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I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote

- Herman Melville

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Travel

Mar 12, 2019

Field Notes: Tracking Big Cats – The Life of a Wildlife Field Researcher in South Africa

In a heartwarming tale, it might not have always been the adventure that was expected, but for these researchers, the rewards made all the hardship worth it.

WRITTEN BY

Kelsey Wellington

The tent was completely flooded. There was at least an inch of standing water that had not been absorbed by the ratty twin mattresses that lived permanently inside.

“Looks like it’s the Land Cruiser for the night,” I said to my field partner, a heavy sigh carrying my words away.

Ulysse groaned, knowing sitting upright in a car, cocooned in a sleeping bag, was a guarantee for a sleepless night.

The rain had been unrelenting for nearly a week, and Ulysse and I had spent each morning layering up in rain pants, raincoats, and heavy muck boots. We knew it was a futile effort, that our gear was not meant to withstand ten hours of assault. We returned to our field house at the end of each day soaked through, and our gear would barely dry out overnight before we had to do it all again.

Completely soaked through and muddy after another day of constant rain. Photo credit: Ulysse

Now, it was our turn to trade the field house for the field tent, which sat in a sandy copse along a high ridgeline. Large boulders surrounded the tent, guarding it against the strong winds that whipped through each night, but a dearth of trees left it otherwise unprotected.

We worked in shitty conditions and lived in even shittier conditions.

The rain had finally relented, but our sad excuse for a field “house” was left even more battered than it already was from two years spent in the exact same spot. The sun’s powerful rays had stripped away the weatherproofing on the tent’s walls long before I arrived in Namaqualand. The tent’s poles were wrapped in duct tape in various spots—reminders of the more powerful wind storms that not even the boulders could guard against. Two old, mouldy twin mattresses served as the only anchors inside the tent—beneath the ground’s sandy surface sat impenetrable granite that no stake could defeat.

Our campsite at T2.

And now, those anchors, saturated with a week’s worth of rain, were as heavy as the boulders that surrounded the tent. Between that and the strong winds that blew through each night, sleeping outside was not an option. We were in for a long night in the field car.

I kicked a small rock and watched it roll off the cliff’s edge and into the desert far below. “We might as well make dinner,” I said, making note of the sun that was slowly sinking behind the distant granite cliffs.

Ulysse, my coworker and close friend, who travelled from northern France to work on the project.

I heard Ulysse sigh behind me, an indication of his acceptance of defeat. We both knew there was nothing to discuss, no alternative plans to consider.

This was the nature of fieldwork. We worked in shitty conditions and lived in even shittier conditions. We prayed to Mother Nature for favorable weather and cursed her when she delivered the opposite. The work had to be done either way. We knew that to complain was to mark ourselves unfit for the job. We knew a person didn’t choose this field for the cushy lifestyle, the stellar pay, or the great benefits. Those were the unicorns of the wildlife world.

“I will try to start a fire,” Ulysse said in his thick French accent.

I walked back down the rocky path carved out by previous field technicians to where the car was parked, Ulysse following close behind. Methodically, we unpacked the Land Cruiser, placing the cooler in its usual spot beneath the one large ridgetop shrub, piling up firewood brought from the field house, and unfolding our camp chairs around the fire ring.

This was T2, and in the summer of 2015, it was my “home” every two weeks.

We were wildlife field researchers, Ulysse and I. We had moved to the northwestern cape of South Africa with nothing but a backpack each, high off the promise of handling the “big cat” species we dreamed of as children. In this case, it was leopards—my favorite species— and caracals, a bobcat-sized cat, and our job was to set foot-hold and snare traps to trap the cats and fit them with GPS collars.

T2 put us in range of about half of the research project’s traps. If we stood on the tallest rock on the ridgeline, our transceiver could pick up all twelve radio signals from the traps. By day, Ulysse and I wandered the Namaqualand desert, collecting data on site characteristics and predator kills based on the information received from the radio collars. By night, we checked the trap signals, rotating each hour to stand atop the rock and listen for the faint beeps coming through our transceiver.

Using telemetry equipment (transceiver & antenna) to listen for the radio signals of our traps and collared animals.

