“Don’t get eaten by a dingo”

The last thing my grandmother said to me as I headed out into the African bush was

“don’t get eaten by a dingo”. I had to laugh because that common misconception about dingos in Africa is so off course. “Dingoes are from Australia Nanny, I’m headed out into the bush to study African Wild Dogs”. I was equally nervous and excited to have the opportunity to help dart and collar these intriguing endangered canines. I knew it was only going to be a week but I wanted to learn as much as I could and soak up as much of the scenery as my blue eyes could handle.

I was also looking forward to seeing my good school friend Fianna in action and giving her a hand. So here we were two Canadian gals as well as a couple of respected professors from my program in Quebec Canada working with the Kalahari African Wild Dog Conservation Project. To say I was excited would be an understatement!

One of our first tasks was to walk and set up trail cameras along paths close to water

sources where we suspected the dogs would frequent. Fianna, myself and Skar, our trusted well trained detection dog were optimistic and preoccupied looking at the ground for tracks as well as cautiously scanning up and down for any snakes. Patience under the beautiful stars was not a problem. However, the mosquitoes hindered our star gazing. The second and equally important part of our task was working with the local farmers.

Conservation in Namibia is a deeply human story because farmers' livelihoods are at stake. We offered veterinary assistance to livestock, treating wounds from tick bites, checking for diseases, and giving medication on local farms. The farmers seemed pleased that we were there and every handshake felt like another step towards coexistence.

My last night I had the unique and unforgettable opportunity to camp with the local

people known as the Saan people. They were warm, generous folks who welcomed us. As I

gazed into the distance at sunset, dogs, horses, goats and cows roamed freely and tiny shacks scattered the horizon held together by ingenuity.

The locals' tattered clothing spoke of overwork and intense sunlight. Despite their tattered clothing, they wore the most genuine smiles I've ever seen and laughter persisted throughout the night. Of course I listened more than I spoke that night and the stories and knowledge definitely changed my perspective on humanity.

I will never forget that night for what I saw but mostly for how I felt. My definition of being dignified and rich changed that night. As we drove away sunburnt yet satisfied with our efforts, I became aware of the many faces of conservation. It’s not a profession you do sitting at a desk, it’s personal, and it’s built on mutual respect.

Rachel Gillam-Lang, 2025