one-on-one interviews anymore. We stood waiting for her, vying for space on an overly crowded heath, which was also populated by ‘tree mothers’ from villages almost 50 kilometres away. Tey had taken buses, vans and some even walked to get to her, just so they could shake her hand, smile, laugh and be present in her midst. I felt young, anxious and under-qualified. She arrived dressed in her trademark long Afri- can print dresses and head wrap and looked every part the environmental activist. Te women waited impatiently as she got out of the car and started ululating, singing and dancing the moment her feet touched the ground. Without hesitation, she joined in. She knew all the lyrics and moved in unison with them. In that moment, there was no difference between them and her. Ten I met her. Amidst clicking cam-
Prof. Maathai with Nelson Mandela
eras, photographers asking her to “turn this way” and reporters shooting ques- tions her way. I introduced myself, and instead of passing quickly to get back to the others who demanded her attention, she took a moment to acknowledge me, in the way African women do. She asked who my family was, how I felt about the work I was doing and what my plans were with the documentary. She took time to not only acknowledge my now, but my past and ancestry. When she moved to speak to the next journalist/reporter/ photographer/tree mother, she looked to find connections with them too. She saw people and she loved them. We followed her into the forest, where
“We can drum up God all night. We can pray all night. But if we continue allowing a few selfish and greedy people to destroy our forests… then we deserve to die. We deserve to starve. We deserve to be held in contempt.”
Prof. Wangari Maathai, Nobel Peace Prize laureate
she intimately circled the trees and trailed her fingers on their barks and leaves. Once in a while, she would bend to pick up dis- carded plastic and trash she found. She seemed ever conscious of the environment around her and her responsibility to it. I had grown up watching Wangari
Maathai. I saw her fight the government, private enterprises and President Moi. When we finally spent the day with her, she talked openly about the hurt and hu- miliation she had suffered under Moi’s regime. One of the most poignant state- ments she made in our time together was about the hurt she felt when she realised that her gender could be used against her: “I had always come to believe that the sky
was the limit, that I could do anything …I have the capacity and I have the commit- ment and I have the passion to do anything. Ten, I started realising that other human beings can define your potential,” she says. I listened teetering between tears and laughter as she spoke of her private and
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