We lose out when excluding indigenous knowledge in conservation

The Herald

4 days ago

Where I come from, biodiversity is not separate from us. It does not belong to any government agency or board.
The forests and rivers belong to the stories we share and pass down through generations.
Some stories make us laugh, while others teach children to respect nature by inspiring a little fear.
We gather herbs from the shrubs and forests.
In my village, there are no fences marking boundaries, no ranger stations watching over the trees, and no signs declaring these places protected.
Yet despite this, biodiversity continues to thrive. Animals live freely, plants grow wild, and the sounds of the rivers splash alive among us.
People have lived like this for generations, quietly and respectfully coexisting with nature.
That is why, when someone in the village falls ill and there is no access to a clinic's treatment, we do not turn to a pharmacy but to an elder who knows the secrets of the forest.
They go into the forest and come back with a healing solution that has no price tag.
Their knowledge of the land allows them to get healing directly from nature, without expense, and this method has been used for years.
Sometimes I wonder, what if those forests had been closed off, declared a 'protected area' where access for the local people was restricted, and the traditional knowledge of our elders ignored as superstition?
We would not have been able to get plants such as isiqhuziso to protect our cattle from infections and keep them strong.
We would lose access to umhlondlo , which helps women relieve menstrual pain, and we would have nowhere to get umashiqolo for treating bile-related illnesses.
While many of these remedies have not been studied or certified through formal science, they have our loyalty because of how they have helped our communities over generations.
Their value lives in our continued survival.
Losing that access would not just mean losing these plants; it would mean losing part of our identity, our healing traditions, and the deep relationship we have always had with the land that sustains us in so many ways.
We have seen it happen in other parts of the country that were declared protected, at the cost of the community.
For example, the Dwesa-Cwebe Nature Reserve, which was established in the mid-1980s and resulted in the forced relocation of residents.
Even today, some of the locals still feel a deep sense of loss, believing this modern approach to scientific conservation came at the cost of their livelihoods and wellbeing.
Elders who once led controlled burns or visited sacred rivers now watch from a distance.
Though this may have been beneficial for natural biodiversity, it was detrimental to their everyday life.
Therefore, in their exclusion and silence, there is much that we lose.
We lose stories, knowledge, and the balance of interaction.
This is not how conservation should be, and thankfully, it is not how SA National Parks (SANParks) sees the future either.
SANParks Vision 2040 speaks of a future rooted in collaborative conservation, inclusivity, and the empowerment of communities as partners in protecting nature.
It envisions parks that do not stand apart from people but stand with them.
Where local voices shape environmental decisions, where indigenous knowledge is not treated as optional, but as essential.
This vision gives me hope because it stands for what we have always known — that true conservation does not come from separation. It comes from a relationship and continuous learning.
The plants that heal us do not need to be locked away at the risk of their extinction.
They are still here because we have protected them ourselves daily with our hands, not with documents and policies.
So as SANParks works towards Vision 2040, it would be important to look towards communities such as mine, not just for consultation, but for leadership. To learn from those who have conserved without any formal recognition.
Let us make sure that 'protected area' never means 'people excluded'. Let it mean 'people empowered'.
As we imagine new pathways for conservation that include indigenous voices and leadership, we must also rethink how people visit and experience these landscapes.
This is where regenerative tourism becomes essential.
Unlike traditional tourism, which is often consumer-centric, regenerative tourism seeks to give back more than it takes, to heal the land, revive local economies, and restore cultural knowledge.
Imagine travellers coming not to consume an experience, but to learn from indigenous practices, to support local guides who share stories of their ancestors, and to participate in restoration activities that align with community values.
This type of tourism invites people into the ecosystem of care, rather than checking off destinations.
It becomes a way of keeping knowledge alive, encouraging deeper connections between visitors and the land, and supporting the communities who have always been its guardians.
In the rural areas, we have learnt from walking among the trees, not from observing behind fences.
But if we continue to keep people out, we risk more than separation; we risk forgetting.
One day, the plants may still grow, but no-one will remember what they are for.
The stories, the knowledge, and the relationship, all could vanish.
And when that connection is gone, the forests may no longer help anyone at all, not because they cannot, but because no-one remembers how to connect with them any more.
If the forests and rivers were never close to us, we would not have received their healing benefits for children and livestock, nor would their spiritual guidance have been passed down through generations. Uviwe Mahlanza is a SANParks communications intern based in the Garden Route National Park. She was born and bred in Mkambati Village in Bizana, Eastern Cape. The views and opinions expressed in this article are hers and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of SANParks.
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