If a trap was triggered, the beeping would change from a slow, steady rhythm to a series of rapid beeps that generally incited both panic and excitement in the listener.

We don’t get paid enough for this shit

But this rarely happened. Two months into my four-month commitment, I had not touched—let alone seen—a single cat. My nights at T2 passed in the same pattern night after night: Ulysse and I discussed who was to take which hourly “shift,” we set our alarms, and we crawled into our sleeping bags. We slept fitfully, waking to each other’s alarms and groaning when it was our turn to stumble up the rock by headlamp.

“We don’t get paid enough for this shit,” I mumbled one day as I removed a two-inch thorn from my shin. I shook out my leg, waiting for feeling to return to it.

“We do not get paid at all,” Ulysse countered, reminding me that we had, in fact, volunteered for this job. Such was our desire to work with wildlife, particularly the wildlife of South Africa.

Five months earlier, after an hour-long Skype interview and a few days of back-and-forth emailing, I had committed to trading four months of paid work in the United States to four months of volunteer work in a very rural corner of South Africa—an area where Apartheid sentiment was still strong, where English was not the dominant language, and where foreigners were generally not welcome.

But the work would provide me with the chance to test the waters of my “big cat” dream. I needed to know how realistic it would be to pursue a career in the conservation of large cat species. These species lived in developing countries, where the language was different, the environment was unfamiliar, and the women had fewer rights than the men. I had no idea how to get my foot in the door, but this volunteer position seemed like a good first step.

And so it was that I found myself, five months later, swearing under my breath as I removed yet another large thorn from my body.

Ulysse and I were at the end of what had turned into an 11-hour day—covering over 16 miles—and my exhausted feet had carried me directly into a low-lying acacia bush. The pain of the two-inch thorn hitting my shinbone was what I imagined the pain of a snake bite to be. In my exhausted state, I spent a full ten seconds believing I had, in fact, been bitten by one of the many deadly snakes that inhabited this landscape.

As I pulled it out, part of the thorn snapped off, embedding itself beneath my skin. Blood began to run down my shin and soak into my sock. I sighed. Another future scar, I thought. My body was riddled with them, all from field work. Unforgiving plants, animal scratches and kicks, fumbles while using tools, accidents involving all-terrain vehicles—I had stories for them all and I fondly referred to them as “my collection.” My skin had become a diary for the work I dedicated my life to, and I revelled in the chance to share a story whenever someone pointed to a particular scar and asked, “How did you get that?

I looked up at Ulysse and shrugged. Complaining or crying about the pain was useless—everyone in this field experienced their own version of it; I learned long ago not to expect sympathy from my peers. The only thing to do was continue our weary march to the Land Cruiser. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, which meant we were late. It was an unspoken rule to be back at camp before dark—all manner of dangerous creatures came out at night; to be out was to be putting ourselves at great risk, especially when cell-phone service and civilization were both tens of miles away.

The sight of our field vehicle filled us with elation—the kind a person experiences on Christmas morning—and we stumbled into our seats with thoughts of dinner and a warm campfire. The drive back to camp at the end of each day was always a silent one, our bodies too weary to focus on anything but the beam of headlights that guided us.

It wasn’t until our bellies were full and our bodies warm that we would relive the moments of the day and share our thoughts and hopes for the coming days. The talk was always the same.

“I can’t believe the baboons stole the trail camera!”

“After we hiked 10 miles one way to collect it!”

“That’s going to leave a nasty scar.”

“Getting that porcupine out of the trap was so stressful, I thought for sure you were gonna get quilled.”

“I wish I had tried harder to climb that giant boulder.”

“I collected so much cat scat today, my pack literally smells like shit.”

“Catching that genet today was awesome!

“Do you need another bandage?”

“I would rather shoot myself in the foot than do one more goddamn cluster survey.”

“I can’t believe we have to try to finish 12 cluster surveys tomorrow.”

“How amazing was that view today, though?!”

“I eventually gave up trying not to get pricked and just barreled through the thorns. It saved time, but boy do I regret it.”

“I really hope we catch a cat tomorrow.”

That last statement was a sentiment echoed day after day, week after week.

