“It is no longer about waiting for international visitors to come in. If we start now [to appeal to local tourists], in five years we will be resilient to any shocks, even travel advisories imposed by Western countries.”
A swimming pool with a view may seem like one of those idle luxuries of the very rich, but strange as it may seem that infinity pool used to play a vital role in wildlife conservation during these uncertain times of climate crisis and the fast looming sixth mass extinction.
Used to, that is, because the Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic has thrown an unwelcome curve ball through the entire business model of ecotourism, and the rapidly vanishing wilderness areas and dwindling wildlife — familiar, iconic animals like lions, tigers and polar bears — that depend on it for survival. The old adage “If it pays, it stays” isn’t much use if no one’s there to pay.
“Gazing at the distant profile of Mt. Kenya from lightly chlorinated water in the African bush might seem like a bearable way to sit out the crisis, but the infinity pool at Loisaba tented camp, one of three safari lodges in a 23,000-hectare reserve of the same name, hasn’t seen a swimmer in months,” the Middle East-based journalist Christopher de Bellaigue wrote this past week in a 5,500-word investigative report in The Guardian, titled portentously, ‘The end of tourism?’
“The damage done by the collapse of Kenya’s tourism industry, which is worth $1.6 billion and employs 1.6 million people, is fearsome. . . . The website of another reserve, the Nashulai (Maasai Conservancy), is emblazoned with a plea for donations to combat starvation among the communities that rely on it.”
Much like nature itself, it’s a fine balance.
One of the unintended — and beneficial — side effects of the coronavirus pandemic and subsequent lockdowns was a return to a healthy natural world in many wilderness areas, even if only briefly. Fewer people — fewer tourists — allowed wild animals to take a breather from the constant noise, and carbon footprint, of thousands and, in some cases, tens of thousands of overseas visitors. (One of the more worrying ironies of wildlife tourism is that, in most countries in the developing world where the world’s last, vast protected wilderness areas are to be found, is that it’s priced out of reach of the people who live there.)
The vast majority of the 2 million foreign visitors who came to Kenya in 2019 came for the wildlife. Were it not for tourism, many of the nearly 200 privately owned reserves that act as vital wildlife corridors for migrating animals would not survive. And while gazetted national parks may seem vast, if fenced in they would soon surpass the gazing capacity of the animals who live there.
Animals like wildebeest, elephants and zebras need to move, in order to survive.
And that movement often means straying outside park boundaries, following the life-giving rains — and the freshly growing grass that follows — to keep the circle of life turning. Competition between local communities and the region’s unique wildlife, exacerbated in recent years by drought — climate change, again — has only intensified. The competition reached critical mass before the pandemic; the coronavirus has made a bad situation worse.
Loisaba, de Bellaigue notes, has been able to pay the wages of anti-poaching patrols thanks largely to a donation from The Nature Conservancy, an NGO that provides advice and financial backing for scientific projects around the world.
The trouble is, that model is not sustainable over the long term, not when paying tourists pay more than $500 a day to be around wild giraffes, elephants and, if fortune be so bold, lions and rhinos. Tourism, one NGO stakeholder noted, “tangibly contributes to conservation outcomes” and is “the best way to finance biodiversity.
“Without it, the idea that one can protect the animals and help local people falls apart.”
The Covid-19 pandemic looks as if it’s here to stay for months if not years to come, and the economic fallout is not just limited to tourism.
As with so many things, the coronavirus and subsequent lockdown and travel bans has only highlighted an issue that was there already, but had been conveniently overlooked: Tourism relies on other decisions made by other people in other places to sustain itself.
It doesn’t matter what value a tourist destination provides, or what kind of a unique, life-changing experience it may offer, all decision-making control lies in the hands of the buyer — usually overseas — and not the local seller.
Tourism is not the right many holidaymakers seem to think it is, de Bellaigue noted. It’s a luxury that needs to pay its way.
Wilderness and endangered species are a necessity, though, and a moral obligation. Whether or not they pay their way is not the issue. Much has been said that the coronavirus pandemic will force us to look at new ways of doing things. The old ways are no longer good enough, if they ever were.
It’s about finding the right balance, before it’s too late. Jane Goodall and Greta Thunberg — separated in years by more than half a century — have said as much. The Covid-19 pandemic is terrible, and has caused terrible disruption for so many people. It’s also an opportunity — but only if we choose to seize it.
©Jan Vašek - Pixabay
