our vision of protecting these sacred animals for the future of our planet.”
Harold looks quizzical, balanced precariously on his three-legged kitchen stool. “If the biosphere region were a dartboard, this property’d be bull’s eye, right?” he points out. “That’s how it looks to me.”
“Quite so, Harry. Highly relevant,” I concur.
I point out our location in relation to neighboring wildlife reserves, illustrating how we share a border with neighboring Timbavati, while Timbavati itself borders the Kruger National Park.
With everyone’s attention focused on the map, I sweep my hand over the strategic area in question, illustrating how Timbavati’s lands are vast, some 120,000 acres, stretching out to the east.
“But there’s one huge problem,” I point out. “D’you see?”
“The whole of modern-day Timbavati is cut off from its water source.” That’s Jason’s voice.
Even coming from a scientist, this sounds so unlikely that the group experiences a momentary hesitation. I turn to the map again, and point to the Tsau River, drawing my index finger from the top of the map all the way to the bottom, following the river’s path. It flows from the south to the north in direct alignment to the great River Nile, the sacred river of the Ancient Egyptians. There will be another occasion to explore with the group why this correlation is of absolutely vital importance. For now, it’s critical I follow the strategic thread of argument.
“The issue is simple,” I explain. “But potentially catastrophic. This private reserve exists entirely without any access to surface water.”
Harold is frowning, beads of perspiration creasing in his brow. “Can’t tell me that’s true? It’s suicide.”
I nod gravely. “The Tsau River is the only river in the region that flows all year round. Present-day Timbavati Private Nature Reserve is cut off from it by its many kilometers of predator-proof electric fencing!”
The seriousness of this observation strikes everyone at the same moment. Harry in particular shakes his head slowly, as if weighing up the gravity. There is a protracted silence, which Jason breaks in order to discuss the practical implications.
“Timbavati’s dry riverbeds flow only once or twice a year, after rain,” he points out. “The inhabitants survive by tapping into a fragile network of subterranean streams through the use of boreholes, which often run dry.”
From his position, seated with the others at the kitchen table, Jason ponders a moment before continuing to address the group. “I’m not sure the current landowners really appreciate the extent of their vulnerability.”
Then he stands and joins me at the map, in order to further focus the issue.
“This fortified veterinary fence is known as the Red Line,” he explains, drawing his finger down the thick, nearly straight line, marked in red. “There on the map—see it clearly? That demarcates a massive electric barrier, running north-south, carving through many kilometers of wilderness.”
“Fitting name, isn’t it?” I can’t help commenting, wryly. “The Red Line is yet another man-made barrier to complicate our efforts to secure the White Lions’ protection—just like all the others … whether cages, electric fences, bureaucratic brick walls, or red tape.”
Perched on his barstool, Harold is about to pipe up again. Being an aviation specialist, he’s fascinated by topographical details. “You’ve said this important area was declared the third largest biosphere region in the world. Am I hearing right? The Red Line literally carves this natural biosphere in two!”
“Correct, Harry.”
“Okay,” he says, swinging his stool squarely onto the concrete floor again, with an emphatic clunk. “Walk me through solutions.”
“Important thing is our founding property shares a border with the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve, alongside this Red Line,” I explain. “We’d consider dropping our joint fences—but this could never take place until the reserve prohibits lion hunting.”
“Agreed,” Jason concurs, respectfully. “But that basically means changing the mindset of this whole region. Don’t see that happening in a hurry.”
“Hmm,” Harold summarizes. “What we’re saying is: Timbavati’s a protected wilderness region without any protected water? Suicide.”
“Worse,” Jason says, illustrating his point on the map again, “since all the water originates from the Drakensberg Mountains here in the west and flows across this whole unprotected region here,” he sweeps his hand over the land west of the Nile meridian. “What it means is all the water for the entire region—including the Kruger National Park—is basically unprotected!”
“What a balls up!” Harold retorts.
“How seriously should we regard the ecological impact of this fence line?” Simon comments.
“Possibly the most serious ecological concern for this entire wilderness region,” Jason responds. “There’re ongoing casualties against this artificial fence line. It cuts off the natural migration routes of herd game, like wildebeest and sable antelope. As a r
esult, species like sable, which were once abundant in this region, are all but extinct.”
Simon looks shocked.
“We’re saying these horrific casualties might continue forever, until the massive wilderness area on both sides of the Red Line is united.”
