Our first grandchild arrived at last on the 24th of May . . . 10 days late, but when he came, he came with a rush. Kate went into labour at midnight and this new little being entered the world as the first rays of sun began to slant through the trees.

He was born at the Iliffs house, in the room Kate and Fiona played as children. In the house where Pete left us just these few months ago.  There is a feeling of balance slipping into place. (A new owl has started perching in the rafters on the verandah) Ginny was there to tend the birthing, and Gudrun, a wonderful midwife, and of course Rory – Kates companion on this journey – and Jane, Rorys mother – who held the process.

And he arrived in true Zimbabwean tradition – no water in the house for 2 days – bottles and buckets of water stored in corners were heated on the stove (and later on the gas as the electricity blinked out)  for Kate to have a small bath.

Jane sent a SMS at 6.08 am: your grandson has arrived
We fumbled down the path in the first light of a crystal morning to welcome this new being (our new grandson) into world.
And of course – he is a complete wonder!

All went well – they are all well– no hospitals or bright lights or forms. A gentle welcome into a early winter morning surrounded by voices he already knew.   They are settled comfortably in their cottage while Kate recovers her strength  and Rory recovers his lost sleep and the baby adjusts to being here, and they all learn what this new experience is. Friends and family are cooking and shopping for them.

And now he finally has been given a name, Elijah Bo, and  my computer and I have managed to get together with the simultaneous occurrence of electricity and internet. I have had some time to let it all sink in:

We have been blessed. I am filled with awe  and gratitude – and this huge question

‘who is this new being?
why has he chosen to join us on the planet at this time?
what is his journey going to be?’

There is something else I have been becoming aware of as our children have begun to have children: the difference of their welcome into the world.

A generation ago, the children were born into a smaller world – linked by letters and telegrams and ‘long distance phone calls’ – and the generation before that was celebrated in even smaller circles.

These children arrive, and the news has traveled to the far corners of the planet within 10 minutes.  Their parents, who have kept connected through this extraordinary new web of internet,  hold one another in such a powerful way.  How many hundreds of voices and thoughts welcomed Eli Bo into the world through Face Book and Skype and SMSs?

And what does this mean?  For if the energy of a loving web of support counts for anything – as surely it must – and their journey is in this changing time of transition – which surely it is – these new children are connected to a global web which holds another potential.

I am filled with questions without answers.

Zvinhu zvese zvafamba zvakanaka
Isn’t this lovely?
In less poetic language it translates as ‘all went well’
It was written on a feed-back form by one of our community facilitators after a capacity training workshop
I have been waiting to use it…

One Friday each month, the Tree of Life invites representatives from all their partners,
the communities and groups who have trained as facilitators and workshop organizers
and have begun their own circles where they live.
On Fridays we sit together and bring our stories, our successes and failures and plans for the future
we talk of exchanging facilitators between communities,
and
have tea and sandwiches
laugh

Friday Circle
29.4.11

In Motoko they rose before dawn
walked the cold dusty paths dressed in Sunday best
the sparkle of Venus dims in the rosy glow of sunrise
cold morning air
wood smoke
nearly winter

At the main road they catch the combi
joining the morning crush
in a helter-skelter, precarious, two and half hour drive
life in the hands of a speeding, hell-bent driver

… into Harare

bustling noisy smoky morning traffic
queue at the terminus in piles of litter,
street people
vendors
to catch another combi to Marlborough
walk the last 2 km
to the monthly Tree of Life Partners Circle

Today was special
it is the week of the Harare International Arts Festival
and today we were to be visited by a group of young poets/singers/musicians
who would perform for us

But first the circle
today was special

what is the question we need to ask with the talking stone
that would bring our energy together?

50 people on a green lawn surrounded by trees

‘What is it, that inspires you, in doing this work?’

‘this circle’
‘the ability we have to communicate with communities across the country’
‘that we can speak together of our troubles and our inspirations knowing that we will be witnessed’
‘the power of love that holds us together’
‘the opportunity we have to heal our country’
‘the power of this network’
‘the spirit of love’

one young woman from Mrewa said

‘in this circle, for the first time, I can speak as an equal’

I feel an emergent pattern
flowing alongside the chaos

And then the artists…
These are our children
they have grown alongside this chaos
the last 11 years of their young lives have been a witnessing of corruption and violence and abuse of power
- town and country,
their adolescence has been spent in fearful isolating times
the closure of schools,
the loss of possessions and homes
families and communities disrupted and broken
so many deaths

What is it these new children of our nation have to say?

with their dreadlocks and hip-hop?
-of the freedom train… that left the station in 1980 when they were born free
and of the economy class – who were crushed together to make way for the first class
of the old woman who got left behind without money for the ticket
and the young mother who lost her baby
- those abandoned by the freedom train

Of the joy of being free within their own spirits
of living in the present
of connecting with nature

with his guitar a young man sang old songs
to old spirits with the voice of the old grandmothers
for the abused children
for the spirits of the dumped babies.