Finally, nearly nine weeks after I had arrived, the hope became reality. Ulysse and I crested one particular hill in the Land Cruiser and paused. About seventy yards down the dirt track, nestled off the road in the shade of a tree, sat a small rectangular cage trap. Something with a rusty coat was pacing back and forth inside it.

Caracal!” I half-shouted, half-whispered. I turned to Ulysse, his excited expression mirroring mine.

“We finally caught one!” he exclaimed.

I dug for the satellite phone—always stored in the glove box, rarely used—and turned it on. Ulysse shut off the Land Cruiser while I typed out a short message.

Caught caracal. Trap 7. Time: 10:04am.

My first caracal capture! This cat was sedated and very healthy. We monitored his body temperature and breathing to make sure the drugs were not having adverse effects. Photo credit: Ulysse

We prayed it would go through. Sending that message would pull the rest of the team—seven others—from their various locations and to our spot. For some of them, it would be our first time together in nearly two weeks, such was the spread of our field locations.

While we waited, Ulysse and I stepped out of the car to get a better look at the cat. Despite our distance from it, it was hissing and spitting at us like mad. Its teeth and claws were bared, and it frequently lunged at the steel frame of the trap, trying to force its body through the gaps.

My heart raced. I stared into the cat’s piercing yellow eyes, completely absorbed by the wildness in them. This is what I had come here for.

Soon we heard the rumble of the first field vehicle. After about 45 minutes, the entire crew and the on-call veterinarian were there. We watched the vet deliver a tranquillizer using a dart attached to a long pole, then waited with bated breath as the cat slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

Next came the science, the work we were all there for. The body measurements—the cat weighed only 30 pounds—the DNA samples, the ear tags, and the GPS collar. I held the collar in place while my coworker attached the screws, and I marvelled at the deep red color of the animal’s coat, the bright white of his teeth, the softness of his fur. He was beautiful, and I sat in awe of him.

I was drawn to wildlife because of this awe, because of the very definition of the word wild. I revelled in the unknown, in the lives of creatures whose worlds are wholly different from ours, in the languages we will never speak. I longed to see the world the way this caracal did, and, more importantly, I wanted to preserve his world for the generations that would follow him.

The GPS collars were to understand the cat’s movement patterns—his home range, den site, and habits. Local farmers, frustrated by the increasing number of predator-related deaths of their sheep, had been setting kill traps for the cats. Based on the number of cats that had been caught in the kill traps since the start of our research, the local population was at risk of serious decline. The role of my team was to learn as much about these cats as we could and work to implement deterrent strategies.

The same was true for the leopards we aimed to trap and collar, but given the endangered status of the species, the importance there was greater. The hatred of the species among farmers was greater there, too, which meant we were hated for trying to save them.

Knowing that I would go through it all again for another chance to stare into the golden eyes of such a wild thing

Through trail camera photos, we knew of at least four leopards who roamed Namaqualand, but they constantly eluded us. A pair—a mother and her kitten—watched from a distance as our supervisor set out foot-snare traps for them. Too smart to be fooled by the enticing bait, they never returned to that spot. Another leopard—collared in an earlier year of the study—managed to slip his GPS collar one day, after which he was only ever glimpsed in photos.

We never caught a leopard during my time with the team. Although disappointing, this spoke to the truly wild nature of the species, and I eventually found myself grinning at the thought of the cunning cats eluding our traps. I preferred it this way, knowing there were other ways to help the species.

Fresh leopard tracks! Folded knife for size. We followed these tracks for many miles, hoping to glimpse the cat, but never saw it.

After the first caracal capture, we caught two more. Each capture filled me with the same awe as the first. With every release of the cat, my heart swelled with pride, knowing the animal would do wonderful things for science and that we were a part of it, knowing that the weeks of grueling work were worth it, knowing that I would go through it all again for another chance to stare into the golden eyes of such a wild thing.

The night that followed our first caracal capture, Ulysse and I returned to T2. We had eight clusters to get through the next day and traps to check remotely that night. Life was back to normal—monotonous, repetitive, and exhausting.

And yet. We had held a truly wild thing, and we were forever changed by it. We had felt the strong muscles that could bring down an animal weighing three times its body weight. We had glimpsed the sharp teeth that could tear through flesh, and we had run our fingers over the scars that marked the cat as both a fighter and a survivor. And we had stared into the wild and untamable eyes that spoke of a world we will never truly know, no matter how hard we try.

