Otherworldly - MOTHER Volume 2

The second issue of the "Mother" magazine.

VOLUME 2 MOTHER

There will be nothing left but stories

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

CREATING A WORLD FILLED WITH EMOTIONS FOR THE FUTURE GENERATIONS

Driven by our core value of moving people’s hearts and building a better world, Sony is very proud to support the exceptional women in this second edition of the “Mother” Magazine, revealing stories to connect with nature and protect our planet through the power of images.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

The Choice of Creators

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

Photo by Ami Vitale

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

Photo by Ami Vitale

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

Photo by Ami Vitale

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

AMI VITALE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

FOREWORD

In a world where the intricate dance of ecosystems, the fragile beauty of biodiversity, and the urgent need for environmental stewardship often find themselves underappreciated, this remarkable group of women are not mere observers. They are storytellers, visionaries, and catalysts of change. Their photographs capture more than just stunning landscapes and captivating wildlife; they encapsulate the heart and soul of a movement that strives to protect and preserve the natural wonders that grace our planet. Through their lens, we witness the delicate balance of life, the profound interconnectedness of all living things, and the urgency to act. Each page of Mother serves as a testament to the power of an image to inspire action. The women showcased here have journeyed to the farthest corners of the Earth, pushing the boundaries and using the lens as a tool to ignite change, evoke emotion, and bring the marvels of the natural world closer to our hearts. Through these pages, you will embark on a visual journey that transcends geographical boundaries and cultural divides, bound by a shared love for the Earth’s wonders. And in these images, we find hope and a resolute determination to protect endangered species, restore fragile ecosystems, and confront the challenges posed by a changing climate head-on. Each photograph encapsulates not only the sheer magnificence of our planet’s biodiversity but also the profound stories that unfold when nature and humanity intersect. The women behind these images are not mere observers; they are storytellers, advocates, and ambassadors for the natural world. Their work goes beyond aesthetics, delving deep into the heart of conservation challenges. Through their lenses, they reveal the delicate balance of ecosystems, the fragility of species on the brink, and the urgency of preserving what remains. They remind us that the battle to protect our planet is not an abstract concept but a living, breathing struggle that requires our collective empathy and action. In the hands of these visionary women, the camera becomes a conduit to capturing the resilience and hope that reside within us all.

Ami Vitale

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

CONTENTS

14 24 32

40 48 56

Spirit of the Trees

Desert Chronicles

Medusa

Untamed

Vivid Dreams

Ocean Giant

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64 72 80

88 94

110 118 126

The Mundari

Backyard Stories Bearing Witness The Longest Ride

Dark Continent

More Than A Horn

Watersky

102

Queen Bee

Contributors

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SPIRI T

OF THE TREES PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY ELIZABETH GADD

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

CANADA 49°15’02.1”N 122°32’05.4”W

ELIZABETH GADD

“These are the woods where no words are needed; you need only to just be.”

i walk barefoot and softly over the moisture-filled, spongy moss. It’s glowing so green, it’s almost fluorescent, and I laugh when I realize I’ll have to tone-down the colouring in any photos I take here because no one would believe the reality of just how oversaturated this forest is. The ferns reach chest-high and are constantly dripping water while they gather vapour from the air, and it takes all of two seconds for the water to soak through my clothes as I navigate through the fronds, making my way toward a specific tree I spotted in the distance (yet severely underestimated my course-plotting efforts to reach). Each step is placed with trust, for I cannot see the ground below through the ferns. I’ll admit that rather frequently I find myself tumbling into holes hidden beneath half-rotted roots and tree stumps, some so large that I wonder what bears or cougars may have sheltered in these secret dens before. But even my falls are cushioned. Everything here is soft, the ground rich with decaying trees that crumble at the touch and supply nutrients for all the new emerging life, a continuous cycle of life and death and life again. These are the woods where I grew up. Nestled next to the mountains in British Columbia, Canada, this rainforest is almost always trapped under heavy clouds. I spent my childhood in awe of these fairy- tale woodlands that surrounded our home, and as I grew older, I would venture farther and farther into these forests. Not just to explore, but to simply feel the peace and presence of being among these trees. I would tell myself I only needed a few minutes in the woods, but I would come back hours, or sometimes days, later. This was, and is, where I find my rejuvenation. Now, I’ve reached the tree. The bottom half is bent at a prominent angle, as if she began growing sideways as a wild young sapling before she realized she must redirect straight up if she wanted to reach any sunlight. I chuckle as I imagine her character, and then I reach out a hand to rest softly on the mossy trunk. It is cool to the touch, yet I can almost hear the hum of life under the moss-covered bark, even despite the heavy silence around us. The occasional bird calls grow silent now as a fresh wave of fog rolls in through the trees, drowning out both sight and sound in its quiet density. I can only hear water dripping. I can feel the occasional drop hitting the skin of my arms, my shoulders. I lean against the angled tree, resting my cheek into the moss, surrendering to the cool dampness and breathing in the fresh fir, cedar, and hemlock-scented, humidity-filled air. I can feel her spirit. I feel a connection through the roots with all the other trees of the forest, both decaying and thriving. I feel her spirit connected even as one with my own, despite the tug at my heart knowing her sisters have been wiped from existence a mere few miles away. I ponder the cruelness at humanity’s hand and am not surprised to feel our own suffering along with the great, gentle rainforests. We are connected, after all.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

ANTARCTICA 64°49’05”S 63°29’00”W

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

CANADA 49°15’02.1”N 122°32’05.4”W

“Mother Nature saved me. Now, as I lean into her cool embrace and feel her gentle peace wash over me, I whisper to her a silent promise to do the same.”

