The office seemed further from the center of town than I remembered, and I thought, I’ll be late – how very African of me. But I managed to arrive just barely on time. “Fifth,” the security guard replied to my question of which floor would lead me to WWF. I couldn’t remember that either. I rode up, and was buzzed in – from there, it was just the same. I sat for a few minutes while he finished his phone call and then his secretary beckoned, saying, “You can come.” Walking into Chris’ office was like a step back in time. He strode out from behind his desk, smiling, greeting me, “Rachel! How nice it is to see you!” and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in the warmth of familiar. “Come, sit, can we get you some coffee or tea?”
We pulled chairs up at his small round table set for chats just like this one. She brought tea. Rooibos, black, bush tea – just like I’d asked – with a flash of a conspiratorial grin that despite my skin I didn’t want coffee and sugar and milk. The panda on the mug seemed to appreciate me, as did Chris. We talked about things, my life in the US, my mortgage and ‘real job’, the latest transfrontier park here that is stalled, what he’s up to, what I am trying to be up to. We talked about collaborating on a human-wildlife conflict project, which is increasingly a focus for me and it turns out, for him as well. And the crinkling around his eyes radiated appreciation for me, and inside, I thought, this is where I want to be.
See, the thing about Chris is, he’s the one who got me started in this place. Eight years ago, when I first packed a backpack and flew over to Namibia to meander for the summer, he was here – in this same job, in the same office, even wearing a similar sweater. He’d agreed to see me and talk about what WWF was up to in the Caprivi, which was – via online reports – what I thought I was interested in. And it turns out I was right. But in seeing me even then – a budding idiot of a graduate student – so was he. I was worth his time. Two years later, when I was getting serious, he set me up with IRDNC, and I have been working with them ever since. And not only this, but IRDNC has given me my family here. My sister was working for them at the time, but I didn’t know it. Three months of glasses of wine and laughter later, I had a new home. And in many respects, I owe it to Chris.
A knock at his door brought another American, a man working for the Nature Conservancy in Denver who’d been passing through but was on his way back to the US. Chris introduced us, and we all chatted briefly. Making a few ironic comments about working in Namibia, Chris cued me, and I chimed in. “These are the thoughts of an old hand,” he said to Matt, grinning at me, giving me a bit of respect I was never so sure I’d have. “Rachel started coming here way back when, and now, hey, she’s a big fancy professor in Massachusetts, and she’s still coming back.” Time slowed around us, for me, and I realized, he’s proud of me. I get it. I get credit for getting it. And while I know this is problematic, while I know there are things I will never really ‘get’, I allowed myself a moment of pleasure. I have earned a measure of respect. There are places here in which I no longer have to introduce myself. And that means something. What, exactly, I suspect I will always struggle to define. But that is part of the process – and apparently, so am I.
Putting away my notebook and getting ready to leave, we reiterated the possibilities for collaboration in the years ahead. “Because, you know, I don’t just want to drop in and out looking at things I think are interesting,” I told Chris. “I want to be useful, to examine projects and information in ways that will contribute.” He smiled again, nodding. “I know you want to make things better here,” he replied.
Riding down the elevator, I thought, problems and all – maybe there is no higher compliment.
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