“I wouldn’t trade this for any amount of money in the world,” I said, breaking the silence of camp.

“Good,” Ulysse chimed in, “because we do not get paid for any of this.”

My heart was completely flooded.

All photos were taken by the author unless otherwise specified.

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Travel

Jul 18, 2019

Part 2: The Skateistan Difference – Skate Schools to Build a Better Future

Jessica Faulkner explains how Skateistan designs gender-inclusive programs in their skate schools and classrooms to empower underprivileged children around the globe.

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WRITTEN BY

Davey Braun

Last week, The Outdoor Journal introduced Skateistan, an award-winning international non-profit organization that provides a creative blend of skateboarding instruction and educational programs to empower children to change the trajectory of their lives and their communities. Skateistan’s programs are focused on underprivileged children, especially young girls and children living with disabilities in Afghanistan, Cambodia and South Africa – with over 50% female participation. Your donation can help to change these children’s stories, too.

In this installment, Jessica Faulkner, the Communications Manager at Skateistan’s Berlin headquarters, discusses her role within the organization, how Skateistan builds strong relationships within communities despite cultural differences, designing gender-inclusive programs to encourage young girls to skate, developing classroom programs to focus on life skills like resilience and determination, and the best way that readers can get involved and become a Citizen of Skateistan themselves.

A girl drops into a vert ramp at Skateistan’s Johannesburg facility. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

JOINING SKATEISTAN

TOJ: How did you get involved with Skateistan?

Faulkner: For me personally, I’ve been working with Skateistan for just over a year now. My background is in international development communications. I had moved to Berlin after traveling for a year. I was looking for a job and I saw this one come up and I just thought, “That sounds like the most amazing organization with such a cool message.” And so my journey started there.

Jessica Faulkner, Communications Manager at Skateistan.

TOJ: What is your individual role within the organization?

Faulkner: I’m the Communications Manager, so I head up our communications team, which is small but perfectly formed. We have a comms officer and a designer as well. We basically look after the things that people hear and see about Skateistan in the outside world.

SKATEISTAN PERSPECTIVE

TOJ: Have you had a chance to visit any of the facilities in Kabul or Cambodia or South Africa?

Faulkner: I’ve been fortunate enough to visit three of our skate schools since I started working here. I went to Johannesburg in October last year and spent around 10 days at the skate school there. And earlier this year in February I was in Afghanistan, visiting the team in Kabul and Mazar-e-Sharif.

TOJ: How did those trips impact your perspective on living in Berlin compared to the living conditions in Cambodia, South Africa and Afghanistan?

Faulkner: A trip to a Skateistan skate school is a very special experience and it definitely changes the way that you see your day to day job. it gives you a huge sense of joy to see kids having so much fun and being in such a safe space and learning so much on a day to day basis. Seeing girls skating around in Kabul is one of the most special things I’ve ever seen. I was also lucky enough to join a soccer game with them, which is pretty cool. There’s a huge surge of optimism that people get when they visit the schools because they see firsthand that this crazy idea is actually working super well.

It’s amazing to me the way the staff is so responsive to local needs. Whilst we follow the same curriculum in each school, they’re adapting to what the kids need and then reacting to what their communities are telling them. That’s exciting to see on a day to day basis. Particularly in Afghanistan, but also in the other locations, there are plenty of challenges as well. There is an immense sense of responsibility that you feel when you visit the schools to maintain what we do, because, for a lot of those children, it is the only place where they feel safe; it’s the only place where they can really express themselves freely, where they can have that amount of fun.

“They’re learning about breaking down social barriers around their own role in society and how to build bridges between different groups of people.”

The quality of the children’s opportunity is so high. They’re learning to skateboard with all of the important life lessons that come with that, like what to do when you fail at something, what to do when you fall off, what to do when something is immensely challenging. They’re also learning about breaking down social barriers around their own role in society and how to build bridges between different groups of people, different genders, different ethnicities. There is a real sense of responsibility that we have to make it work because it’s the only opportunity that they have a lot of the time.

WORLD FAMOUS AMBASSADORS

TOJ: What does it mean to be a “Citizen of Skateistan”?

