Storytelling in conservation is a fickle friend. You have to balance hope against urgency. Bring people on board, even if that just means making them more aware of the wild world around them. Above all, you need your audience to question everything. And there is a lot of information in a conservation piece. It can drown you fast.
After more than a decade of intense negotiations, historically land-dispossessed communities living around the Kruger National Park can finally put a painful chapter behind them, following a landmark agreement that recognises their economic and heritage rights to the land.
Every year, nearly two million wild herbivores cycle through the Serengeti-Mara ecosystem spanning Kenya and Tanzania in East Africa on the greatest terrestrial migration on earth. This isn’t one undifferentiated river of life. It’s a sequence – a modular procession of species, each occupying a distinct role. Zebra are the first to move, cropping the tall upper inflorescences of the grasses. Wildebeest follow days later, grazing the mid-level leaves exposed by the zebra’s work. Thomson’s gazelle trail behind, selecting the short, protein-rich regrowth and low-growing forbs revealed by both preceding waves. Each species processes the grassland differently, and the temporal separation between them creates boundaries – modules within the migration – that prevent direct competition from collapsing the system.
Men’s sexual and reproductive health may be awkward to talk about, but there’s a need to do so. For example, about one-sixth of all couples worldwide have difficulty conceiving children, and in half the cases the man’s fertility is part of the problem. In South Africa, nearly 65% of men attending primary healthcare facilities report some level of erectile dysfunction, as do 57.4% of men in Nigeria.
The successful completion of the Artemis II mission marked another defining moment in modern spaceflight. For the first time since the Apollo era, humans once again travelled beyond low Earth orbit, circled the Moon, and returned safely.
Lion hunt differently all the time. No two stalks are identical; few kills unfold the same way. In different regions they may specialise in particular prey species, and certain ways of taking them down, but they don’t perfect a single technique that applies to all hunts – they adapt and adjust to the opportunity presented. This isn’t inefficiency; it’s mastery. In the language of resilience, this is variability: the capacity to function across a range of conditions rather than optimising for a single set of circumstances.
Jupiter is currently visible in our night sky as a steady, golden point of light that outshines almost every star around it. To the naked eye, it looks calm and unchanging. But aim a simple pair of binoculars at it, and something remarkable happens. Four tiny pinpricks of light appear alongside the planet. These are Jupiter’s four largest moons, Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto. They shift position from night to night, quietly orbiting their giant host in a celestial dance, first noticed by Galileo over 400 years ago.
On decades of trails through the African wilderness, I’ve observed systems that have perfected the art of survival through millions of years of trial, error, and adaptation.
Rising along South Africa’s northeastern escarpment between Polokwane and Tzaneen, lies Magoebaskloof. This sweep of mist belt forest, rolling grassland, and deep-cut valleys is one of South Africa’s most atmospheric birding destinations.
Last month’s lioness charge was a live demonstration of how living systems behave under sudden stress. Three people stood on