“To Flow as One”

From the moment I saw this tree, I felt drawn to join it in its sway and dance, to contemplate the energy in its bent form, to feel the harsh wind rushing through its leaves, to embrace the heavy mist and torrential raindrops pelting my skin. And as the sun attempted again and again to break through the heavy clouds, the tree groaned through its ancient branches and reached toward me, as if inviting me to join it for a dance. During our dance, I imagined how this tree has grown and lived. A tree that may look bent, broken, and quite small for its ancient age, yet it stands strong and resilient. A tree that has been bending and dancing with the elements for possibly hundreds of years, yet only grows more beautiful despite its challenges. But the tree whispers to me: It sees not challenges, but life; it knows the elements are what shapes its character and gives it growth. It knows it only has to join with the flow. And what an honour it was to flow with it—to feel completely present and connected in that moment, flowing as one with life itself.

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MEDUSA PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY HELEN WALNE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SOUTH AFRICA 34.1938°S 18.4357°E

HELEN WALNE

“I love the ballet, the Tchaikovsky tentacles dancing like embroidery threads.”

at the marina , a blond boy in a wetsuit squealed through his snorkel. “Dad! They’re everywhere! I want to get out! I want to get out!” He hauled himself up onto the jetty, scattering a gang of cormorants into the sky, and examined the tops of his feet. “See? They got me. Here, here, and here.” The man pulled himself out of the water and inspected the boy’s feet. Anchor chains clinked, sails flapped, and a seagull waddled past with a French fry in its mouth, like a pale cigar. Wetsuit dad put an arm around his son’s shoulders, dipped his head against the wind, and the pair headed toward the clubhouse.

They were everywhere. I had to get in.

At first, I could see only one or two, pulsing in the surprising blue. The wind had been howling for a few days, and expectations of any visibility were low. But the water was face-numbingly cold, and the sandy bottom glowed like an aqua moonscape. A perfect backdrop for mulberry froth. And, suddenly, there they were: dozens and dozens of purple compass jellyfish backed up against the black breakwater barrier, pulsating in a mass plié. A tragic, fatal dance of sugar-plum fairies. Blown inshore, far from the familiarity of the high seas, these pelagic animals stood little chance of survival. They would inevitably end up as gelatinous blobs on the beach, where they would be prodded by curious human toes or sniffed at by bounding dogs. And they were pensioners! The indignity! Unlike wetsuit dad and his son, whose lives track a linear trajectory—sperm, egg, gestation, birth, school, possibly boring jobs in boring companies run by men called Dave, and then death—jellies have a complex life cycle that belies their simple existence. It starts in the open ocean, at dusk or dawn, when fully formed jellies swarm together like Tinder-fueled suitors. They do a mass swipe right, and deposit sperm and unfertil- ized eggs into the water column—and then mostly go on their way. However, some species, such as moon jellies, are less casual about their flings, and allow fertilized eggs to cling to their bodies, so they can nurture them to their next phase. And jellies have more phases than Lady Gaga. They are masters of reinvention. The fertilized eggs grow into microscopic larvae called panula, which resemble flatworms swimming around like blind hairballs. They then attach themselves to a reef or stretch of sand, where they develop into polyps, with a digestive system and a mouth/anus. They spend their days—which sometimes stretch into years—feeding and waiting for the right conditions. And then they start asexually cloning. Each polyp produces more polyps, which then start shaping up to become the adult jellies we know.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SWEDEN 64°43’01.2”N 20°53’39.4”E

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SOUTH AFRICA 34.1938°S 18.4357°E

“An entire world beyond our comprehension. An entire world affected by our human condescension.”

