MATUSADONA & MANA by Dick Pitman

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER

Sally and I always plan to make an annual pilgrimage to Mana during the rains. This time, we spent an amazing - and well-timed - few days down there in mid-December. As always, the transformation was stunning. And it always reminds us, very forcibly, that those spectacular dry-season concentrations of wildlife on the Mana terraces are the result of one thing, and one thing only: rain. Without it there is, quite simply, no Mana. Just desert.  

It rained a lot of the time. New grass was well established across much of the alluvium by the time we got there, and grew almost audibly during our seven-day stay. Meanwhile, the Faidherbia albidas were still in leaf; but a lot had fallen and died since our last visit – something I’ve written about before, but can be summed up by the proposition that the F. albida woodlands are largely a single-age stand and have reached the end of their lifespan. 

Meanwhile, the alluvial terraces are undergoing a slow dessication and there’s no regeneration except on midstream islands, which seem likely to be the “new” Mana woodlands at some indeterminate future time, if the Zambezi continues its slow shift northwards.

The interplay of sun and cloud on a haze-free Zambian escarpment is just one of the great
pleasures of a rainy-season visit to Mana

The river itself rose a couple of feet and turned to dark chocolate, running hard and scattered with dry-season debris of broken branches and drifts of dead leaves. Long Pool filled more or less before our eyes, as did Chiseseku Pool; and on our way out the Rukomechi River was in full flood. In other words: everything was as it should be. Mana was resting and recovering after a long, hard dry season. 

But – here’s where it all gets a bit speculative - I don’t think this was ITCZ rain. Neither did it look like “ordinary” early wet-season weather, with cu-nims building up in clear blue skies before erupting in howling storms (although there may have been some of this before we got there, as witness the destruction of part of the Mana clinic by a falling mahogany ). Mostly, the skies were dull grey, and the arrival of rain marked mostly by a gradual darkening in the overall cloud cover. Some funny things are happening to our weather, and the scene shown here (right) was something of an exception.

These clouds - when they happened, which wasn't often - were obviously kicked off orographically by the Zambian hills in the predominantly south-easterly wind, and usually that’s where they stayed. The Royal Zambezi airstrip got a drenching, and probably gave an exciting time to some aerial transfers from Lusaka. 

Mostly, though, on our side of the river we got a lot of featureless grey cloud coming from the southeast, one or two heavy falls, and a disconcerting amount of drizzle with rare outbreaks of sunshine, usually in the late afternoons (and creating some absolutely stunning scenes when it happened). 

So what were we looking at? Are we, in fact, witnessing the first effects of impending climate change? And if so, what are the implications in terms of managing Mana Pools, and indeed all our other wild areas? Is this an Elephant in the Room, that we have to confront?

Many readers will be familiar with the concept of the Hadley Cells, associated with the ITCZ, which hitherto has been our main source of rainfall across most of Zimbabwe. For those who aren’t – a brief (and very oversimplified) explanation. The ITCZ itself is the result of convergence and convection focused on the solar equator, which itself moves north and south between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. The ITCZ follows the sun northward during our winter, giving us our dry season, and southward during the summer, and traditionally brings us our rains.

Convection – as, again, most readers will be aware – implies the upward movement of warm air, which is exactly what happens in the ITCZ. Many who fly between Europe and southern Africa, often at around 40 000ft, will have noted the weaving that takes place between thunderheads with their anvils extending high above their aircraft, accompanied by spectacular lightning, particularly on night flights.

However, what goes up must come down, and this applies as much to air as it does to aircraft. All that air drawn upwards by convection within the ITCZ has to come down again, somewhere. Some of it does indeed come more or less straight down, as witness the bitterly cold air often accompanying the rainstorms below. But a lot of it doesn’t, especially at high altitudes. Instead, it is transported northwards and - for us in the southern hemisphere - southwards for considerable distances before descending to lower altitudes, from where it is – once again – effectively “sucked” back towards the ITCZ. It is, of course, a lot more complicated than that, in real life; but overall, the net effect is that circulation: up at the ITCZ, then south; then down; and then back towards the ITCZ again. This simplified diagram shows the general idea.

