We came, we saw, we planted seeds

The landscape was immense. We were surrounded by mountains in a massive bowl. For most of the year it was coated wall to wall in a carpet of dust, but this time, and for the first time in my experience, there were flowers. From horizon to horizon. Mostly yellow daisy bushes – a veritable sea of them – bobbing and dancing in the cool winter breeze, so similar to the ravers and dancers I was used to seeing in this fantastic place. Scattered among them were the most delicate lilies, painted in splashes of purple and orange. All gifts from Mother Earth after the recent, early rains.

The sheer scale of the place made our little group feel tiny, and it made our mission seem impossible. Looking at my fellow volunteers it felt, at best, improbable.

We were a ragtag bunch. Ten people, ten accents, ten different sets of baggage. Ten burners. Normally drawn together by the love of a good party, things on fire and apparently lasers. This time was different. This time the only thing bringing us together was our mission. To plant indigenous seeds in one of South Africa’s most inhospitable environments. Ancient ground, eroded and degraded by decades, perhaps even centuries of poor agricultural practice and over-grazing. My question was, could we achieve it? Could 10 people make a difference to such a vast, powerful landscape? Did we have the skill? Did we have the power? We had four days to get it done. Four days of backbreaking work in a world where the sun wanted to burn us and the wind wanted to break us. Four days with a group of strangers. There was also a dog.

On our first night, learning each other’s names and giving nicknames to those we couldn’t pronounce, we shared a glass or two of the local wine and took a first stab at lowering our defenses in a new group. No doubt the wine helped because a few hours later, cocky and confident we made a commitment to each other, a promise, a pact. One thousand holes would be dug! No more, no less. A thousand holes full of local seed to celebrate the ancestors and honour the land. It was a vow to be kept. A challenge to shout at the sky when exhaustion threatened. A warcry in our battle against entropy. It was overconfident to say the least.

Indeed, over the next few days, it became a mantra, slightly self-mocking as our city bones and muscles tried to do a country body’s work, but also a rallying cry to raise each other’s spirits in our fight against the blisters and the splinters. It became the punchline to countless jokes. It became a song, a prayer and a unifying theory of everything.

I don’t think I was quite prepared for what happened in the Tankwa this time. I was expecting the aching, blistered hands from using a pick in stony ground, the burning muscles after hours of shovelling unforgiving rocky soil, the dust in my eyes and in my boots, my dry, cracked lips and my sunburned face.

What I didn’t see coming, what I couldn’t see coming, was laughing from the moment I woke up in the morning to the moment I dropped into dreamless, exhausted sleep just hours (or moments) before the next sunrise.

What nobody warned me about was how close a group of people could get so fast – people who would probably, maybe, almost certainly never have made friends without the shared suffering of hard work and an almost impossible mission, certainly an improbable one. 

What I could never have hoped for but absolutely gained was a new group of fascinating friends who shared their time with me. Shared their stories, their amazing cooking, their laughter and even their occasional tears. We sang songs, we shared music, and we gathered round the fire after a day’s hard, honest work, with the sweat still drying on our clothes, and we shared space. Every day that beautiful burn spirit of people helping each other, that openness, that willingness to gift time and experience, a warm blanket in the cold, a glass of water in the heat, snacks when you were hungry, a massage when you were aching and always, always a smile and an encouraging word.

We wanted to dig a thousand holes. It was ambitious and maybe we never quite got there. Did we make a difference? Maybe, just maybe but what I do know is that what we did change was ourselves. Maybe not a thousand holes, but a thousand laughs, thousands of seeds and at least a thousand memories.

Oh yes – and the dog, well she nearly joined a local pack of baboons. Apparently they want to start a theme camp at next year’s burn. They say it will be homo-sapien friendly. We’ll see.

Words by: Saul Joshua Abelson

The repopulation of Quaggafontein with indigenous species of Tankwa-appropriate species of plants by volunteers is an example of how Dust Devil support helps to keep the spirit of the burn alive beyond the Binnekring. Through a small monthly donation, you can help invent the world anew through wild creativity and social upliftment projects that grow our community by becoming a Dust Devil. 

Ready to make the circle bigger and set sparks alight? Become a Dust Devil!