In the final phase, the polyps become medusae. They develop bell shapes particular to their species, grow oral arms (or the tentacles we know), and complete the cy- cle by hunting for perfect conditions in which to date, spawn, and start the whole process again. Death comes in many forms: jellies are tasty snacks for a variety of marine animals, including turtles and fish. They are also at the mercy of wind, waves, and currents, and like the froth of compass jellies amassed in the marina, end up as crystalline blobs—beached curiosities from the black deep. A few months after those compass jellies had lost their way, another queer current blew in a wave of miracles. Again, our human expectations were low: The bay looked green and strange; the wind had shaved the tops off even the hardiest shrubs. On entry, the water was witch-groin cold and the visibility weirdly clear. What sorcery was this? A few flicks of our fins, and we were deep in magic wonder. Here, a meter-long siphonophore—its gas-filled float clearly visible—snaked through the water; there, a flotilla of nightlight jellies dangled their laundry-frilled tentacles in the blue. Further out, a spine of salps did a diamond dance, while an iridescent Venus girdle weaved its way between the kelp like a Ziggy Stardust belt. In between, compass jellies bumped into rocks, net jellies caught the light, and by-the- wind-sailors (Velella velella) clogged the surface. It was a day I will never forget. As humans in the ocean, we get just a glimpse of all the complex wonder that exists under the surface. Suspended in our skin, with only a snorkel or scuba tank connecting us to our evolutionary state of land and oxygen—and, possibly, Dave-the-boring-em- ployer—we witness mere seconds of lives that are intricately entwined with other lives. An entire world beyond our comprehension. An entire world affected by our human condescension. When the wind howls, I go back to the marina, hoping for another pink froth. I yearn to peer over the pier and see a hundred bells bunched up against the ballasts. I love the ballet, the Tchaikovsky tentacles dancing like embroidery threads. But I am also relieved that these fantastical beings are out there where they belong, doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Just drifting through life, alongside the spray of whale exhalations, the eyes of ancients.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

VIVID

DREAMS

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ELIN ZLATKOVIC TEXT BY GOLI MOHAMMADI

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SKÖVDE 58°23’25.1”N 13°50’46.0”E

we are born of stardust and magic , emerging from a dream to walk on this paradise known as planet Earth. From the first moment our tiny feet touch dirt, we are intrinsically bonded to our planetary mother. We come into this realm innately attune to the language of our natural world, our senses sharp and wide open to the seen, as well as the unseen. And at the root of this openness is a limitless sense of imagination. Children have perhaps the purest relationship to nature, uncontrollably squealing in delight at the sight of friends furry and feathered, fascinated by bugs scurrying about and unfettered by dirt between their toes. Their boundless sense of wonder and lack of judgment makes them prime ambassadors of the fantastic. Sticks, rocks, and leaves become the building blocks of entire worlds constructed and narratives imagined. Inanimate objects become esteemed guests at a tea party, and everything is sacred enough to have a name. To imagine is to empathize, and the beauty of children is that they lead, first and foremost, from the heart, feeling their way through this human experience, most often drawn to nature, for its purity matches their very own. As time goes on, the ways and means of our modern society distance us from that innate connection, both to the natural world and to the galaxy within. Adult responsi- bilities leave little time for play and no time for daydreams stretching the outer limits of our imaginations. Allured by high-definition screens, we sometimes forget there is no definition higher than being in nature, where both inward and outward lenses sharpen and focus. We are of the earth, and our senses are far greater than five, yet we often forget and fade into illusion over our time here. But what if we could just remember that we are spirits in a material world? What if we could strive to be a little less human and a bit more divine by reigniting our childlike imagination and sense of wonder? We don’t have to forget. In Zen teachings, it is said that in the beginner’s mind, there are many options, but in the expert’s mind, few. The challenge, as we learn more in this lifetime, is to always strive to have a beginner’s mind, one rich with imagination and possibility, unlimited by knowing. With hearts wide open, we are once again acutely attuned to the poetry whispered in the wind, the love songs of the waves splashing on the shore, the trees waving hello. And our greatest teachers can be our tiniest community members, their imagina- tions as vast as the seas, reminding us to seek the magic in the mundane. Dream, tiny dreamer, dream big, with your feet firmly on Mother Earth and your eyes to the stars, their twinkle a mirror of your own. ELIN ZLATKOVIC “Our greatest teachers can be our tiniest community members, their imaginations as vast as the seas, reminding us to seek the magic in the mundane.”

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”—Albert Einstein

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

DESERT

CHRONICLES PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY MICHELLE MOREE (MEESH)