When he was asked what moved him to sing this song he explained
‘Once I was privileged – I had a job
and with the job came a newspaper
and it was in there – on pages 3 and 4
hidden away in lost corners
I read these stories
And I felt they were stories that everyone should know
So I sing’

A beautiful 18 year old
spoke with the voice of the young deaf and mute girl she was working with
a poem filled with vivid understanding
of the frustrated angry vacuum of this young life

She goes to this orphanage voluntarily, to hug the children!

A young man spoke with the voice of 3 different women
whose lives had been changed forever
by the burning and breaking down of outhouses and shack dwellings and posessions
in operation Murambatsvina

another young woman spoke
spoke from inside the skin
from inside the wall of prison
from inside the humiliated beaten body
from inside the mind
of one of our women human rights activists who was arrested last year

and powerful woman who was visiting Zimbabwe
called for the time of the return of the Goddess
the challenge of sharing the throne
of the balance of masculine and feminine

When asked how well she was received by our more conservative Christian population
she replied

‘I am not here to be approved of
I am here to make you think
about the coming of the inevitable’

A young boy not more than 11 years or so played traditional drums
he said he had been drumming since he was born
a young man sang
and we danced

what is this emergent pattern
flowing alongside the chaos

Zvinhu zvese zvafamba zvakanaka

It is a busy  place, Cape Town
filled with new housing and more cars and more roads
filled with family and friends and generosity and warmth  and shared meals and old memories
shared holidays and celebrations and places we have been
and where to go and what to see and what to buy and where to live
Gleaming shops filled with new things that I didn’t know I needed
things that make life better?
and I buy 3 pairs of baggie trousers,
(and even though  Pat tells me it looks as if I have dirtied my nappy from behind,
I am, nevertheless, pleased at this new casual comfort)

Most days I watched the early morning sea
sitting on the rocks below towering mountains
where the elements converge
in rushing winds
and silent mists
and sudden heat from unfiltered sun in deep blue skies

ancient granite rocks overlaid with ancient  sea beds
overhang the ocean
and here – in this unlikely, unwelcoming place
blown by furious flattening winds
scorched by burning afternoon sun
watered by far flung spray
8 different kinds of flowering plants  have made their home
a tenuous holding

fibrous roots into cracks of crystallized infertile rock

- and a line of minute black ants
march in earnest, focused direction
across the granite wall behind me

life is everywhere – ready to answer the challenge
in their still deep silence the old spirits of the mountains
are slowly shifting
as a frill of encrusting  houses and mansions and apartments
scramble up its slopes
fill valleys that were once the passage of wind-blown sand,
and hundreds of thousands of temporary shacks
grow and spread
out there, on the sand dunes
and on the edge of wetlands and slopes
- housing for the homeless

The old oaks planted by long gone settlers
begin to grow diseased and old

The sea begins to bite into the coastal railway line
and sand blows up the streets covering the edges

These rocks, and mountains and beaches have moved with the slow pace of time
over millions of years
a small piece of Africa jutting out towards the south pole
covered in feinbos
a community of plants found nowhere else in the world

and at the time we begin to realise how precarious is  this land
and finally recognize the call to hold this place sacred
- small places on the tops of mountains and the edge of unreachable coasts

we pour in, regardless, in our millions
trying to control the inevitable, eternal migration of mountain and sand and sea
and battle with the problem of living in a way that creates least harm

Back home it is tattier
less comfortable and predictable
where the challenge of interacting with the chaos is more visible
and I feel once again the edge of anxiety
and to the thrill of riding the wave

Back home to the family and the community and the sad absence of Pete
the familiar trees
and the space and the noise
and the call of the Tinker Barbet and Heuglins Robin
and the knowledge of friendships in far places
and 8 different kind of plants hanging of the rocks at Noorhoek

For nearly three weeks over Christmas the air was filled with white butterflies
clouds and clouds of ‘Brown-Veined Whites’
passing through our lives
from where? to where? in a North Easterly direction
laying their new eggs where?
billions of caterpillars eating what?

