Kalahari Desert, Africa: November 13th, 2002

The past two nights here in the Kalahari have been dominated by thunderstorms-big, sprawling masses of darkness that roll in over the desert and beat down windy and relentlessly for a few hours until all suddenly ceases and the storm lumbers on as though it were never there at al1. .. except for the rain water which even so is sucked up quickly and hidden away by the thirsty red dunes. The Kalahari is known as a place of extremes-extremely beautiful but harsh, and yet, such an extremely fragile and precariously balanced ecosystem. By 8AM the heat is extreme, and by lOAM it is debilitating. The only respite is the occasional breeze or sun-blocking cloud. The clouds are just one of many of the subtle beauties, with reddish-pink underbellies as the result of reflection from the red-colored dunes below. It is easy to see how people might drive through and miss things like this, and believe that the desert is dead and ugly. But it is not hard to look closely and marvel at the busy colonies of ants, the darting ground squirrels looking nervously for cover, the ominous scorpions lurking under every rock (or so it seems), and suddenly this barren desert which so easily drains people of their will to live becomes a life-giving and life-filled environment to which so many animals have adapted perfectly over millions of years.

Perhaps my favorite thing about the Kalahari so far, though, is the sky. At midday it is a stark, vibrant blue that somehow manages to clash and coordinate simultaneously with the landscape below of ruddy red sand and sagey mint-colored brush in a way that only nature could arrange. During storms, the sky becomes one massive cloud of darkness that bears its soul oflife giving water and powerful lightening across the landscape. In evening it becomes one great melting mass of reds, oranges, and bluish purples, and as the crescent moon rises, it becomes at last an endless blackness punctuated by a million diamond stars.

As I sit and absorb the beautiful things all around me, I become more and more sincerely grateful for them. I marvel at pounding waters that spill over giant waterfalls and tear down riverbeds below. I surround myself with mountains and deserts that go on until you can’t see anything else. I swim in the Indian Ocean, watch the sun set over the scrubby bush of the veld, and learn the art of tracking animals. I feel the low vibrations of an elephant’s bellow reverberate in my chest. I stare at wild, yellow eyes that stalk me through the brush at dusk. I sympathize with the lonely cries of the hyenas at night, and I envy the awkward grace of the giraffes. I begin to notice the delicate and balanced nuances of ecosystems I had only read about before, as years of dry science textbook material come, at last, vibrantly alive before me.