UNVEILING THE SOUTHWESTS’ HIDDEN BADLANDS

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

NEVADA 36°28’32.5”N 114°32’18.2”W

MICHELLE MOREE (MEESH) “Most of my wandering in the desert I’ve done alone. Not so much from choice as from necessity—I generally prefer to go into places where no one else wants to go. I find that in contemplating the natural world, my pleasure is greater if there are not too many others contemplating it with me, at the same time.”—Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire i ’ ve always felt a deep connection to the desert. Its vastness, its rugged beauty, and the sense of mystery that permeates every corner fascinates me. My name is Meesh. I’m a landscape photographer who has recently made the move to the Southwest United States (after living in the Pacific Northwest for over 25 years). I’m personally driven by an insatiable passion for capturing the unique unearthly landscapes that adorn this region. Utah, Arizona, and Nevada—the desert states—hold a wealth of otherworldly formations that fascinate me. But my love for the desert runs deeper than just aesthetics; it’s the geological oddities that truly ignite my spirit. The entire states of Utah and Arizona are treasure troves of geological wonders. Their vast canyons, sculpted arches, and towering monoliths whisper stories of time and transformation. The layers of rock, shaped by ancient seas and relentless erosion, paint a vivid tapestry of Earth’s history. It was here that I realized my photographs had the potential to inspire others to step outside their comfort zones, to venture beyond the ordinary and embrace the extraordinary. But it wasn’t just the grand landmarks that fascinated me. It was the hidden gems, the lesser-known places that held a special allure. One such place was the Nevada desert, where I now reside. The fiery red sandstone formations, etched by time and the elements, stand as silent witnesses to the strangeness of our planet. Here, the rocks seem to defy gravity, taking on whimsical shapes and forms. And in this desolate corner of the Southwest, I knew I was about to embark on a journey that would test not only my skills but also my sense of exploration. The hidden badlands of Nevada beckon me with their untamed beauty, but they don’t surrender their secrets easily. These remote areas are challenging to access and navigate, requiring a spirit of exploration and a dash of determination (not to mention a good 4x4 vehicle). Undeterred, I set out, prepared to face the obstacles that lie ahead. As I set foot in this surreal desert realm, I felt a surge of excitement mixed with a tinge of trepidation. The unique geological formations scattered across the valley beckoned to me like ancient sentinels guarding secrets buried deep within the Earth. The first challenge was the terrain itself. The Nevada desert is a rugged labyrinth, with jagged rocks, narrow canyons, and twisting trails that lead to hidden pockets of beauty. I have to navigate carefully, often resorting to climbing and scrambling over boulders, feeling the rough texture of the sandstone beneath my fingertips. The sheer thrill of exploration propels me forward, my senses heightened, attuned to every whisper of the wind and every shift in the earth beneath my feet. In the hidden badlands, the geology unravels its tale. Layers of sedimentary rock stand as witnesses to the passage of time, each stratum holding fragments of ancient stories.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

NEVADA 36°28’32.5”N 114°32’18.2”W

I study the intricate patterns, the textures etched by wind and water, and the remarkable formations that defy logic. These sculpted wonders provide glimpses into the geological forces that shaped this mystical landscape. Nevada’s geological history is a tapestry woven by tectonic movements, volcanic eruptions, and erosional forces. Ancient faulting and uplifting created the towering peaks, while volcanic activity left behind vast lava plateaus and cinder cones. Erosion by rivers and glaciers further sculpted the land, revealing a rich geological story etched into Nevada’s breathtaking terrain. The dynamic interplay of these geological forces has created the awe-inspiring natural wonders that make the Nevada desert truly remarkable. I’ve recently been diving into the study of geology, eager to understand the forces that craft this extraterrestrial landscape. The sandstone, stained a vibrant red by iron oxide, stands as a testament to the passage of time. Erosion, both gentle and violent, etches intricate patterns into the rock, creating a visual feast for the eyes. But it’s not just the geology that captivates me; it’s the sheer isolation and solitude that envelops this desert wilderness. The remote nature of this place, its ruggedness and untouched beauty, make it all the more special. It requires a sense of exploration, a willingness to embrace the unknown, and an understanding that the journey is as important as the destination. The hidden badlands reveal their true essence in the dance of light and shadow. The interplay of sun and clouds paints the landscape with an ethereal brush, transforming it into a canvas of vibrant colors and dramatic contrasts. I seek out those elusive moments, patiently waiting for the perfect light to unveil the mystic beauty that lies before me. As I wander through the labyrinthine pathways, a sense of solitude envelops me. The silence is broken only by the whispers of the desert breeze and the constant hum of insects. In this solitude, I find a deeper connection with the land, a profound appreciation for its resilience and raw magnificence. These hidden badlands become a sanctuary where I can lose myself and find my truest self. The desert is a place where one could easily get lost, both physically and metaphorically. With each click of my camera shutter, I aim to capture not just the physicality of these formations, but their essence—their intangible magic that transcends the boundaries of reality. I hope that my photographs will transport others to this hidden world, igniting a spark of curiosity and inspiring them to explore the extraordinary. And so, I leave another incredible day deep in the otherworldly desert of the rugged Nevada badlands with a heart brimming with gratitude and a renewed sense of purpose. There are more otherworldly landscapes to discover, more geological mysteries to unravel. With each adventure, I continue to celebrate the marvels of nature, hoping to inspire others to embrace the call of exploration and preserve these wonders for generations to come. As I venture forth into the unknown, my camera in hand and a spirit of awe in my heart, I am reminded that the desert, with all its oddities and enigmatic allure, will forever be my muse and my sanctuary.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

INTERVIEW BY MELISSA SCHÄFER PHOTOGRAPHY BY CHARLY SAVELY

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UNTAMED

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

KRUGER NATIONAL PARK 23°59’18.2”S 31°33’16.9”E

CHARLY SAVELY

“The two characteristics you need to have for wildlife photography are patience and respect.”

in a world where capturing the essence of nature is a delicate art form, photographer Charly Savely’s passion and love speak through her work. Born and raised in Bristol, England, she spent many years living on the West Coast of the US before settling in the small city of Anchorage, Alaska. Alaska is where the wild is, and she was drawn to the challenges that the cold weather brings with it. There she found subjects that inspire her art, a community she resonates with, and a place to call home. The challenge in photographing the wild is to tell a story and bring awareness to the world about nature, climate change, and the connection we all share. She’s been using her camera as a powerful tool for storytelling about our planet for over a decade. Charly is well known for her minimalistic style and bright color palette, which make her photos quite recognizable. Her work is personal, wild, and true. From the majestic fjords of the Arctic to the giant mountains and volcanoes in Alaska, she travels and tells their story. With each click of the shutter, she shows the unfiltered essence of the wild. Her ability to connect with and show empathy for the animals she photographs shines through in her intimate and soulful portraits. Charly hopes her work inspires people to preserve the wild. She also hosts conservation and photography workshops around the world to share her passion and vision. She shares: “Every year I go out to the glaciers and I see them receding more and more. But still a lot of the world is resistant to this idea that when the glaciers are gone, so are we.”

