Sleepless in the bush

Tents 28 & 29 

Tamboti, the KNP's tented bush-camp, is a cicadian's pearl of poison. This trip was no different.

In the early evening, lightening streaked across the ink-pot, a flare; later a watermark behind closed-eyes.

Close-by, swaddled in dusty blankets, I grumbled under the tent's porous waterproof; no more useful than old underwear in a breeze.

No animal scurried down below; no bird cried out & yet it's precisely for this post-sunset cacophony that we frequent this spot.

[Post mid 30 Cs] - an afternoon airing

Earlier that afternoon blue skies and baking temperatures called for ice-cream & the other goodies we'd need for the evening's open-fire; the same fire over which we'd prepare our dinner & around which we'd sit, as a family, chewing the fat, as these things usually pan out.

The storm had other ideas...

Tamboti's accommodation is Victorian - either a luxurious self-contained canvas tent ie: with WC (a water closet..) or a canvas tent, sans the WC. We like to avoid the 'sans WC' whenever possible ..

Nuptial readiness 

Occupying a toilet seat, pinking from the bum-before, at the shared ablution block, built for three - intended for 30, is ..unpleasant.

Securing a last-minute booking, as we did, usually pre-empts a canvas tent sans WC... This then our joy & a feature of this particular trip.

Plan B's dinner-affair was a soggy cheese & ham which I shared with the drip off the roof. Add a dram of loneliness - a consequence of the uncaring bunch indoors & life becomes a rainbow....

Lesser Spotted Eagle - feasting on ants.. An incongruous culinary delight

Enjoying the same soggy cheese & ham, belatedly, with the afternoon squirrel, a thief during ice-cream, isn't a memory worth savouring either.

If the hares of that night were conspicuously absent then the dust bunnies in tents 28 & 29, were abundantly fruitful. Into this grey, unserviced world crawled the creepies over our late-night beds. Mosquitoes winged & whined via the front door.

Much later I stalked inside soaked to the seat-warmer, ravenous & starved of night-life... Given that the nagging racket was loudest inside the tent, rather than out, I returned to my puddle, outside - a Tamboti insomniac.

Disaster!

Dubbed 'Nature's mistake' by the Soviet politburo in the 1960s, the Aral Sea (Sea of Islands), formerly one of the world's 4 largest lakes, has virtually ceased to exist.

Bordered by Kazakhstan in the north and by Uzbekistan in the south, the Aral Sea is currently little more than 10% of its original size. In the 1960s the Soviet authority diverted the two feeder rivers from the Aral Sea (forsaking the opinions of the scientific community) for an irrigation scheme.

Notwithstanding the success of the irrigation scheme, the once-thriving fishing industry has ceased to exist. Subsequent desiccation, economic hardship, pollution and CLIMATE CHANGE have devastated the local population - a socio-economic catastrophe rarely trumped anywhere else, ever.

Recent attempts by the Kazakhstan authorities to reverse the trend (funded by the World Bank) are showing some progress in the north. The Uzbekistan South Aral Sea, so-called after desiccation split the sea in two, is mostly dry and is virtually lost, some think irretrievably. In the north evaporation from the growing body of water has led to increased rainfall and is, at face value, the restoration project's lasting legacy.

In a vacuum of conscience and in the face of scientific opinion, why? The answer lies in fabric. An asinine, catch-all for the material on your back ie: 'White Gold' or cotton. The irrigation scheme created the world's largest exporter of cotton and in the process virtually destroyed the ecosystem.

In the North Aral Sea the fishery is recovering whilst in the South derelict boats lie beached in ever-expanding desertification.

Political will in the North is an affirmation of faith and a socio-economic boon for foresight and fortitude, the ecological benefits notwithstanding. In the South Aral, by way of comparison, an inept government & a misguided laissez faire attitude, is a triumph of short-term gain over the longevity of a country and her people. The exposed seabed is a soup of toxic waste and has been, somewhat unsurprisingly, opened up to oil exploration..

If the Aral Sea is not a microcosm of planetary greed vs. longevity & if the lesson isn't trite or the solution not clearly written in the toxic dust, then we are, as a species, truly irretrievable and a product of our own divergence.