What a decade 2020 has been. At least it feels like a decade already. The bushfires seem like years ago, not a couple of months. New Zealand feels like another lifetime. How much my little life has changed in such a short period. It’s hard to put into words how I’m feeling. I struggle accept feelings sadness or anxiety when I am lucky to be healthy, to have a job and to be secure when so many people are not. Not in the usual way where I am trying desperately to check my privilege and by doing so, don’t allow myself to feel and process my emotions. In a way where genuinely, I am lucky and I should focus on that or it feels like the depression and anxiety will take over.
The lifestyle of isolation suits me. Comfortable clothes, sleeping in, only having to talk to my pet bird and my plants and humans when I feel like it. Everything being online. It feels almost like forced time to recover from the bushfires. I have been pushing myself not to stay in or start a routine or come out of isolation with new skills or loosing weight but it is happening naturally. I am learning new languages, doing more science communication and learning to teach in new ways and I am colouring in and reading again. Things that always have brought me peace but I have not had the time or mental energy to commit to in many years. I feel like I am gentling bettering myself and managing myself with kindness and in return, my body is allowing me the mental capabilities to take on things that I can do just for me, without the guilt or exhaustion.
The first few weeks were not like this though. And darker mindsets loom over me like a vulture circling. I started isolating early, and basically didn’t leave my small apartment for 3 weeks out of fear and stress. There was so much work to transfer my office home, try and change my whole working mindset and to help the transition to online teaching. Most importantly, and what has had the biggest impact on me – however selfish it is – was mourning the loss of my field work which is what I want to speak about the most. It’s been weeks and I still don’t know how to describe the pain. To try and convey why it hurts, I want to start by setting the scene of my unbalanced mind.
I know how cliche it sounds, but I won’t apologise for it. Ever since I was a kid, as young as I can remember, I have been so obsessed and passionate about wildlife. All I ever wanted was to see animals and be around them. I had a really rocky start to life, but in all the good moments – there were animals. And always…always Africa. I know it was a very safari/colonial mindset but it was the environment I grew up in (rural Australia) and I’ve corrected myself now to make amends. All the big animals, the wide open spaces, the freedom that you could taste in the picture and in the documentaries. It was truly wild. Life there seemed like life and death and nothing else, and while experiencing such complexity and difficulty – it seemed like paradise. No abusive men, no mental health diagnoses, and no restrictions. Just beautiful big trees, and wildlife to match. I see now that in every sense, it was escapism. You know despite all this build up and romanticism of what I pictured Africa to be, it exceeded these enormous expectations.
It’s not that I gave up on these dreams during university. I had given up my time in Africa during my gap year because of the huge cost and I am glad I did in a way, because it would have been deeply problematic voluntourism and I think I would regret it retrospectively. But during uni, I was given a much needed reality check. Conservation is not a pick and choose industry, there’s no guarantee’s and trying to learn about Africa in Australia is not a priority. It wasn’t until I came across my honours project, purely by chance, that the hope was reignited. It was light in a time of darkness, truly. And then despite everything I’d been through, everything I had ever worked towards and all my successes had come together to this moment where I pulled into the gates of Tembe Elephant Park and was overwhelmed by a sense of home. It was like open arms had pulled me in, stroked my wild hair and wiped away years worth of tears and told me that it was going to be ok, and that things would be better from now on. Never in my life had I ever felt like things would get better. For 22 years it was ‘things will keep going’, but never ‘things will get better.’
It has never and never will be a story of how I saved Africa, but a story of how Africa saved me.
The person I was in Africa was my favourite version of myself. Determined, passionate, hard-working and making a tangible difference. For the first time, people looked to me for guidance and information. I was learning everyday. I was living off the bare minimum, I was disengaged from the world. I was wild, and I was free. It was not without problems – being homesick for people, trying to deal with a new demon (anxiety) and trying constantly to succeed despite my so called “supervisor” who only ever held me back and pushed me down and made me doubt myself. But despite all that, I blossomed. I felt in control and I felt my confidence growing everyday. I loved…love her. The shape of my body, the imbalances in my brain…the trauma…didn’t matter anymore. It was all part of who I was becoming, and for once, it made me stronger.
