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© Ben Wallace

I was on rhino patrol with the Vetpaw rangers. The fm radio crackled in and out as we drove through the thicket and valleys, we couldn't make out much of what was being said, but the subject of what was being spoken of was without doubt coronavirus. We went over the brow of the hill and the signal became clearer, a reporter's calm, emotionelss voice reiterated the words that President Rhamaphosa had spoken the night before, as he addressed the nation, followed by upates on the status of the rest of the world. I had not long arrived in Africa, I still had weeks left before I was due to leave, but as more airlines cancelled flights, more regions closed their ports and airports, I sighed in a quiet acceptance. I had stubbornly gone through with the trip and relucantly stayed for as long as I could, but in this moment I knew I had no other choice than to return to the UK. I  had sunk everything into this trip, and that day I used my last pennies to change my flights, and now it all felt like it was for nothing. The sun began to set and we pulled over and got out of the vehicle. I felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow and worthlessness as I took in the sounds and smells of the bush for the last time, and vacantly stared into magnificant orange glow - I don't think there is any greater situation for reflection than being under the embrace of the African sunset. I let out a  groan and rubbed my hands on the back of my head in frustration -  I had dedicated my entire adult life to trying to be out saving wildlife, raising awareness and making a difference. I had learned from my mistakes, battled through the imposter syndrome and it felt like I was putting the pieces in place and was finally starting to get somewhere, and now everything I had worked for, everything I had dreamed of, was coming to an abrupt end. "What do I really have to show for all this?", "what am I going to do now?" I thought to myself as I let out another deep sigh. The sun crept behind the clouds on the horizon, and almost simultaneously we saw some movement take the form of a rhino walking towards us out of the glow, spotting the photo opportunity I unpacked my camera from the car and started to film. Her full profile had appeared by this point, she stood for a few seconds looking at us, her ears twitching as she listened for movement, the Eastern Cape breeze cutting through the grass around her. Then she turned to the side revealing the shape of a tiny calf, no more than a wee or two old behind her. I switched to photography mode and waited, hoping to for the calf to move away from her mother and to cast a full silhouette of her own. It did not take long before she plucked up the confidence, and strayed a few meters, mum standing and cautiously watching over, and turning he head to look at us, enabling me the perefct opportunity to get the shot. This photo now means so much to me, I have looked at it often over the last couple of years.  To me it represents the end, a period of dark and uncertainty which I'm sure we have all faced. But more importantly it represents the dawn of a new era, new dreams, new opportunities, it represents resilience and a will to survive, to adapt and to perservere.  Above all else it symbolises hope, hope for a positive, a happy and a sustainable future. 

Last Hope

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£2,000.00Price
  • Aluminium Print

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