Born and raised in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, Thandeka is an environmental enthusiast dedicated to researching how access to, and benefits from natural environments can influence social equity.
“Broken telephone, broken telephone,
pass it on, pass it on,
let the message travel strong,
whisper softly, don’t you shout,
let’s all see how this turns out…”
‘Broken Telephone’ is a game that constitutes the slow unravelling of a simple message through complex dynamics of diverse accents, intonations and cultural biases, as it is conveyed down a chain of players. Ayanda starts with the word ‘honour’, and after travelling around the circle, it morphs into something entirely different. The game mirrors how traditional ecological knowledge has become distorted over generations. Similarly, as each new interpreter in the game adds their understanding, conceptualisations of traditional ecological knowledge have also been exposed to varied interpretations, laced with colonial influences, globalised perspectives, and urban ideologies – obscuring original meanings and by extension a disconnect from the natural world.
This analogy now epitomises the reality of our fragmented relationship with the natural world, where misinterpretations of its value have compromised our ability to care for it effectively.
Since the beginning of my Master’s in Biodiversity, Conservation and Management, many of the ideas I once held about the environment have been reconstructed and redefined, particularly regarding ecosystem services – the non-material and material benefits people derive from their interactions with diverse environments.
Rather than merely asking, “How can we combat the ecological crises we face today?”—an undeniably crucial question—my focus has shifted to a more fundamental inquiry: “How do we repair the broken telephone?”
This shift brings me back to the core motivation for my academic pursuit- Story telling. The stories my mother shared about my grandmother’s practice of traditional healing ignited my curiosity about the interconnectedness of natural ecosystems, human-wellbeing, and the deep interdependence of human societies on the natural world. I have become increasingly intrigued by how such dependencies can form the foundation of values that not only preserve nature, but also cultivate sustainable ways of living in harmony with it.
In the Ndebele culture, it is customary for women to live with their mothers during their pregnancy, fostering a nurturing and supportive environment. My mother and my aunts (omamonmcane) often recount how during their pregnancies my grandmother would prepare a remedy made from “isikhukhukhu –(Acacia nigrescens) to ease their labour pains and ensure smoother deliveries. Interestingly, scientific research on the shrub’s pain-relieving properties remains limited, while modern medicine is considerably more suitable for safe childbirth. This raises the question: do these medicinal practices, passed down through generations carry wisdom that modern science is yet to validate? And if so, why are said traditions often dismissed as unscientific, and more insidiously, deemed as witchcraft? This dilemma leads to more inquiries about what constitutes true knowledge? Has colonialism imposed a binary choice between science and tradition, suggesting that only one can hold validity? These questions form the basis of my academic journey.
While I am aware the answers may be complex and even elusive, the process of engaging with these questions is integral to bridging the gap between the wisdom of those who came before us, and the need for culturally sensitive, effective conservation practice that honours both tradition and science.
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