You capture a lot of animal portraits. Is there a reason for that?

When I started with photography, I used to take portraits of humans. But because I’m more introverted, it always made me feel slightly uncomfortable and took a lot out of me. Once I discovered wildlife and conservation photography, it took my heart. If you ask me, I much prefer photographing animals now. Animal portraits can build a bridge between humans and the natural world. When we see the details in the fur and the expressions, it awakens our empathy. And empathy for the wild is what many of us are lacking. The portraits remind us that we’re not the only ones here.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

LONGYEARBYEN 78°13’23.5”N 15°37’36.1”E

Is photographing an animal and a human the same? What is special about photographing animals?

It’s totally different. Humans you can direct. You can tell them to move or change a pose. You can wait for better light if you’re outside. Or manipulate the light on them in the studio. You can feed off each other’s creative energy and come up with fantastic ideas together. With wildlife, there’s no control, and endless patience is required. The most “control” you can get is trying to anticipate an animal’s behaviour or next move. But even then, there are always surprises and the unexpected you can’t plan for.

Do you have a favorite moment shooting in the wild? Can you tell us about it?

Ah, there have been so many moments over the years. A top one for me was the last time I was in Svalbard. I went out every day looking for my beloved arctic fox. It can live in the most punishing cold. Their fur is their warmth, their protection, and it changes colours with the seasons to act as camouflage. On my last day, an arctic fox I was photographing from very far away surprisingly trusted me and came straight up to me. It got almost too close. I was very still, calm, sitting, just in case it decided to touch my camera or me. I learned a valuable lesson. I had left my shorter lens in the car. It got so close that I had to put my camera down and just enjoy it. Then it decided to roll over and show me its belly. So much trust. I was screaming internally. It was such a joyful and magical moment for me. I shed a tear.

What advice would you give our readers about photographing wildlife?

For someone just starting out in wildlife photography and even someone who is a pro: Always do your research. Learn about the species you want to photograph—their behavior, how to approach them, safety, conservation. The best way to start is on your local dog, cat, bird, or squirrels. I still practice on my dogs. It gets you used to focusing on the eyes, dealing with unpredictable movement, finding the best angles and compo- sitions. All of these build the key foundations to go out and be successful.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

GIANT OCEAN

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY BROOKE PYKE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

WESTERN AUSTRALIA 21°54’52.9”S 113°55’38.6”E

BROOKE PYKE

“I can sense everything going on around me. My body feels alive with the electric energy of others feeding in the water.”

my senses tingle , the nerve endings around my nose can feel movement in the water. Small vibrations sent out far and wide across the ocean, calling us to its source. The scent in my nostrils is undeniable: it’s time to feed. In the depths of the cold dark water, my body begins to shift, each muscle engaging as I push upwards. Moving the dense deep ocean around me takes effort. My powerful tail shifts side to side as I progress towards the light of the surface. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for; it’s why I traversed the oceans for months. My sudden acceleration in movement stirs the remoras suctioned to my belly. They rush to reposition themselves, latching onto my skin and jostling amongst themselves for prime position. The juvenile pilot fish and golden trevally that accompany me move excitedly as they know they too will soon eat their fill. Snout first, tail thrusting, I ascend upwards towards the pale blue water. I can feel the fever of activity above become more and more erratic. Others have arrived to feed; their shadows swoop over me, gorging themselves on the energy source. My head breaks the surface, and the warmth of the sun sparkles on my enamel scales. I can sense every- thing going on around me. My body feels alive with the electric energy of others feeding in the water. I charge forwards, mouth agape taking in my first mouthful of krill. Mobula rays barrel roll and swoop, schooling fish shimmer and swirl. Everything is alive and in a fever of activity. Moving back and forth, lunging mouth first through the dense swarms of krill, I fill my belly. In the distance, I detect a foreign unnatural vibration. Something is approaching. Deep memory stirs within me; I know this sound. The thick armoured skin on my back bears the scars and twisted flesh from my last encounter with this noisy beast. I shiver with fear and veer away from its source. Yet soon, the sound stops. Relieved, I continue feeding in the chaos of krill, fish, and rays. Moments later, I feel a new presence; another being is beside me moving slowly, its long fins flapping. Becoming curious, I take a closer look, maneuvering my right eye out from its protective barrier to see more clearly. The human creature dives gently through the water, swimming side by side with me copying my every move. Realising this creature poses no immediate threat, I go about my business, filtering the plankton through my gills. The energy source is nearing depleted and my hunger is finally at ease. My flesh feels warm, rejuvenated from the sun. It’s time to dive into the depths once more. Ceasing all movement, I allow my heaviness to pull me deeper, sinking back into the dark blue of the ocean once more. I descend deeper and deeper, faster and faster. My shape melds with the water until I’m almost invisible, and the dark ocean swallows me whole.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