I regretfully came back to Australia, and I finished honours which in and of itself was excrutiating. I had to leave a place that brought out the best in me, and made me the happiest I’ve ever been and then had to deal with the process of analysing and reporting on data by myself because my supervisor didn’t know what to do with it. It tarnished my view on academia, almost irreparably, but never of Africa. Ultimately, my mental health took battering after battering, very much outside of my control, and I couldn’t bring myself to stay in academia. I needed time to think. I needed to work out how to get back to Africa, that’s all I knew. I was offered a good job in science outreach so I took it. I’ve already spoken about that meeting with my other supervisor where he told me to do a PhD and the thoughts that ran through my head. I will always be grateful that he has always seen the best in me and encourages me to do the same. That year off was tough for a lot of reasons. Every day I spent away from Africa, and my elephants, my heart hurt more. I would go over my photos and videos for days, and months on end – yearning. Truly.
Then I did it, I started a PhD. I got in. All of a sudden, I had the reigns. I chose where my project went and how. I had unconditional support to go back, I just needed to build up to it. And I did. It took me over a year but I got a plan, I had funding applications ready to go and I was preparing to start my ethics application and accumulate the skills I needed to go. This time, no white saviourism, but with a decolonising sense of mind. It was satisfying every intellectual and moral craving in my heart. I would be with elephants again, I would be wild Rachael. I would be free Rachael. I would repair everything from the last 3 years. I was happy. I was dancing to music again, I was loving myself and body, I was dating! Every day, I woke up with purpose. The last 4 years, if not 5, had been leading up to this. My life dream, the accumulation of back-breaking work, the sacrifices and the blood, sweat and tears were coming to a head. This. Was. It. In February, I got the go ahead from my supervisor to apply for grants and start getting permits. I couldn’t believe it was really happening. My smile reached my eyes, my heart was full and I was content everyday. A place that I always wanted to be in. It was coming, I was going home. I was getting myself back.
But the universe had other plans. In a matter of weeks, all my work…all my pride and my joy, my life was flipped. In theory, over a year of my life but in reality 5 years of my life…my entire life even…was down the drain. Everything was cancelled. Not just for me, but the whole world. The idea, the notion, that had got me through every hardship, every stress and depression and every pressure was over. Cancelled. Indefinitely. My only solace was in that was I wasn’t alone, everyone was going through the same thing. My office mate lost 5 of his 8 study sites in the bushfires. We were all grieving. But this felt like it hit harder – most people did research within Australia which should open up again by the end of the year or had done their fieldwork already. It wasn’t even like the rug had been pulled out from under me, it was like the whole earth was pulled out from under me.
I am trying to work out who I am, and how to keep going on when what felt like my reason for waking up every morning was gone. Who am I without going to Africa? How do I overcome everything when the light in my dark tunnel was extinguished? Who am I if I am not going home? Every day I was trawling through literature, trying to workout ArcMap on my own, I was getting out of bed but what was the point if at the end of this was Africa and it was gone? It took me two full weeks to email my supervisor, to drive the last nail into the coffin. He commiserated, worked on a new plan and he told me I was allowed to grieve.
I have lost many things. People, friends, pets…my sense of self. In fact, I’ve lost a lot. I’ve lost patience, I’ve lost sanity and I’ve lost the eternal battle I have within myself so many times. But after and during, there was always that spark. The spark to be that person again when I was there. I know that I can be that person here, I feel it poking through when I’m teaching or presenting on elephants. But honestly, it feels like a waste when I’m using that part of myself on something that I don’t want to fully consume me, to flood all my senses. Africa, and my work there, is my life. It is my entire life and I’ve earned that. It wasn’t just me who was different in Africa, everything was. Do not mistake my romanticism for blind ignorance, I know it’s not Disneyland. It’s hard work, it’s difficult and tedious and sometimes, impossible. But I loved the challenge. You know, the days where I lost sleep in Africa were days that elephants were foraging around camp. On a good day, there were lions making a kill nearby and being too loud. On bad days, it was gun shots – from poachers or the anti-poaching unit, we never knew. But now? Bad days are much, much worse.