Faulkner: The citizens of Skateistan make up a global community of people who share our vision of empowering children through skateboarding and education. To join the citizens, it’s really straightforward. It costs $10 a month and then you’re part of that community. The benefits of that are first of all that you get loads of exclusive information from us, like exclusive videos from our skate schools about what’s happening on a day to day basis. But also there’s the knowledge that you’re really helping to put Skateistan on a stable footing. Any NGO will tell you that attracting funding is always a big job and we have a lot of amazing friends who help us out with that. But the citizens are really the bedrock of support because we know that we can rely on them. We know how much money comes in each month so that we can make really cool plans for the future. The citizens community also includes a few famous faces like Tony Hawk, Jamie Thomas, and Sky Brown as a few examples and they are just incredible skateboarding legends who help us to spread the word in a way that we as a small NGO just couldn’t do on our own.

TOJ: So if I were to donate a $10 per month, is that sponsoring one specific child through the year or is it funding the facilities and programs in general?

Faulkner: It’s not a sponsorship of one child on their own, but it goes towards everything that Skateistan does. We’re always happy to share what we’ve been doing with the money that people kindly donate to us and also just what the donations can do. For example, $20 can pay for two sessions of Skate and Create in Cambodia and that means two 120-minute sessions of creative education and skateboarding per child. We’re really happy to be transparent about how donations benefit our students.


Skateistan student from Kabul, Afghanistan. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

The Citizens of Skateistan is a global community of students, staff, skaters, and supporters who share the dream of empowering and educating youth through skateboarding. By donating $10 or more a month you become a Citizen and help make it possible for thousands of youth to attend Skateistan programs worldwide.


TOJ: You just mentioned Sky Brown who rides for Almost skateboards and helped design one of their boards where a portion of the proceeds go to Skateistan. What does it mean to Skateistan to have Sky Brown as an ambassador?

Faulkner: She’s an amazing friend for us and she’s actually been to our skate school in Cambodia. When we moved to a new location in Phnom Penh in 2018, we were lucky enough to have Sky attend the opening and skate with some of our students, which was just super inspiring to them to see what’s possible if you put your mind to it. Sky’s board with Almost has been an incredible collaboration. It’s already brought in twenty thousand dollars which can go a really long way in our skate schools.

TOJ: What does it mean to have Tony Hawk on the Global Advisory Board?

“Tony Hawk has been a fantastic friend to the organization for a great many years now.”

Faulkner: It means a huge amount! Tony has been a fantastic friend to the organization for a great many years now. There’s a lot of things that we couldn’t do without supporters like Tony. He has such an incredible global reach that he can spread a message in a way that we simply can’t do on our own. Also, he has so much experience with the Tony Hawk Foundation which means we have an opportunity to share ideas. He’s been an amazing advocate for what we’re trying to do with the power of skateboarding in areas where you might not think it’s a very obvious tool. Tony has this vision for how we can empower children all over the world and how skateboarding can do incredible things for girls empowerment.

TOJ: Do most of the people who work for the organization come from a pro skating background?

Faulkner: It’s a little bit of a mix. At the office here in Berlin, more than half are experienced skateboarders and I will be completely honest here and say that I wasn’t, but I’ve now had three whole lessons! (laughs). Obviously, all the educators have to be skateboarders and a lot of staff who aren’t skating at the beginning end up skating because you’re working right next to a skate park and it’s really inspiring to see people rolling around all the time. One of the things that happens in our skate schools is that some of our staff actually come through the ranks of our skate schools by starting out as students. It’s a relatively common path to be a student and then a youth leader, which is like an older student who helps out with younger students in health science classes and then to goes on to being an educator in the skate park. We really value that progression. We think that that’s a really good way of investing in our local community.

Skateistan students stay involved as youth leaders. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

CULTURAL INTEGRATION

TOJ: Have you experienced any pushback from people who feel that Skateistan clashes with their cultural or religious values, especially in regards to traditional female roles?

“We have a community educator in every skate school.”