WESTERN AUSTRALIA 21°54’52.9”S 113°55’38.6”E

“We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love … and then we return home.”—Australian Aboriginal Proverb

i float motionless at the surface , the small swaying movements of the ocean moving me gently as I relax each muscle in my body. Focusing on letting everything go and finding stillness in this moment before I sink down into the depths of the ocean. My breath is slowing as I find calm. The warm water fills my ears, the lapping sounds drowning out any sound from the outside world. Now, ready to descend, I breathe in deeply, pulling air into my lungs until my chest and belly swell outwards. With one quick motion, I begin my descent into depths, down to the reef below. Finning gently to save energy and oxygen in my body, I descend slowly. The pressure of the water builds up around me; it feels snug, like being wrapped in a cool blanket of water. Instantly the quietness is taken over by the thrum and crackle of activity. The reef is alive. Finning slowly deeper into the blue waters of the Nyinggulu, I arrive at the base of the reef. Aiming to make as little disturbance as possible, I let myself glide quietly over the corals that blanket the sloping sea floor beneath me. Nearby soft corals bend and waggle with the current, while the green and brown tentacles of a nearby anemone dance in the swell. The reef inhabitants weave their way through the underwater landscape going about their daily business, each of them performing their important roles in the eco- system. Cruising over the reef, I bear witness to so much life. Everything seems in its right place. A grey reef shark surveys its domain in the distance, a sting ray rests hidden under a blanket of sand, and a turtle floats motionlessly surrounded by cleaner fish. The earthy tones of the corals, the greens and the browns span the underwater horizon. If you listen carefully, you not only hear the crackle of fish life but also calls of humpback whales singing in the deep. Feeling the need to breathe again, I allow myself to drift upwards towards the light of the surface above. On the ascent, small planktonic organisms pass by my mask, squirming and moving with the ocean currents. Schooling fish in the water column dart around gulping up the nutritious plankton around me. As I kick upwards, the deep blues lighten as the sunbeams shine down from above. Breaking the surface, I expel the air from my lungs, taking a deep breath back in. The new supply of oxygen rushes through me and I’m content in that moment. When I freedive, I feel a heaviness lift from me. Not only because of the loss of gravity, but the feel of the water on skin, the sound of the waves breaking, and the fresh sea air filling the lungs. Like staring into a fire, watching the moving waves and the business of marine life washes away life’s immense pressure.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

THE

MUNDARI

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY INGER VANDYKE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SOUTH SUDAN 5°26’28.7”N 31°44’10.0”E

smoke swirls above a plain in remote South Sudan. Just before sunrise, statuesque nomads rouse themselves and their beloved cows to life. Bare feet and cloven hooves stir the golden dust of Africa into the morning sky while the jingle of cowbells, yipping children, and braying cattle herald the start of a new day in the world of South Sudan’s Mundari people. Their days begin with chores. Young men are tasked with rubbing fire ash into the pelts of cows to prepare them for a day of life in the searing African sun. The ash from the fire acts as both a sunblock and an insect repellent for men and beasts. Children run through the camp of untethering cows, collecting milk for their families and gathering fresh cow dung into mounds that, when dry, fuel the overnight fires they’ve just woken alongside. And so begins another day in the life of the Mundari, the almost mythical cattle people living at the birthplace of Africa’s White Nile. The gigantic Ankole Watusi cows, some standing up to 6.6 feet tall at their shoul- ders, are the centre of the Mundari universe. The almost symbiotic relationship between the Mundari and their cows isn’t only unique to Africa but most likely to the entire world. Ask a Mundari man his name, and he’s likely to answer “Deng,” “Majok,” “Mayom,” or another name that is synonymous with the colour of his favourite cow. He may greet you with his arms held high in the air in the same shape as his cow’s horns. For that morning, he may have also bathed directly in the stream of his urinating cow, an act that is not only one of cleanliness but will also dye his hair orange. His children will drink milk directly from the udders of his cows and collect dung almost directly from the defecating animal. Walking between sleeping and standing cows in a Mundari camp, you need never worry about being kicked or butted. The Mundari handle their Ankole Watusi cows with great affection and gentleness from the time they’re born. Handled by humans from birth, their cows are not only used to being with the Mundari, they even seek their owners out. During the day, the young men of the Mundari take their cattle out onto the grassy plains to graze, while women, children, and a scattering of young men remain at camp. Pregnant women and elders often retreat from the harshness of life in the cattle camps, preferring to live in towns. By sunset, the young men return, with their sated cattle in tow, to the camp where children run to gather ropes for tethering and women start the fires made from dried dung to cook dinner. Beneath a blanket of a million stars and warmed by the glowing embers burning at the hearth, a Mundari family whispers songs into the night sky to lull their children to sleep. This is the cycle of Mundari life. Despite a few modern touches and a recent influx of adventurous tourists, their world has remained largely intact, their culture preserved by strength and relative isolation in Africa’s newest country. “Giant Ankole Watusi cows lie at the heart and soul of Africa’s Mundari people, connecting them with the realm of spirits.” INGER VANDYKE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ANNA-CLARA NEUNER TEXT BY MELISSA SCHÄFER

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

SOUTH SUDAN 5°26’28.7”N 31°44’10.0”E

“Moving with the Mundari is to move at their pace, in time and in tune with their world, their land.”

