Ocean Princess

A woman who grew up in Soweto, far from the sea tells us about her journey to becoming a custodian of the ocean

ZANDILE NDHLOVU is the founder of The Black Mermaid Foundation, an organisation seeking to expose young people to the ocean.

As a diversity and inclusion consultant, she works to reshape narratives through storytelling. She is a fellow of NEWF, a year-long programme targeting emerging and first-time natural-history film-makers in Africa. Recently, she was selected to be a Jackson Wild 2021 Fellow – an initiative dedicated to elevating diverse and creative perspectives of storytellers for the conservation, protection and restoration of the natural world.

Ndhlovu is a change agent through her work in the NEWF foundation, in public speaking and on her weekly podcast. This is her story. I grew up in a landlocked Soweto, a good six hours from the nearest ocean. Much closer to home was a pristine pool that would cost you 50c to enter. I remember the many times we’d ask my mother for money to go swimming with the other kids and this 50c, which seems such a small amount today, would weigh in our hearts as we watched those who could afford to go.

Zandile Ndhlovu, founder of The Black Mermaid Foundation, which teaches young people about the ocean.

I was 28 when I had my first opportunity to see beneath the surface of the ocean. I was in awe at the number of fish I saw – and the blue. The ocean floor seemed like a stage, lit from below with the most perfect lights. I swallowed this awe into my belly as I dived in with a snorkel – I was finally home.

In the years that followed, I learned how to scuba dive and free dive – new and exciting ways to explore the ocean.

The idea that I, a girl from Soweto, who grew up nowhere near the ocean, can stand here today and teach others about exploration of the sea is the wildest thing.

I would travel once or twice a year to the sea to go scuba diving and needed to see as much as I could in the short period I was there. This meant it took a while before I understood the deeper intricacies of this wildly resilient system – a system that, despite its resilience, is seeing its sanctity failed by humans.

Eventually, as I became a more regular visitor, I started to see the problems. I would see fishing line snaking across coral beds, a tiger shark with a massive hook in its mouth, a seal whose body was wrapped in fishing line. And then I noticed bleaching of coral in small sports of my favourite dive spot.

The rate of destruction of our oceans is not equal. As the world has sought to provide for those of the First World, and those who are the most privileged, there has been a continuous debate about the questions of how much is too much and when is enough enough?

In a sense, ocean conservation is a privileged narrative. To worry about conserving the oceans while people are starving is difficult. But all is interconnected, so how do we, as Africans, bring African solutions to the table?

The ocean floor seemed like a stage, lit from below with the most perfect lights. I swallowed this awe into my belly as I dived in with a snorkel – I was finally home.

How do we try to protect our oceans, while creating access to them so the global majority can understand what is being spoken of when conservation is placed on the table? What does it mean when local ocean-facing communities become key stakeholders in this conservation discussion? How do we acknowledge African conservation efforts and collaborate from this rich knowledge source against hit and-miss helicopter approaches?

WHAT DO WE DO?

We need to build a connection with the oceans and all that lives within them, ensuring local communities are consulted. Second, we need to create a currency where these communities benefit from this incredible resource.

We’ve heard many things about what we can do to reduce single-use plastic. In addition to this we need to support spaces of innovation around reducing, reusing and recycling plastic products. And, most importantly, we need to empower local ocean-facing communities when we travel.

We need to avoid finger-pointing. It is so easy to take the moral high ground.

Whatever choices we make, we first need to be conscious of what we are doing and then lead with empathy. We need to understand that just because we can afford expensive items that are inaccessible to the greater population, this doesn’t make us better than them. We need to be consistently aware of our own privilege and question how we expand and make these options accessible to the greater majority too.

The water has always been a joyous space for me. I remember the trips to Aventura resort in Mpumalanga, where we could splash in the shallows to our hearts’ content. Those days, that came by once or twice a year, were gold. Then would come the memorable September 1 when we would wear our costumes and descend from our homes carrying buckets filled with water, as we ushered in spring, relishing the buckets of water flooding our tiny bodies. This was the closest many got to water adventures.

Zandile Ndhlovu, founder of The Black Mermaid Foundation, which teaches young people about the ocean.

A beautiful moment travelling through my memory.