A turtle shell, a kingfisher, a man with a guitar, a Tiger

It's taken me a while to process what happened to me in Campeche and on the Usamacinta river, hence this unpunctual review. I volunteered with Ninth Wave just after joining a consultancy in London focused on the built environment; I wanted to get to the lowest levels of how the built environment, conservation and community led planning work in other parts of the world, starting with Mexico.

After a thousand sweeps of the paddle we moored for lunch - I found the turtle shell by a tree stump and put it in my bag, for reasons unknown. This turtle shell is on my desk today and, counterintuitively, it reminds me not of fallen reptiles but of the coconut shells we were all handed by Jon and Amy after a workshop. We proceeded to eat from the shells for the entirety of my stay with Ninth Wave. Simple things, simple outcomes. Constant reminders, constant action.

After a thousand more sweeps of the paddle, we'd seen not just one kingfisher but thirty. Where I'm from, the kingfisher is an elusive, almost otherworldly sight in the same cadre as ghosts or snow leopards. But on the Usamacinta, this crown prince of birds becomes run of the mill. In my then consultancy practice, this constantly reminded me of how what we deem to be elusive is often localised. Drilling down and talking to the people (not the boots) on the ground is the only way to filter the elusive from the obvious.

I confess: I'm not the greatest orator in any language - but especially not in Spanish. But an evening (after I'd stopped counting sweeps of the paddle) eating, jesting and listening to a man play guitar while a fire roared (lit by a Tiger) on the riverbank was the closest thing I've felt to unconditional inclusivity. This seems to be a hallmark of Ninth Wave.

I could wax around and about the individual indigenous communities we all helped, the side quests, the dogs, the cats, the ambulance service in Frontera Corozal and the spectre, then surprising joy, of lashing together canoes and paddling in pitch darkness. But I suspect that you’ll find out about those yourself. What I will wax about is a mantra that Amy said to us during an introductory sustainability workshop: “Don’t do nothing because you can’t do everything”.

Eventually, these eight words led away from the master planned built environment to focus on smaller, localised projects that champion filtering the elusive from the obvious. As it turns out, all it takes is effort, time and a man playing the guitar. What it does not take is masterplans, decks and circling back. Having said that, I really hope I can circle back to Campeche at some time soon.