“Cowori”

In an Amazonian language, “cowori” has come to mean “man knows too little for the power that he wields, and the damage that he causes.” 

Ain’t it the truth?  (Read the piece, below.)

News blues…

• Is South Africa heading towards a second wave of coronavirus? “The risk is there,” says the health minister. 
• Covid-19 infected and diagnosed, US Congressman Mike Lee attends the Supreme Court confirmation hearing without a mask. 
• Trump campaign recontextualizes Dr Fauci’s words from months ago – and creates a self-serving political ad. 

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The Lincoln Project: Walk of Shame  (0:55 mins)
Inside the Lincoln Project's campaign against President Trump  (13:33 mins)
Don Winslow Films: Memo to Trump  (0:34 mins)

Healthy planet, anyone?

According to a report by insurance firm Swiss Re, trillions of dollars of GDP depend on biodiversity, and a fifth of countries are at risk of ecosystem collapse. 
Along with Australia and Israel, South Africa ranks near the top of Swiss Re’s index of risk to biodiversity and ecosystem services; India, Spain and Belgium are also highlighted; countries with fragile ecosystems and large farming sectors, such as Pakistan and Nigeria, are also flagged.

One-fifth of the world’s countries are at risk of their ecosystems collapsing because of the destruction of wildlife and their habitats, according to the analysis. Natural “services” such as food, clean water and air, and flood protection have already been damaged by human activity. More than half of global GDP – $42tn (£32tn) – depends on high-functioning biodiversity … but the risk of tipping points is growing.

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Dear presidents of the nine Amazonian countries and to all world leaders that share responsibility for the plundering of our rainforest,

In each of our many hundreds of different languages across the Amazon, we have a word for you – the outsider, the stranger. In my language, WaoTededo, that word is “cowori”. And it doesn’t need to be a bad word. But you have made it so. For us, the word has come to mean (and in a terrible way, your society has come to represent): the white man that knows too little for the power that he wields, and the damage that he causes.  

My name is Nemonte Nenquimo. I am a Waorani woman, a mother, and a leader of my people. The Amazon rainforest is my home. I am writing you this letter because the fires are raging still. Because the corporations are spilling oil in our rivers. Because the miners are stealing gold (as they have been for 500 years), and leaving behind open pits and toxins. Because the land grabbers are cutting down primary forest so that the cattle can graze, plantations can be grown and the white man can eat. Because our elders are dying from coronavirus, while you are planning your next moves to cut up our lands to stimulate an economy that has never benefited us. Because, as Indigenous peoples, we are fighting to protect what we love – our way of life, our rivers, the animals, our forests, life on Earth – and it’s time that you listened to us.

Read Nemonte Nenquimo’s letter. 

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Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

I arrived in KZN from California on 28 January, intending to assist my mother, get things in order, ensure her appropriate health care (she was treated for oral cancer a year ago), and return to my American family 28 May, to work, live… until next year.
Instead, a global pandemic and lock down followed.
I’m still here. My mother is in a Care Center, I’m packing up piles of stuff, working with auctioneers, realtors, and municipal and legal bureaucracies, to ensure the sale of her house, settle her pets, down to details such as today’s activity: move, remove, and replace one of my mother’s beds with another – and find sheets and bed clothes that fit the replacement bed.
Two weeks ago, I made an offer on my own retirement unit in KZN. It was accepted so, at a distance of 14,000 miles, I’m organizing my life in California so that I’m not financially bust when I return, organizing my gear here so that I’ve a place to move into when this house is sold, organizing my thinking so that I can return to California - and an income generating job – as soon a possible.
I’m also discovering and deeply exploring the dynamics of my family of origin. It ain’t pretty. One misses a lot in four decades.
Simultaneously, I’m deeply grateful that I have this opportunity. I’m learning I’m resilient, unflinching, and, yes, even compassionate.
Life is complex.

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Life is also diverse.
Yesterday’s sojourn in the garden included a Brown hooded kingfisher.