So, the first month, filled with presentations, group tasks, and documentaries have given us a solid foundation — all neatly stacked like the lasagna beds Giorgia taught us about. But out here, theory steps aside and the practical learning begins. The proof isn’t in the pudding after all… it’s in your blood, sweat and tears, and whether the thing you planted this morning is still standing by sunset…
You see there are predators lurking everywhere in this tropical rain forest, the neighboring farmers sheep, trapesing mindlessly through the perennial peanuts you recently planted as live mulch, or those relentlessly sneaky vines that creep up your moringa like quiet little assassins, intent on squeezing the life out of anything that dares to grow within their reach. It’s a jungle out there but we have come prepared.
Week one- gathering around the grinder, cutlas in hand, we looked less like students and more like a small battalion preparing for a green war. With each spark off the blade we knew, no weed shall survive, no vine would conquer and no agricultural challenge would find us unarmed.
Our team was divided into our 3 regimens: The Banana Plantation Squad, The Fruit Forest Platoon and The Moringa Special OpsTask Force, we were deployed knowing that many of us would never return the same.
The Moringa Special Ops were assigned to harvesting, chopping down and planting new moringa poles. There I was, cutlass in hand, swinging at the highest branches with great skill and accuracy when a stealth creature stirred in the undergrowth. It moved when I moved, paused when I paused and when I started running, it gave pursuit. The rest of my platoon were rolling with laughter, but no one really knew how close I’d come to being compost.
One from the Fruit Forest Platoon also had a brief audition for the afterlife when a machete slipped and nicked a leg. The German-led team in the Banana Plantation, leaned into a highly structured and methodical way of working – steady pacing and an unwavering focus on safety – and emerged without a single injury.
Now, as we stand down — bodies sore, wounds healing, egos gently recalibrated — there are no medals for bravery or valor, no bronze or silver stars. Instead, the plants tell the story. Their beds are cleaner, their roots deeper, and in their steady growth is the only commendation that ever really mattered.
Chantelle Potgieter, South Africa, November Climate Team 2025.
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