Now comes the joker in the pack, and it’s climate change. Deniers should probably stop reading here, because I personally am convinced that it’s real and, moreover, mostly caused  by human activities such as burning fossil fuels and converting forests into fields. 

There are reams of literature devoted to the potential impacts of climate change on the ITCZ and the associated Hadley cells, some of it apparently contradictory and most of it opaque to the lay reader, including myself. However, two indisputable facts emerge. One is that changes in the ITCZ's structure are virtually inevitable; the other being that we here in Zimbabwe - dependent on the ITCZ for most of our annual rainfall and lying under the influence of the associated Hadley cells - are going to enjoy or endure the impacts of these changes, whatever they may turn out to be. 

For example, I have a purely personal and subjective perception that we are seeing an increasing number of cloudy and often drizzly days during our Zimbabwean winter, and furthermore extending later in the year. In mid-December, our ambient air temperature at Mana hovered around the mid-20’s °C. There were none of those balmy evenings – or hot, restless nights. We were glad we’d packed pullovers. I realise this doesn't exactly smack of "warming", but it could square with a strengthening or extension of those cold low-level air inflows into a changing ITCZ.

Meanwhile, climate change has – at last, and quite suddenly – gone from fringe concern to institutionalised global obsession. So, too, has the maintenance of biological diversity and functioning ecosystems. Witness, for instance, the rise of snappy catchphrases, such as “Nature Needs Half” – that is, at least half our global land surface retained in as natural a condition as possible.

This has caused an influx of several more elephants into the room, notably the issue of sheer human numbers, which is often considered to be simply too fraught with sensitivities to be discussed.

This is at last showing some signs of changing. Nonetheless, by far the majority of the literature tends to focus instead on the vital importance of reducing greenhouse gas emissions – largely from burning “fossil fuels” - and maintaining carbon “sinks” – notably forests. Moreover, there’s big money becoming available to do just this. 

Late afternoon sun on newly-grown grass creates some of the loveliest lighting you'll
ever see in Mana Pools. 

Mana – indeed, all our major Parks – are ideally placed to capitalise on this trend, and in fact Mana is already doing so, resulting from the inclusion of Mana Pools – and, indeed, Matusadona – as “core areas” within the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, and of Chewore, Sapi, Chawara and Hurungwe as “buffer zones”. The Global Environment Facility (GEF) has earmarked some US$50million for the Reserve, including the critically important settled areas on the Park and Safari Areas boundaries.

There has also been some excellent work coming out of Chinhoyi University in respect of potential climate change impacts within the Biosphere Reserve (notably O L Kupika et al). This is a great start, but what about long-term sustainability? I have yet to see such work translated into - for example - specific Park and wildlife management plans in the face of the climate crisis. Maybe this is because there's actually very little we can do about it. There's not exactly much scope for moving entire wildlife areas around. Or maybe I'm simply missing something; if so, I'd be delighted to hear about it. 

Which brings us to another of those elephants crowding into the room, one of which is how funds for our Parks are  currently raised. The conversion of Parks into a Statutory Authority – responsible for its own financial survival - hasn’t been helpful, in view of current events. There are currently two main ways in which our wildlife areas can generate their own funding. One is hunting – an activity that is increasingly deplored by much of the world, and – justifiably or not – seems almost certain to decline in popularity and therefore revenues.

The other is tourism - preferably of the international, high-rolling kind. This is having all kinds of associated negative impacts, notably the rapidly decreasing opportunities for the true “owners” of our Parks - the Zimbabwean public - to gain access to them. This has to change, simply because we need the consent of this public if the Parks are to survive at all. 

Thinking beyond that, however, let's also look at a possibly minor but nonetheless important irony involved. International tourism relies almost entirely on cheap and abundant international travel by air; and air travel makes a small but growing contribution to atmospheric greenhouse gasses and global warming. Around 2.4% of global emissions come from aviation. Together with other gases and the water vapour trails produced by aircraft, the industry is responsible for around 5% of global warming.