“Precisely. That’s why this Tsau River, running north-south, is so absolutely vital,” I conclude. “And that’s why our longer-term vision has to be the uniting of east and west across this artificial man-made barrier.”
“Phew!” Simon responds, wiping his brow at the enormity of the problem.
“Right,” I continue. “Let’s look at our immediate challenge.”
I reach down to collect another map, this time an enlarged schematic of the game property itself. I unroll it and pin it up against the wall alongside the other. Everyone scrutinizes it. I’ve seen it before, but that was only in theory; now we are on the very land charted by this map. It’s deeply exciting. Standing where everyone can view the map and the lay of the land, I point out our location in relation to that of the lions several kilometers away on another sector of the land.
“In addition to the threats from our neighbors,” I continue, “you’ll see our own protected land itself poses an immediate challenge because it’s divided in two by a municipal dust road.”
Personally, I knew this to be highly significant: Maria Khosa prophesized, like the sacred lands of the Ancient Egyptians once known as the Divided Land, the separated lands on either side of the Tsau River would be unified through the return of the true monarch. This heartland, torn in two at the present time, she told me, would one day be united like two chambers of the same heart, healed and made whole by the lionhearts themselves. But until such time as Maria’s prophecy comes about, the heart of the White Lion kingdom remains in a state of separation.
In the greater scheme of things, Maria’s prophesized unification of these divided lands is pivotal to the future of our project, and to the hope for unity in these lands and the greater ecosystem. But it is important for our immediate goals to focus on practicalities, not prophecies.
“Let’s look at the planning for the lion reintroduction,” I continue. “Over to you, Jase.”
“Okay. We’re dealing with two pieces of land separated by a fenced-off dust road. Personally, I don’t believe the division of the land poses a problem for our project. It means, at this beginning stage, that the lions can be free-roaming on the one side, and the humans on the other—without us worrying that the two might unexpectedly meet.”
Nervous chuckling all around the table.
Unperturbed, Jason continues, “We’re looking at implementing a carefully phased scientific reintroduction program—”
“What d’you mean: phased?” Simon pipes up.
“Many factors to consider. We’ll talk you through them in due course,” Jason responds. “For the moment, I think it’s enough to say the layout of the property, currently, should be viewed as an advantage, not a disadvantage. The parameters will eventually change when more land comes in.”
“More land,” I smile hearing Jason’s wording. “Comes in,” as if property has a mind of its own! As Jason wraps up, I think about how little doubt I have that all the surrounding land wants to be included in the White Lion project. What an incredible thought. So, in my mind, momentarily, I warmly invite all neighboring lands to join us.
Xhosa’s vehicle pulls in. We all get up from the farmhouse table to help offload the provisions, all of us feeling a little more upbeat. But Xhosa climbs out of the truck, looking ashen. He’s empty-handed, apart from the rolled-up copy of the local regional newspaper, which he clutches, staring at me. He unrolls the paper and holds it out to me, speechless. On the front page, the banner headline reads:
White Lions Return to the Region,
Neighbors Threaten Legal Action
CHAPTER 20
Vernal Equinox
MARCH 21, 2005. VERNAL EQUINOX. Two weeks after our arrival. I am walking down the sandy riverbed toward the ancient baobab tree, in preparation for a sunset ceremony together with indigenous elders from different cultures. This is the other side of my work for the White Lions: the symbolic side, the reverential and meaningful side, which supports each ruthlessly practical action step I have to take.
In the madness of my trials and anguish on behalf of the White Lions, it is these quiet times of ceremony that bring order and significance to my world. Padding barefoot through the soft river sand, I think back over the shock tactics of the past two weeks—beginning with the poison-pen journalist and the newspaper headlines threatening to bring down my life’s effort. Instead of launching a public counterattack, or even attempting to defend my position under such damaging misinformation, I chose to gather my strength and fight another day.
I have to draw on Maria’s teachings like never before. Rather than declaring open warfare, Maria’s example has trained me to recognize fear (my own and others) and to manage the inherent danger of giving in to it. The way to overcome fear is through love. And love is the force that has sustained me through the traumatic days after arrival here.