There was a cobra in the chicken run yesterday
We watched enthralled as the drama played out:
one cobra in the corner
one baby rat, feet-up, in the middle of the floor
one mother rat perched in the dry stone wall
five uncomprehending chickens
and five humans (safely out of spitting distance)peering through the fence
The cobra slid its head through the stones to our side of the wall
and the chickens surrounded in rapt admiration
eyeball to eyeball
as it flicked its tongue with an unblinking stare
the mother rat tried to dash in and rescue the dead baby
and the cobra flashed back

and we sat
in silence
waiting
the cobra – invisible in the dry stone wall
the mother rat – indivisible in the dry stone wall
the dead baby in the centre of the floor
the chickens returned to their small world,
pecking the ground
and five humans were left wondering…

Mel cleaned the leaves off his roof last week
The bush babies who live between his roof and ceiling
- terrified by the sudden commotion
left the safety of their daytime hideout
and fled into the canopy of the trees
All day, the birds came to scream and shout and flap
what where these new creatures in their territory?
small fluffy nocturnal creatures
clutching the branches
staring around them with huge worried eyes
finally, as dusk drew in and the birds settled
they began, again, their nightly dance through the canopy
in search of gum and fruit
(and the avocado we put on the feeding tray)
good day, bad day
life goes on

This morning, two paradise flycatchers are dancing round the old nest
could  they are interested in using it?
are they the same pair?
(Kate says they are commemorating the birth and death of their eggs last month)

As Pete grows weaker
we sit with him in his bedroom
old friends, old stories
threading back through a tapestry of shared meals, holidays, childrens’ parties and celebrations
watching the light change the colour of the canopy
through the wide bay windows
the first flush of sunrise
to the last echoes of sunset shown in rosy flashes on tall trees
until the darkness begins to close in
and we catch a small glimpse of the universe
from our tiny turning planet

Do we dare ask
what is the Great Mystery?
name it and classify it and prove it?

Or do we become it?
a deeply buried knowing
that we are part of something wider than ourselves
stardust
ancient mountains
distant oceans
newly turned earth
old breath – new breath
part of the current flowing through the now
balancing the contradictions of living in pain and beauty

It feels important that you hear the rest of the story

two days later,
Bevan Mwanza came running up the back path
with his eyes on stalks
and his binoculars bouncing up and down his little 8 year-old frame

‘the babies,
the babies have been eaten
I saw a kestrel come down and catch them
the  parents were crying and following him’

So that, dear friends, is the way of life

The trip from Zaire
the building the nest and laying the eggs
the feeding, and protecting
and cleaning the nest
and a Kestrel (red footed)
comes all the way south from Manchuria or Siberia
and drops out of the sky
to pick up the babies for a small snack.

They started building their nest a month ago
soon after they arrived from Zaire

For the last few weeks
we have watched these beautiful, minute creatures
set up home outside the kitchen door
and marveled at the extraordinary investment of energy involved!

we watched as a tiny cup was built of fine grasses
spider web-stitched,
lichen-adorned
and eggs laid

Last Sunday they hatched
and the parents began to work
diving, floating flashes of orange gold
snapping invisible insects out of the air around us
feeding three, inch-long scraps of skin, bone and beak

They defended their territory with huge conviction
fearlessly attacking any passing strangers
Wednesday saw them fight off a Hammercop
(just passing through on an innocent search for pond life)
attacking him with such vigour that
despite his huge bulk,
he fell off his perch
and lost his dignity.

We saw them chasing barbets and bulbuls
bombing the bush babies as they emerged at sunset

Last week we began to notice strange white sacks
with small brown tails
floating in our pond
what new life form is this?
they seemed not to fit into any category we knew

a few days later, as we sat at the table drinking coffee
the female floated over the pond and deposited a small white sack!
she was cleaning droppings from the nest
(we learnt later that they often build nests above water)
no predator would find her chicks by looking at the ground!

Today, 10 days from hatching
3 fat feathery beings are stretching their wings
struggling and jostling to stay on board
and finally out they popped
each one seemingly as large as the nest they had left
and sat on the branch stretching into this new found freedom

they are about to fly.

what extraordinary dedication
a journey of hundreds of miles
weeks of careful camouflaged nest construction
the laying of 3 precious minute eggs
the determined effort to feed
and protect them from passing predators

3 tiny new lives
no bigger than a thumb