At first glance, that might not seem like very big contribution. At present, only a small percentage of the world flies frequently. Even in richer countries like the UK and the US, around half of people fly in any given year, and just 12-15% are frequent fliers. The capacity for future growth seems immense. Meanwhile, Mana is financed almost entirely by – indeed, currently managed for – international tourism. In other words, we are conniving at – encouraging indeed – such growth.

Only one small problem, of course: international tourism has now collapsed due to the COVID crisis, and so has the Authority’s income. This will no doubt pass, but it’s going to take time for the industry to revive. The present drive for local domestic tourism is helping, but Parks stations are still desperately short of cash. 

I believe we require a radical reappraisal of the legislation governing our Parks, including the Parks Act and the Statutory Authority status conferred some years ago, so that we can maximise on the funding opportunities now opening up worldwide. The Parks Act itself  was basically written in a different era, to put it mildly, way back in 1978. It has – with some amendments –served us pretty well over the years; but the current global scenario does, I think, warrant an overhaul, to bring us in line with current global thinking and funding.

Here’s the current wording of the Parks Act:

"(1) The purposes for which national parks are or may be constituted under this Act shall be—

(a) to preserve and protect the natural landscape and scenery therein; and

(b) to preserve and protect wild life and plants and the natural ecological stability of wild life and plant communities therein -

Fireball lilies near Nyamepi - a visually striking display of
Mana's biological diversity

for the enjoyment, education and inspiration of the public".

It’s that last line -  explaining why we're doing all that preserving and protection  - that’s the problem. It may have been fine in 1978, but in 2021 - over 40 years on, and in view of what we know today - it does sound horribly blinkered and parochial. 

Instead, I'd suggest that the Act  should be redrafted to reflect today’s growing realisation that the survival of biodiversity and natural areas is the foundation of human health and essential to the future wellbeing of mankind. 

With around a million animal and plant species currently threatened with extinction worldwide and 70% of the Earth’s surface already modified by human activity, this foundation is clearly in serious trouble. Therefor, the Act should also reflect the imminent and severe threats that have become apparent since its drafting in 1978.

In other words: we need to up our game and present our Parks and other conservation areas as vital to human survival, rather than as mere amusements for visitors. With a significant proportion of our natural landscapes already under some form of protection, we are well placed to do so*.  I’m not about to propose alternative wordings; I’m merely hoping to sow the seeds of an idea that will – if accepted – require a major effort by a suitably composed task force, led by the Parks Authority and sanctioned at the highest levels of government, to consider and implement. 

In this respect, I’m reminded of an international conservation event that Sally and I attended some years ago, at which one bright young sprig stood up at a plenary session and boasted that “his” Park – an important terrestrial/marine complex somewhere in the Caribbean – “was entirely funded by tourism”.

When he’d finished, I stood up in my turn and said: that’s all well and good, but what happens when the tourists stop coming?”

He looked at me as if I was insane. The possibility of such an event had never even crossed his mind.

I can’t help wondering how he’s feeling today....

All the components of a healthy habitat - trees, grasses, water and wildlife - looking vibrant, even on a dull day in Mana

-o-o-

*January 12 2020: The High Ambition Coalition (HAC) for Nature and People, launched this week at the One Planet summit for Biodiversity, aims to secure a global agreement to protect at least 30% of the planet’s land and at least 30% of the planet's ocean by 2030 (30 x 30 is the plan's snappy slogan).

The United Nations World Database on Protected Areas ( WDPA ) quotes Zimbabwe as having 27.2% of its land under protection, compared with 14.9% globally. This means we are in fact quite well ahead of this particular game.

The raw figure does of course beg a lot of questions, not the least being its accuracy; how well are particular species, ecosystems and habitats represented or otherwise; what condition are they in; how effectively are they being managed and protected and by whom; and how rapidly are they currently being eroded or otherwise.

30 x 30 has been signed by some 50 countries. Zimbabwe isn't one of them. But the fact that we're almost on target anyway, and got there on our own initiative, should at least encourage us to try harder, and to continue to be leaders rather than followers in this respect. 

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