By: Karyn Morrissey from the College of Saint Benedict and Saint John’s University
Photo by Audrey Tucker (Myself and Corlin looking out at the elephants)
The idea of traveling is somewhat surreal. You board a plane that lifts you across oceans, and suddenly, you find yourself in a new country, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, immersed in a different culture. Those first few days in a new place are a sensory blur—trying to convince both your mind and body that you have arrived somewhere entirely different. It’s disorienting, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. But eventually, the novelty becomes real; your mind catches up to what your heart already knows: you are in a new land, thousands of miles away from home, ready to embrace all things new.
Group photo from Kaziikini
The 2024 Botswana crew and I have just returned from our first concession to Kaziikini, a wilderness area outside Sankoyo. Being in the middle of nowhere, with no way to contact those I left behind, created a space for growth. I found it both exhilarating and challenging—being disconnected from the world I was used to felt like flipping a coin. On one side was the thrill of living entirely in the moment, unattached to the steady ping of messages or the urgency of news. On the other side was the gnawing awareness that those I loved were still living their lives without me, and I couldn’t instantly be part of their moments or share my own. This experience, however, taught me something profound: there is beauty in this disconnection, a freedom that opens space for the unexpected and the new.
This journey in Botswana isn’t just about conservation work; it’s about creating connections and experiencing life from a completely different perspective. As we settle into the rhythm of research—identifying species and learning methodology—I have found myself looking forward to our community days. These days hold no lectures, but they offer something even more valuable: a different kind of learning, one that comes from the stories of the people who call this land home. Sitting with community members, listening to their stories, and understanding their deep bond with this landscape brings meaning beyond anything a textbook could ever provide.
Our community days were truly a bridge between cultures—days where we learned not through books but through hands-on experiences and stories passed down through generations. One such day was spent learning about the intricate art of basket and bracelet making. We gathered in a circle as we listened to Connie, Dix’s sister, explain how they harvested leaves from the palm trees and turned them into something both functional and beautiful. We watched as they demonstrated how the vibrant colors that adorned the baskets were created from powdered roots of shrubs and bushes. There was a history woven into every fiber—a story of resilience, ingenuity, and a deep connection to the land. Watching their practiced hands move with skill and precision, we tried to replicate their craft, fumbling at first, but gradually beginning to understand the rhythm of weaving. It was an intimate moment of learning that transcended language—a chance to see the world through their eyes.
Connie teaching weaving with palm leaves as baskets and bracelets, and the of group siting and watching (Picture by Pedro R)
Another unforgettable community day was spent gliding along the Gomoti River in a mokoro, a traditional dugout canoe. The gentle sway of the water as we moved through vegetation, the clear reflections of sky and trees, all created a sense of serenity. Our guides, members of the local community, spoke of the history of the mokoro and how it had long been used as a means of transportation in these waters. The mokoros allowed us to get close to the aquatic wildlife, giving us a glimpse of the unique ecosystem thriving in this region. The guides spoke of their deep knowledge of the waterways—knowledge that had been passed down through generations, from father to son, mother to daughter.
Photo by Karyn Morrissey: Audrey and I floating down the Gomoti River in mokoros
These community days were more than a cultural exchange; they were about forming connections, finding common ground, and appreciating the ways in which knowledge is shared. Whether through the precise art of basket weaving or the skillful navigation of the river in a mokoro, each day taught us about the importance of tradition and the deep relationship the community had with the land. It was during these days that I truly felt the beauty of embracing all things new—of learning directly from people who had such a profound understanding of their environment, and of feeling welcomed into their world with open hearts and open minds.
Leaving Kaziikini, I was ecstatic to reconnect with those I’d left behind in the States. Like that coin, though, reconnecting brought mixed emotions. It was wonderful to hear familiar voices and share stories of my journey, but the anxiety came rushing back as notifications and messages flooded my phone. Suddenly, I was attached once more to the happenings of a world that had seemed so far away just days ago. Yet, even amidst this rush, Botswana had already carved a space in my heart—a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful moments come when we allow ourselves to be fully present, to embrace all things new, and to let go of the world we know, if only for a little while.
With love,
Karyn