Passing Words: Dame Jane Goodall

It was Boyo who challenged them all to breathe and let go - reminded them that this was the right thing ... and the hard thing. Nkitanga swung up into the truck and they rode silently for a long while. At the destination, they pulled her from the back - wrapped in soft, hand-dyed cotton from the villages, motionless inside her woven carrier. They set her down in the clearing and staked the carrier so that it would be hard to move, but they needn't have worried. Nkitanga took first watch and filmed them as they came, smelling, pulling back, dropping low, and picking at the box. So many. There were so many. At midnight, Boyo took over and filmed them sleeping near, calling from the trees (getting the others), crying to wake her. At dawn, the clearing was empty and nothing was amiss; indeed, when they bent to grab the handles, they could only marvel at the flowers slipped into and wrapped around the weaving itself (like love notes). Flowers and fruits created the outline of the carrier as they lifted it up and away. "Here," the shape said, "here is where love began and also where it lies." It had been her wish to say goodbye this way, and it was only right to let them say it first.