Faulkner: We actually have super strong relationships with the communities where we work. That’s a deliberate strategy for Skateistan, and we have a community educator in every skate school whose job it is to go out into the community to encourage children to join our programs, to encourage families to facilitate that, but also to work with community leaders. Obviously, in Afghanistan, that has a very religious overtone, so we work closely with the local mosques to explain our programs. We invite them to come and see what happens at Skateistan, and in turn that leads to them approving of all programs and telling people in the community that what we do is there is a good thing.

A Skateistan student in Cambodia enjoying the sensation of balancing on a skateboard. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

When we started out in Afghanistan, we didn’t take any skateboarding culture with us. Olivier Percovich, who founded our organization and is still our Executive Director, didn’t go with any cultural references in terms of skateboarding – no music or fashion, no magazines. He just wanted the children to experience skateboarding and the fun that he had experienced as a child doing that. In America and in Europe, skateboarding is sometimes seen as a male-dominated sport that is rebellious and even anti-social. We hope that that’s changing. But actually, in Afghanistan, it’s not seen like that. It’s an activity that boys and girls do that is coupled with education.

TOJ: That’s really interesting how skateboarding in a Skateistan program is separate from the stigma that skateboarders might have in the States where they’re some sort of “spray painting punk.”

Faulkner: It definitely does. The feedback from parents of our students in Afghanistan is that they tell us that their kids are behaving so much better since they started skateboarding, which is not exactly what you would expect in the Western world to be the association.

TOJ: As Skateistan has been going for over a decade now, have you been able to measure or witness the impact of its focus on gender inclusion in the communities by leading to more girls pursuing academic careers or jobs in places where they typically wouldn’t even have a job?

“Our Back to School program has seen over 500 kids go on to formal education since we started it.”

Faulkner: In Afghanistan, where the gender issue is the most intense, we run a program called Back to School, which is an accelerated learning program for children who are out of school. A huge majority of children who are out of school in Afghanistan are female, which is partly to do with safety concerns about getting to and from school, but it’s also to do with cultural norms around the importance of educating boys over girls. Our Back to School program has seen over 500 kids go on to formal education since we started it. These are kids who would have had no opportunity to go to school without that program. We cover three grades in the year and then they’re ready to re-enter at the right levels for that age group.

Our own staff is 53% female and that’s a deliberate decision. We believe in girls empowerment at all levels of our organization. We’ve seen a great increase in participation for girls as well. When we first started it was very challenging to get the same number of girls as boys to join as Skateistan students because of concerns around safety and because a sport wasn’t seen as something that girls participate in. But now around 50% of our actual students are female and our participation is going up all the time.

A young girl in Cambodia riding barefoot. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

EDUCATIONAL ELEMENTS

TOJ: Is the classroom curriculum a substitute for school or is it more of a supplement that gets kids prepared to go back to their full-time school?

Faulkner: That really depends on the program. There’s Back to School which is in Afghanistan and does follow the curriculum because it’s recognized as an educational program by the Ministry of Education in Afghanistan and that allows children to get back into school. Our other main program is called Skate and Create and that’s not a replacement to formal education. It’s supplementary. It’s focused on creativity and critical thinking and we aim to teach children things that they’re not necessarily learning elsewhere. We teach things like human rights, we do a lot of arts and crafts, we teach life skills like resilience and determination and goal setting. We talk about what a country would look like if you could design it from scratch. We talk about the solar system and our place in it. So the idea of Skate and Create is to be adding value to children’s existing education.

TOJ: How does Skateistan develop its educational curriculum, and how does the Good Push program work?

“We believe in girls empowerment at all levels of our organization.”

Faulkner: Good Push is a program that’s run by Skateistan which is set up to build up the social skateboarding sector and support other skateboarding projects. The way that our curriculum intersects with Good Push has to do with the training that Good Push offers. For organizations that we’re supporting through Good Push, we can share with them some of our lesson plans and ways that you can construct educational programming alongside skateboarding. We support other organizations who have taken inspiration from Skateistan by sharing the lessons that we’ve learned over the last 10 years so that they don’t have to learn all the same things. But what we’re aiming for with Good Push is that organizations will build something that is appropriate for them and the communities where they’re working.

TOJ: What kind of changes have you noticed in your more than a year of working with Skateistan?

