Stepping Into Stewardship
by Ahmed Buasallay
Memories are magical.
They come as reconstructed images that are influenced by the perception and worldview one holds at the time of its remembrance. As a child, I had a recurring dream that still lives on in my memory, and each time the images of that dream shape themselves to fit my current perception, revealing new nuances.
As I am writing this, I am reconstructing this dream again - describing scenes to you as I see them now; as if I am living them once again (and indeed I am through Imagination):
I am approaching what feels like Ain Athari - what used to be the most renowned and generous water springs in Bahrain, a legend known to all Bahrainis, and by older folk in the region. I say it “feels like” because I don’t have a clear waking memory of the Ain. I am not even sure I have ever seen it in its original state outside of the dream world. But this Ain is definitely Athari.
Ain Athari in the 1970-80s, Bahrain (source https://www.recyclepointsbh.com/)
As I approach the Ain, I notice it is surrounded by a forest of trees and palms, bursting with life. The Ain itself is constructed as a wide perfect circle of steps, starting from a step above ground level, and going down inwardly into the water to what seems like infinite steps.
As I am getting closer, the forest turns into darkness, and suddenly the Ain is drained of its water, revealing the infinite steps unfolding into darkness. On the steps appears a bright yellow and shiny black small excavator, that seems to be somewhat floating slightly over the steps. I feel a sudden surge of emotions… Anger, frustration. Rage.
I run towards the machine, bouncing to latch onto its arm. I want to destroy it, to stop it from excavating what is already a hole filled with the most precious, life giving, Water. What else is more important in this semi-arid island? The machine moves quickly, shakes me off, and I fall into the great infinite unknown.
I am awake.
I don’t dream much now as an adult, and this dream has long stopped recurring. And I don’t know much about what the dream meant to me as a child, but I do perceive it now as an expression of the restless frustration and sense of hopelessness that I feel when I live in Bahrain - seeing water springs forgotten and covered by swimming pools (current state of Ain Athari), aquifers emptied to the point that sea water is entering the water table, sand and rock piled over shallow, previously coral rich, sea transforming it into “reclaimed land.” Water has no place here, so it seems.
Neglected land for potential development, Bahrain (by Author)
As a young boy, I was fascinated by the stories of Islam and the values that embued the human with meaningful existence on this Earth. The story of humans as Khalifas - a position given by God to humans as viceregents, or guardians, on this Earth - was particularly exciting to me.
I wondered what it means to be in that position, especially because I did not see clear examples of that where I grew up in Bahrain. Much of our landscapes were transformed and built for the concern and wants of humans, without much regard to the rest of nature. With the lack of connection and access to wild environments, I grew up distant from the living world, and more attached to the artificial world of video games and imaginative universes.
It was only when I moved to Oman as an adult that I started to sense a connection to this region and its harsh and resilient environment. Only when I went on solo trips and spent nights in the wadis and mountains did I sense the preciousness of life in all its biodiverse glory. I also saw that life in our environments can flourish only with the gentle stewardship of humans, through the building of terrace farms, water channels (or Falaj / Aflaj), and the constant caring hands of people that lived in the wadis.
Wadi AlSadaa at Jabal AlAkdhar, Oman (by Author)
After living in Oman, I moved to the UK to undertake a Masters in Arts in Ecological Design-Thinking. I took a deeper exploration into what it means to be in the stewardship of the places we live in, how the position of the Khalifa can be expressed as well as the Omani wadi dwellers did, and how we can design processes that enable a culture to continuously embody this position.
Through exploring anthropological and ecological studies and stories on our relationship with the rest of nature and through living on and close to the land, I recognized that stewardship is not a role entirely inherited to humanity. Rather it is a quality that all living things share. I learned that nature is not in constant competition to survive, but a place where young competitors grow to become wise collaborators. An elder tree gives nutrients to the younger saplings through underground mycelium networks even after the tree’s death. An old man passes his wisdom of how to live and his knowledge of place to the younger generation, continuing the legacy of living and surviving in a place.
These associations I have made of my relationship with the rest of nature were guided by a simple desire to understand the role of humanity in the ecology of life. Why are we here? What role does our species play in the abundance of life on Earth? As I reflected in my MA thesis “If the Wolf holds the Deer from overgrazing the Land; If the Water animates all the living it touches; What are you, Human, here for? What is the purpose of our existence?”
Dartmoor in winter, United Kingdom (by Author)
I believe that these questions must be asked before we attempt to conjure solutions to the wicked problems of today. I recognize that our (and I speak here from the perspective of modernized people) responsibility in creating the ecological and climate crises comes as a consequence of our perceived separation from the rest of nature. More than nature-based solutions and technical approaches to “saving the planet,” we need to start with understanding our relationship with the places we live and work in.
I urge all young changemakers to revisit their memories of dreams, experiences, and stories you lived amongst, and I assure you that there will always be a nostalgic story about our relationship with the land, water, plants, or animals. Much like the legend of Ain Athari and the role of the human as a Khalifa, a steward on this Earth, these are the stories that will move people’s deep desire to be in participation with, rather than domination of, the rest of nature. Of course, we need innovative solutions, but our foundations need to be grounded in processes that continuously bring us deeper into participatory stewardship with our local ecology.
How might our memories of springs, forests, and biological diversity be reconstructed to cultivate a thriving future for all of life?
About
Ahmed dedicates his life and work to the socio-ecological evolution of our presence on Earth. His passion is centered on investigating how we can use design-led processes to transition our societies towards regenerative and participatory cultures.
He graduated in 2010 from Griffith University in Australia with a Bachelor in Multimedia, and have recently completed his MA in Ecological Design Thinking from Schumacher College in the UK, where he explored, through his dissertation, the quality of stewardship and its significance to humanity's role in the ecology of life.
Ahmed attained years of experience in many fields of work in various countries, from hospitality and social work in Australia, to landscaping and sustainability consultation in Bahrain and Oman. With such a diverse background, he is able to observe social and cultural dynamics in different environments and learn how to actively listen and tell the stories of people he interacts and engages with. He is currently a Youth Development Delegate with the United Nations Development Programme, primarily co-leading Bahrain's chapter of the regional Youth Leadership Programme.