My initial stay with the Mundari was just four precious days. I camped beneath a flowering Kigelia that sheltered me from the burning African sunlight by day and scented my sleep at night. One night I remember feeling footsteps close to where I slept. One of the Mundari’s cows had broken free from its tether and wandered over to the Kigelia to feast on the fleshy flowers of the tree. From the camp, a lazy torchlight was shone in my direction. Once the cow’s owner realised that his cow was safe and grazing nearby, we all returned to sleep to the lullabies of cowbells and whirring nightjars. The stillness of life with the Mundari, far from the noise, air, and light pollution of the cities, allows a patient observer to gently walk in their world, pay attention, learn, ponder, laugh, and share. I noticed the trademark scarification of Mundari people, a series of five V-shaped cuts on their foreheads, that tell the world they have come of age and belong to these people of myth and legend. Watching the cows being prepared for grazing, you see their eyes half closed in rapture as the fire ash is massaged like talcum powder into their skin by caring hands. Children tasked with fetching milk will gently blow into the vagina of a non-lactating cow while massaging her udder to stimulate milk flow. Around my fire, at the edge of the camp, I was gifted a bowl of warm and sweetened cow’s milk to help me sleep, and in those moments, I lost myself in their world. Time stood still, and my eyes misted at the thought of leaving them and returning to my modernised world filled with rush, chaos, and confusion. As I watched the camp on my last day, I saw that some young men had remained while the rest went out with their cows. One by one, they brought out traditional drums and blessed each with the ashes from a tiny fire. Then came the giant musical instruments called “tung” fashioned out of the horns of their sacred cows. Slow and quiet singing began and built into a crescendo of instrumental music as young nomadic Mundari from nearby camps arrived. One of them approached me and invited me to dance. Unsure of traditional politeness, I joined the lines of singing and clapping Mundari women until one of the men took me aside. Suddenly, tall, strong Mundari men surrounded me, each of them jumping high into the air and singing. I later asked my Mundari translator what my dance meant. He said, “They were coveting you. You belong to us now.” The dance was called “Yanguera,” performed by Mundari men to attract a wife. I blushed in honour. The days I spent with the Mundari altered my perception of the world. They called me “Mama Mundari,” a source of great amusement for everyone. They made me feel calmer and happier. Moving with the Mundari is to move at their pace, in time and in tune with their world, their land. I found myself envying their freedoms, their will to live and roam the wilderness at the mercy of the rains and shadows. It made me wish there was some way to prolong their reign over this wildest corner of Africa, to harness their strength and beauty, ensuring it a place in the lives of their children and all they encounter.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY LARA JACKSON MORE THAN A HORN

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

OL PEJETA CONSERVANCY 0°01’39.7”N 36°51’49.7”E

LARA JACKSON

documenting the story of najin and fatu , the last two northern white rhinos on Earth, was one of the most profound moments of my life. The slow dwindle and decline of this subspecies is a heartbreaking reminder of the destruction that human activities are causing across the world. It’s one thing to hear that a species has gone extinct, or to know that we’re pushing many species to extinction. It’s entirely another thing to observe a subspecies where just two individuals are left. It’s incredibly emotional to witness an animal on the imminent pathway to extinction. It begs the question: Are you, are we, honestly okay to sit back and let that happen to thousands of other species? Are we happy to watch other animals, other wildlife, whole ecosystems, disappear from our planet? as the golden rays of the rising sun dance through the acacia trees, I stand tall, an emblem of a vanishing era. I am Najin, one of the last northern white rhinos left on Earth, a subspecies teetering on the edge of extinction. The glorious warmth upon my weathered skin reminds me of the days when we roamed freely across the vast expanse of Africa. Now, only silence prevails. Under the shadow of Mount Kenya, I bear witness to the fading beauty of a world once magnificent with the presence of my species. It never used to be this way. Once, we lived in harmony with your kind, until their eyes turned to greed and their hearts hardened to rock. This harmony lies shattered at your feet. The ghosts of my ancestors echo on the breeze, whispering in my ear that our horns are the reason you kill us. But this I cannot understand, for why would you need our horns when your hair and fingernails are made from the same material? Although you may believe such far-fetched tales of miracle cures, we have no more power in our horn than you do in that little toe of yours. We were once revered as majestic guardians of the wilderness. Now, I stand side- by-side with my daughter, burdened by the weight of our solitude. We are relics of a time long gone, our existence becoming a cautionary tale to highlight the plight of endangered species worldwide. The enduring earth beneath my feet reminds me of the resilience of my kind. With every breath, I drink in the beautiful web of life and hear the cacophony of nature surrounding me. In the sun’s golden embrace, we stand resolute, a living testament to the beauty and fragility of life. In the face of adversity, we embody the strength of our species, a symbol of resilience in the darkest of times. Because although our kind have dwindled in number, the spirit of the northern white rhino will forever remain etched in the fabric of this Earth. We live in hope that one day soon, your kind will realise the error of their ways and learn to value every living being. I’m sure that our deaths will inspire a new generation to cherish and protect the natural world. It will be too late for my daughter and I, but I hope it will not be too late for others.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

Squirrel monkey, Costa Rica

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

Sulawesi crested macaque, Sulawesi

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

OL PEJETA CONSERVANCY 0°01’39.7”N 36°51’49.7”E

“The challenges that rhinos are facing are seemingly never-ending. However, where there is love for this animal, there is hope.”

