Some revolutions explode onto the scene, seemingly in an instant, leaving a wake of destruction and a precarious path for change. Others are silent, where long days and nights spent around the homefires evoke memories of the past and inspire the future.

Namibia is born of both. On 21 March 2020, the country celebrates thirty years of independence. Her struggle for autonomy is peppered with war and compromise, anger and acceptance – a clash of conditions that, through the will of the people, has created one of the most stable democracies in Africa.

Around campfires in rural areas, the independence revolution lead to a remarkable evolution in conservation and tourism, driven by local communities and backed by the protection of the environment in the country’s new Constitution.

In 1996, these rights were expanded when legislation was introduced that allowed the formation of Communal Conservancies “to promote activities that demonstrate that sustainably managed natural resources can result in social development and economic growth, and in suitable partnership between local communities and Government.”

Today, about 46 per cent of Namibia’s surface area is under conservation management. This includes national parks and game reserves (19 per cent), communal conservancies and other communal conservation (20 per cent), as well as commercial conservancies, private nature reserves and tourism concessions (7 per cent).

One in four rural Namibians is a resident of a communal conservancy. And, since rural people have made the bold choice to live with wildlife, conservancies provide spaces that have enabled the expansion in range and numbers of iconic species such as elephant, lion and rhino, plus dozens of others. The backdrop for this is a landscape of powerful rivers banked by herds of elephant and buffalo; grasslands where the San people were and still are the soul of Africa; sand dunes that crash into the sea at the Skeleton Coast; the rugged, rocky beauty of the northwest, where mirages lift to reveal the seminomadic Himba people; and the largest open air art gallery in the world, with ancient rock engravings at Twyfelfontein. That’s just the start of the magic that is revealed, shared and protected in Namibia’s communal conservancies.

Within this stunning natural mosaic, 53 lodges and campsites run as joint venture partnerships between communities and tourism operators. This is authentic tourism that is critical to both conservation and community development. The staff who work in these facilities are members of the local populace. They have a vested interest in the success of the enterprise, in the protection of the environment that draws guests to their area, and in making sure that each guest’s trip is remarkable.

I arrived in Namibia in 1989, just before Independence. So I’ve been in this arid country long enough that I am overwhelmed by the sight and sound of a flowing river. On every occasion, it is as if I’m seeing it for the first time. I love the sound of the water lapping against the reeds, an emotional undercurrent punctuated by bellowing hippos and the quintessential call of the African fish eagle, one of more than 430 species of birds found in Namibia’s northeast.

Here, on the Kwando, Linyanti, Chobe and Zambezi rivers, adventure takes many forms. Cast a line to catch a tiger (fish), glide down narrow channels in a mokoro, or indulge in another classic African experience: the sundowner cruise. On one trip, I was drifting down the river in a small motorboat when Beaven Sinvula, a member of the Salambala Conservancy and our guide at Chobe River Camp, said: “Water is life.”

It is as simple as that.

Beaven revved the motor, the bow lifted and we moved more quickly downstream. Some of the guests sat back, eyes closed, feeling the spray of the water, taking in the moment. Others spun around in their seats, intent on capturing the next great image.

Just as quickly, Beaven cut the motor and we drifted slowly towards the southern bank of the river. Here, where a breeding herd of elephant moved along the river’s edge, lay Botswana, and across this region you will find the largest population of elephant left on Earth.

This is the heart of KAZA, the Kavango-Zambezi Transfrontier Conservation Area (read more in issue 86). Nearly twice as large as the United Kingdom, KAZA encompasses more than fifty protected areas in five countries – Angola, Botswana, Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe. In Namibia, communal conservancies and joint venture lodges are an important part of this ecological, economic and cultural mosaic.

“The river is high now, which means that the animals aren’t crossing, but during the dry season, you should see the zebra,” said Beaven, shaking his head.

Each year a few thousand Burchell’s zebra make a 500-kilometre trek from Botswana to the Salambala Conservancy, where permanent water sources are found within the forest. Recognised as the longest straight-line migration by a mammal in Africa, this is exactly the type of critical ecological process that cross-border conservation is designed to protect. And because of communal conservancy tourism in Namibia, guests can witness and understand this phenomenon up close in a spectacular blur of black and white stripes.

In the northwest of Namibia the rivers run dry. With the exception of the Kunene, which separates Namibia from Angola, ephemeral rivers incise this landscape. Bordered by canyons and desert, they may flow for a brief period of time after rains fall in the vast catchment areas. But the water disappears quickly, into the earth, recharging ground water and supporting life, including desert-dwelling lion and elephant, along these linear oases.

Game viewing is not defined by numbers, but by the fact that wildlife can exist here at all. Giraffe, springbok, oryx and kudu stand out in this stark landscape, and are etched into the rocks at Twyfelfontein, one of Africa’s largest concentrations of rock art and Namibia’s first UNESCO World Heritage Site.

From the banks of the Kunene to Brandberg Mountain, Namibia’s highest peak, this area boasts several joint venture conservancy lodges and campsites, including the first: Damaraland Camp. And commanding spectacular views from its perch high on a flat-topped Etendeka Mountain is Grootberg Lodge, the first 100 per cent community-owned lodge in Namibia.

This remote, beautiful space is protected and shared by the local people, including the Himba, Herero, Damara Nama and Riemvasmaak, all of whom were among the early proponents of Namibia’s communal conservancy movement.

In this harsh land theirs is not an easy life, exacerbated by human-wildlife conflict and few economic opportunities. But as Mengipo Tyambiru Tjivinba, an elderly Himba woman, told me: “This land has taken care of us like a mother. It has fed our goats and cattle. This is a land that has just enough.”

It is what we do with it – how we protect it, how we choose to use its resources and how we share it with others species and our guests – that matters.

That is why, thirty years after Namibia’s independence, tourism is so important. Tourism in Namibia’s communal conservancies encourages and supports commerce, creativity, conservation and culture. Because international guests make the long trip to Namibia, there is a burgeoning conservation economy that not only helps to protect endangered species, but also provides jobs, income and hope for rural communities.

Tourism in these conservancies adds an extra gratifying element to guests’ trips: a chance to support this rich cultural mosaic and to make extraordinary connections with local people and with oneself.

There is a lot to celebrate on Independence Day, and every day. Three decades young, Namibia is a work in wonderful progress. What will the next thirty years bring? I’m not sure, but I can’t wait to find out.