Faulkner: I think one of the really exciting things about Skateistan is that people are always really hungry to make things better. We don’t always get everything right and we have to learn all the time. There is an unending appetite for improvement. Even just in the one year that I’ve been here, lesson plans, reporting and the community of people who support Skateistan are all increasing in quality. It’s a really inspiring place to work because you feel like you can innovate and know that your team will support you. If something doesn’t work exactly as we thought it would, we don’t necessarily see that as a failure. We share what we learned from it with other members of staff or even other organizations so that their learning curve is faster than ours.

TOJ: What do you think are the biggest benefits of moving the Skatestan headquarters to Berlin, even though it’s a long flight from each Skateistan facility?

Faulkner: It’s very easy to work in Germany because it’s a very stable place and there are fewer day to day challenges. If your headquarters is in Kabul, you have daily electricity outages, major challenges around internet connectivity and it’s very difficult to interact with our donors in particular. We’re no longer an Afghan organization; we’re now an international organization, which means that through our schools in Cambodia and Johannesburg, everybody’s experiencing the same thing, and we’re able to react to the different contexts of our skate schools.

Children in Cambodia line up to be fitted with their boards. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

TOJ: Are you able to share any of the future plans that you have in store over the next 5 or 10 years?

Faulkner: Last year we published our strategy for the next five years and this year we recently had our strategic planning meeting when we made a plan for the next 10 years. At Skateistan, we’re trying to be very future-focused and very ambitious with what we can achieve over the next decade. We are currently working out a new state school, which will be our fifth skate school, in central Afghanistan, in Bamiyan. We’re very excited about being able to extend the good work that Skateistan does to a whole new community.

We also are looking at opening a state school in Jordan in 2021, which will be a completely new area of the world for us, opening up in the Middle East. There’s obviously been a huge number of young people affected by the conflict in Syria in the last few years and we’re really excited about being able to provide something in particular for a refugee population.

Even longer term, we would love to expand to South America, but that’s very much a twinkle in our eye right now rather than a concrete development.

TOJ: I notice some similarities between Skateistan and another NGO called Waves for Change. And I think you even did a crossover event. The main concept is creating a safe space for children from underprivileged areas where they can talk about violence that they face in their community. Do you have any programs aside from school curriculum that offer kids a place to talk about the issues that they’re facing in their life?

Skateistan students have just finished class at Mazar-e-Sharif, Afghanistan. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

Faulkner: Yeah, we do. It’s nice that you bring up Waves for Change because we’re huge fans of Waves for Change. They do amazing work, and we see a lot of synergies between what we do and what they do. We do offer a safe space for kids and we maintain quite a holistic approach to children and the challenges that they’re facing. The core programming might be an hour of skateboarding and an hour of education, but we also provide plenty of safe space for children to work through any issues that they might be having. When I mentioned earlier about our local teams trying to be responsive to the needs that they see in the community, that’s really where that comes into play. If our staff in Cambodia see that there’s a real risk of the children becoming exposed to violence or if they’re experiencing violence in their homes, then they’ll do a workshop to help children work through that. They’ve also done some really interesting programming around trafficking and around navigating danger in those kinds of areas. Our community educators play a really important role there as well because they are likely to get to know families and understand the dynamics of certain families in what might be happening in children’s home lives.

We’re also were working alongside a fantastic organization in Canada called Health Services. They’re based in Calgary and they do a lot of trauma-informed care for children who’ve been affected by serious trauma. One of the things that they do is investigating the power of skateboarding for children in their program. We’re doing some training with them about becoming trauma-informed ourselves as a staff so that we can respond to the problems and the challenges that our students bring to us.

Close up of a Skateistan student in Kabul, Afghanistan. Photo: Andy Buchanan.

TOJ: For someone who watches one of the Youtube videos or reads this article, what’s the best and quickest way they can get involved?

Faulkner: Go to Skateistan.org. You can make a donation right there and you can join our citizens. You can find out more about what we do, and also if you find stuff that you like about us, then it’s great to share that because we’re always looking for ways to spread the word.

Read Part 1: Skateistan: How Skateboarding is Changing the Story for Kids in Need

Visit www.skateistan.org for more information, or follow Skateistan on social media:

Instagram: @skateistan
Facebook: @skateistan
Twitter: @skateistan

Feature Image: Andy Buchanan

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