But the thing is, that at the end of the day…everyday…it was worth it. The cost/benefit of every day always came up good on my side. Now what? Now some days are better than others, I can still smile and have a bit of a boogie and have a little laugh but I am scared for the day when I can’t do it anymore. Because the other side of that amazing version of me, is the one I’ve spent the most time with. Sleeping all day, and all night. Not talking to anyone. Not doing anything. Waking up and just wanting to not exist. I go through the motions…shower, dress, coffee, uni, dinner, bed. Repeat. On bad days, it’s not me being stressed about driving around a park on my own and getting stuck in a herd of elephants…it’s not getting out of bed, staring at the blank white wall next to me. Not touching my phone, or TV or a book. Just staring. Breathing is a chore and the 10…12…14 hours of sleep are never enough even though I’m not doing anything. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes without any effort from me. All day. For days on end. Just waiting for the moment I can go back to sleep so I don’t have to feel anything for a while. It’s destructive behaviour like dating men I know I shouldn’t trust, just to feel wanted. It’s harming myself, in physical and emotional ways. It’s pushing my friends away. It’s depression. And then it’s anxiety. Even if I want to get up and go out – will I get COVID-19? Will I run into someone I know? Will I forget something? Will I just walk onto the road without checking? Will everyone look at me? The pain from this kind of loss feels like it is slowly being pumped through your veins and then it radiates through your body, starting in your throat and heart.
It’s not a good place but based on my history, it is one of the only alternatives. I haven’t got there yet. I can feel it though, like constantly looking over your shoulder when you’re alone on the street. An inkling. A rock sinking my heart all the way down into my stomach. At the moment, there are still glimpses of me. The last few days have been great, I don’t know why. But one of the byproducts of trauma is that you’re scared to be too happy, because you’re not used to it and it’s almost like being euphoric but it will come at the cost of a major depressive episode. I’ve been working so hard to avoid it for so long, but maybe now it is inevitable. I know it was probably not wise to put so much on this trip, to have so much riding on it but it was basically a secured thing. Who could have ever predicted this? I genuinely don’t know who I am without the promise of going to Africa soon. I don’t know when I will go and that hurts even more.
It’s especially hard because despite the fact that Africa has mostly been in lockdown, and has low levels of the virus…the chances of travel reopening to Africa within 12 months is so low. And I can’t even plan until that happens. I need at least 3 months to plan, and 4-6 months to be there and a year when I get back to process and publish the data. I am meant to finish my PhD in February 2022. I have a 6 month, probably 1 year extension but I want to finish. I have been ready to move to Africa and work there since I was a child. Having a PhD before 30 is impressive but I could be using these years to work, build my skills and be there. I could be locked down in Africa right now.
This is the pain. Everyday. I’ve been distracting myself, putting my time and energy into the backup plan and teaching. It hasn’t gotten bad yet, and I am working very hard on using my healthy coping mechanisms and tackling this head on because I don’t want it to win. Talking a lot to my friends, and letting my body do things that help me cope. Eating, walking, sleeping. I might still be able to go, but the certainty is gone. I keep reminding myself that I am more or less happy and healthy, as are my beloved friends and family. But I am truly grieving a great loss. I sacrificed a lot for this and to be the version of myself who can go. Relationships, secure finance and opportunities. I was also relying this trip to build my skills, and develop skills to actually be employed after I finish my PhD. I know it seems doom and gloom, and it feels like that too. Believe me, however melodramatic you think I am reading this, I already think that of myself 100x over. I have to stop apologising for my emotions, no matter how ridiculous they may seem. I have to allow myself to feel them, and the more honest I am about them, maybe others will feel validated too. I know there are positives, and I know people are loosing more than me, but that doesn’t negate how I feel. It doesn’t take away the hours I have lost to crying so much that tears don’t come anymore, it doesn’t negate stomach cramps and tender ribs from gasping for breath during panic attacks and it does not mean I haven’t felt completely debilitated and lost in my own mind and body. I have lost a lot, I know what grief is when I see it. I know how it feels, I know what it does.
I am glad to still be in therapy, and grateful to have supervisors and friends to commiserate with me. To support me and let me go through what I am, unconditionally. And I know that one day, whenever it may be, I will be standing on the balcony of my tent or my rondoval with my dog in toe…looking over the river or the pan full of my elephants. And I will be me again. I will be proud of who I am, and I will feel powerful again. I will have won, I will be successful and I will…finally…be myself. But for now, I need to let myself grieve and not force myself to be better before I am ready to be. I still don’t know how to answer when people ask me how I am going, or what is going on with my fieldwork. I still can’t talk about it. I still can’t think about the word “fieldwork” but that’s the process of grief. Every time I was asked, I could feel my heart wrench. I could sense undoing. Which is why I’m writing this. More for me than anyone, but so when people close to me ask again…maybe I can put it into words, or I can ask them to read this because it took me weeks, days and hours to say it, and finally put it in words.
For now, at the end of the day…every day…it’s still for the elephants. It is always for the elephants. I have students to teach and friends to love dearly, it is time to keep on keeping on. This too shall pass.