With the current state of our planet, I believe that we need to be spreading the facts, the vital information, as far and wide as possible. The more people that can be inspired to forge a connection with an animal like the rhino, the more people will be inclined to fight to protect them. The tale of Najin and Fatu is of critical importance and serves as a timely remind- er of the consequences of our actions. However, this story isn’t one of defeat but of defiance, resolve, and most importantly, hope. For it also entails the unwavering efforts of keepers, conservationists, scientists, security teams, rangers, and citizens around the world who are doing everything in their power to ensure their survival. There’s a groundbreaking project under way that could bring us one step closer to preventing the extinction of this subspecies. A collaboration between Ol Pejeta, Bio- Rescue and Leibniz-IZW has resulted in the successful creation of 29 viable northern white rhino embryos. It’s entirely possible that in the next few years a genetically pure northern white rhino calf could be born in Africa once again. Rhinos are still at risk of being poached for their horns and they’re facing a multi- tude of other threats: diminishing habitats, increased human-wildlife conflict because of shrinking wild spaces, climate change-induced weather events including drought, changes in precipitation patterns, and unpredictable flooding events. The challenges that rhinos are facing are seemingly never-ending. However, where there is love for this animal, there is hope. Having worked closely with three species of rhino, I can honestly say that there are so many good people out there who care. I’ve met some of the most passionate, determined, and inspirational people on my journey across two continents, all of whom are fighting tooth and nail to secure a future for these iconic animals. Conservation efforts are paying off: black rhino populations are increasing, greater one-horned rhino populations are increasing, and the birth of a Sumatran rhino calf was recently celebrated. Where there is hope, hard work, and collaboration, there is always the power for positive change.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY HANNAH ALEXANDER QUEEN BEE

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

ALBANY, NEW YORK 42°39’09.3”N 73°45’22.4”W

HANNAH ALEXANDER

the queen bee is the mother of the colony as well as the heartbeat that keeps everything together. She’s unique because she’s the only fertile female surrounded by thousands of infertile female workers, which means she’s the only one who can lay eggs to ensure the next generation of bees. While the worker bees only live for one to two months, the queen can live for several years. As important as the queen bee is, she isn’t a monarch at all, and it’s actually the workers who really call the shots. There are two main reasons why the worker bees may choose to raise a new queen bee. Their current queen may be reaching old age and not keeping up with the necessary duties; this would be called a supersedure , where they’re raising a new queen to replace their current queen. The other reason is if they’re outgrowing their space. The current queen will leave the colony with a group of workers to find a new place to live, and the remaining bees will raise a new queen. This is called swarming , and it’s reproduction at the colony level, making two hives from one. But how does the queen become the queen? She starts out as an egg laid by the previous queen, just like any of the other bees. After three days inside the egg, she hatches out into a tiny, wiggling larva. The following three days, all of the larvae are fed a substance called royal jelly, which is secreted from the glands of nurse bees (a type of worker). At this point, it starts to change, and it’s all up to the workers! Larvae chosen to become queen bees continue to be fed royal jelly, while the larvae destined to become workers are switched to a diet of “bee bread,” a mixture of pollen and honey. This extra royal jelly that she’s fed for the next few days is what allows her reproductive organs to develop and gives her the distinct larger size. When it’s time for her metamorphosis, her queen cell is capped off with wax for eight more days, and then she emerges and the bee drama begins. With the queen being so important to the colony, the workers will increase their chances for success by raising multiple queens, but of course, there can only be one. The first queen to emerge immediately seeks out the other new queen bees and stings them to death. The queen is the only honey bee that can sting multiple times. She makes a special noise called piping that lures them into responding and quickly revealing their location to track them down. If more than one emerges simultaneously, it’s a battle royale with the winner taking the crown. Once the reigning queen has survived that stage, she’s not living the royal life yet. She still has a daunting journey ahead of her as she needs to leave the hive to mate. Since she only mates once in her life, she has to make the most of it. Male bees are called drones , and many drones from different colonies congregate together in certain locations in search of a queen to mate with. She travels to a drone congregation area and mates with multiple drones (who will all die after mating—it’s rough in the bee world!). Then, if she wasn’t eaten by birds along the way, she returns to her colony, where she’ll be welcomed back by workers who will tend to all of her needs for the rest of her life, so that she’s able to focus on her duty of laying eggs.

MOTHER VOLUME TWO

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