I think back to the moment of seeing the damaging newspaper headlines. My first response was to cut further strategic discussions and get back to monitor the lions. Jason and I took turns. I took the first shift, Jason the second. Then we swapped at midnight, and I slept, tucked up in a sleeping bag in the back of the truck until first light. Given the onslaught from my neighbors, I was dreading the dawn, but then—the moment I opened my eyes I was greeted by the most heartwarming sight imaginable: magnificent Marah and her brood, well fed, content, and alert, shining like the rising sun—all staring brightly at me!
It was the second day after arrival, and the effects of the tranquilizer had entirely worn off, leaving them radiant as sunlight. After noticing I was awake, all three cubs turned to investigate their new environment. None ventured near the electrified wires, as if they all knew the fence and nasty wires were out of bounds. But everything else piqued their interest: the new habitat, the cry of an owl overhead as dawn broke, the distant snort of a grazing wildebeest herd. In contrast with my very first view of Marah’s cubs as frightened little bundles hiding in the straw of their concrete cell, these adventurous youngsters were soon bounding excitedly like scrub hares through the thick undergrowth. Frolicking, tumbling, mock-hunting, even climbing trees and dropping down on each other in staged “attack” mode, then returning excitedly to their mother for kisses and cuddles and affectionate cheek-rubs. I knew that whatever the future may hold, being with them is worth a lifetime! And that sense of loving celebration helped me gather my strength after the media attack, and refocus.
There have been other challenges since then, but always the lions have seen me through. With the same sense of clarity, today’s ceremony of thanksgiving for the White Lions and Mother Nature will be built on the work of Maria Khosa and that mysterious instruction she gave me in the early days of my White Lion initiations—before I could possibly understand what it truly meant: she said the way to protect the White Lions is to celebrate them!
I am just beginning to understand. Celebration is the oldest form of unity with the Divine, an acknowledgment of the wonderment of creation, thereby reinstating law and order at the highest level. What could be greater protection than to call upon the highest authority, the overarching presence of the creator, in protecting his perfect creations?
Earlier today, in preparing for this evening’s ceremony, I buried a sacred stone in the dry riverbed beneath the baobab tree, just as Maria instructed me shortly before her death. It felt deeply meaningful, although, as ever, I tried not to rationalize the full symbolism behind such a timeless act. I sat alone for a long while, yearning for Maria’s lost companionship and guidance. Finally, I called upon my great shamanic teacher to give me a sign of her presence once again, just as I did with such dramatic effect the day of Marah’s first arrival on these sacred lands—to the utter astonishment of the film crew.<
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Now as I return down this soft, sandy riverbed to complete the ceremony, I wonder what sign Maria will give me, and I pray that I won’t overlook it, as is so easy to do with signs and messages from the other realms. I am accompanied by an indigenous woman from the Dakota tribe who traveled all the way from the States to be here after receiving a message in a dream about the White Lions. It is not the first time people have tracked me down after receiving highly evocative White Lion dreams. Walking just behind her are two exquisitely fine-featured men, each holding an ostrich egg in both hands. They have brightly colored beads in their hair and torn clothes over beautiful copper skin. They are representatives of the last surviving Bushmen or San people, a lineage as endangered as the White Lions. They themselves have made a pilgrimage all the way from the Kalahari Desert, over several days, in order to pay homage to Queen Marah, the sacred lioness who has returned to her natural kingdom, bringing back hope and courage to the indigenous peoples of Africa. I marvel at the great lengths and distances undertaken by these people, and it’s still a mystery how some of them heard of this place. Following the Bushmen people of the !Xam clan walks an Inuit elder from Greenland in full traditional dress and, trailing him, a medicine man from the Ndebele people of South Africa’s northern territories. All united with one single intention.
I too am in ceremonial dress—draped in the lion-printed fabric that Maria Khosa once gave me in a loving act of handover I’d never forget: that moment when she intimated I would be taking over her mantle after I met Ingwavuma for the first time. In my case, there’s no single culture that I represent. Maria Khosa informed me that in serving the universal spirit of the great White Lions, I would one day come to represent all peoples.
Our shared intention is to honor the return of the White Lions at a time of profound cosmic sacredness, the vernal equinox, an occasion which has been celebrated by indigenous cultures the world over since time immemorial. By celebrating the equinox, the ceremony we are about to undertake is intended to help restore balance on Earth. It is also intended to reinstate the Golden Line that exists between the White Lions of Timbavati and Ancient Egypt, linking the modern-day mystery of the starlions in this unique region with the everlasting riddle of the Sphinx.
