Reflections from Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe
Leaving the comforts of Victoria Falls, our journey carried us deeper into Hwange National Park—a place of raw beauty, resilience, and revelation. Beneath a boundless sky and a sun that seemed to hum with life, we found ourselves reflecting on what it means to lead through attention, patience, and presence. It begins, as all growth does, with noticing. One fellow offered a simple reminder: “Be here, now. Present.” Among the leadership postures we’ve explored is the Thermostat—the ability to sense and shift the temperature in a room. But to change anything, we must first notice it. Awareness precedes influence. Here in the wild, where every rustle, shadow, and breeze carries meaning, the lesson feels tangible. Leadership is not about control—it is about attunement.
Earlier this year in our Pomona Seminar, Dr. Nessie Early guided us through the Power Stages, showing how significant cultural discomfort becomes a catalyst for growth and influence. Here in Hwange, that truth is embodied in the land itself. The discomfort of the heat, the vastness of the horizon, the proximity of wildness—all of it calls us to expand our capacity for empathy, courage, and purpose.
As growers and producers, we understand the rhythms of the land. Yet true stewardship means noticing not only the soil and the season, but also the people and communities interwoven with them. When one is neglected, both suffer; when both are nurtured, transformation begins. Over the past week, we have crossed South Africa, Zambia, and Zimbabwe, tracing the thread of the Zambezi River—a living reminder that water, like leadership, has the power to divide or to connect. From the Zambezi to California’s San Joaquin Valley, we are reminded that meaningful change often begins not in sweeping reforms, but in small, steady steps—the kind that ask for courage when no one is watching.
Community and Conservation in Hwange
Established in 1928, Hwange National Park has evolved from a colonial game reserve into a model of community-based conservation. What began with wells drilled to sustain elephants has become a living demonstration of coexistence and collective responsibility. Today, Hwange faces immense challenges: more than 50,000 elephants, 95% national unemployment, and persistent human-wildlife conflict. Yet progress persists—rooted not in outside intervention, but in local empowerment. Leaders like Mark “Butch” Butcher, founder of Imvelo Safari Lodges, have reimagined conservation as collaboration—aligning the needs of wildlife and villages alike through job creation, education, and resource sharing. His approach reframes stewardship as partnership: drilling wells that serve both elephants and people, supporting schools, and training rangers from within the surrounding communities.
From Hwange, we learn that real change happens when leadership shifts from command to collaboration—from control to connection. The park’s story challenges the traditional notion that conservation is about protection from people; instead, it reveals that lasting preservation depends on protection through people. When communities share in both the responsibility and the reward, conservation becomes more than policy—it becomes identity. In Hwange, every drop of water, every school built, and every ranger trained reflects a deeper truth: systems endure only when those within them see themselves as part of the solution. For leaders everywhere, it is a call to reimagine how we build movements that outlast us—not by imposing vision, but by cultivating shared ownership. Butch, thank you for reminding us that the heart of leadership beats strongest when it serves something larger than itself.
Among those rangers are the Cobra Rangers, a group whose very existence tells one of Hwange’s most powerful stories of transformation. Some were once poachers, and all are young men from nearby villages—driven by hunger, poverty, and the instinct to survive rather than malice—who now stand as fierce protectors of Hwange’s white rhinos and guardians of its fragile balance. Their journey from hunter to healer is a living parable of what becomes possible when hope and opportunity take root in the same ground where despair once grew. The Cobras were trained and equipped through partnerships between conservation organizations and local communities, blending ancestral tracking knowledge with the precision of modern conservation tactics. They navigate the bush with the instincts of those who once knew its shadows, but now their footsteps trace a different legacy—one of stewardship, not extraction.
Their story reminds us that true conservation is not only about saving animals but about restoring the dignity of people. When communities are invited into the circle rather than kept outside it, they become the fiercest defenders of the very ecosystems they once threatened. The Cobras embody a profound truth of leadership: redemption and purpose often grow from the same soil as our mistakes. Their transformation is not just a story of survival—it is a testament to what happens when people are trusted with both responsibility and belonging.
As we continued deeper into the KAZA region, it became clear that leadership, land, and people are inseparable. To protect one is to invest in all. The lessons of Hwange echo far beyond its borders: real change takes root when we slow down, notice what is broken, and choose to mend it—one small step at a time. Leadership begins with noticing—with being here, now—and believing that even the smallest step, when taken with intention, can ripple outward into lasting change.
With immense gratitude from the bush,
Jaime, Tim, Theresa and Class 54
