May 2014 – Kai Staats

The Bliss of Solitude, a Return

Since my departure from Buffalo Peak Ranch in late November 2013, I have shared the story of my time there with both those familiar to me and those who remain strangers. A few share my passion for solitude, for they have experienced it too. Some nod their heads, knowing, deep inside that time off-line, time alone would bring them insight and joy which cannot be found by any other means. But most are simply horrified, shaken by the very concept of being alone.

To those I ask “Why? What scares you?”

“You mean, without internet?” I nod. “I love my iPhone too much,” laughing, “and could not live without Facebook.”

I wait, as the joke subsides, they continue, “It would be good for me to have that time alone. I know it would be good for me. I just, … I just don’t know if I am ready for that, to be alone … with me.” This final statement is often accompanied by fidgeting, an uneasy glance at empty hands, or reach for the mobile phone again.

I have received this honest response more than a few times now, enough to recognize that it likely sits behind the verbalized and non-verbal fear of being disconnected, of living off-line. To be alone is not the real concern. To be with oneself, that is the real challenge, for in that place, we must face the reality of who we are when no one else is around.

By Kai Staats|2016-07-01T23:21:50-04:00May 31st, 2014|At Home in the Rockies|0 Comments

“A Telescope Opens the Mind to a Larger World”

“A Telescope Opens the Mind to a Larger World”
A TEDx talk for TEDx Frontrange, Loveland, Colorado
22 May 2014

In April of last year I was in rural Tanzania, working on a documentary film about Astronomy, how it opens the mind to a larger world.

I was fortunate to meet Chuck from the US and Mponda from Tanzania at a secondary school outside of Arusha. Through the organization Telescopes to Tanzania, they introduce hands-on science education to the classroom.

Following a series of interviews with both teachers and students, I was packing my gear when a young learner Catherine said, “Sir, may I ask you a few questions?”

I had just risen from my chair to break down my camera and tripod, and seated myself again, “Yes, of course.”

Catherine asked “Is it true, … that we live outside the Earth and not in it?”

I smiled, I almost laughed. I pointed out the window at the sun and clouds of the pending storm as assurance we were not underground. But Catherine was quite serious. Mponda, who was seated to my left, nodded, saying, “This is a serious question. You need to answer it.”

I said, “I apologize. Can you please repeat your question.”

She made the shape of a ball with her hands and asked, “Do we live on top of the ball or inside it?”

Now I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, but I realized that she was talking about celestial spheres—an ancient concept in which the Sun, Moon, planets, and stars are all reside on multiple sphere of some unknown substance, that the entire universe is contained in a very small ball.

I confirmed that we do in fact live “on the ball” and that the Earth is in orbit around the sun, and that our sun orbits the center of our galaxy. And she was relieved. and then went on to ask questions about how we predict the weather and if she could grow up to an airplane pilot.

Catherine had looked through a telescope just one month earlier, and it had got her thinking, asking questions. Now, she was craving more. I assumed she had missed a few lectures, or was not paying attention in class.

I later interviewed a geography teacher who having looked through a telescope for the first time a year earlier, saw the moons of Jupiter in the eyepiece. He recognized that they were in orbit, like the Earth around the Sun. It was then that he realized we live outside of the Earth, not inside it.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, “I see now that the other planets move around our Sun too, and our Sun orbits around the center of our galaxy. The galaxies,” he laughed the laugh of one who is about to say something profound, “there are so many galaxies we can’t even count them all,” he continued, “It makes me realize how very small we are.”

The phrase, “I see how small we really are,” was repeated over and over again by those I interviewed during the making of this film.

Elvirdo, a secondary learner in South Africa shared, “At first I thought that the Moon was inventing its own light. Then I learned the Moon is an object which reflects light and I wondered, where does this light come from?”

Willie, a retired psychologist and astronomer in upstate New York expressed, “The kids were blown away by what they could see through the telescope. If that can kindle some interest in science, then we have really done something.”

Laure, a French PhD Astronomer at UCT shared, “Unlike a microscope which helps us look to the parts of which we are made, a telescope helps us see something much bigger, the greater universe of which we are a part.”

Why does any of this matter?

We wake up in the morning, pour a cup of coffee, drive to school or the office. Eight hours later we head to the gym or return home again, eat dinner, catch-up on Facebook and watch a few videos on YouTube. Day after day, week after week, year after year, we do this over and over again.

Knowing how the Universe was formed 13.5 billions years ago does not change the fact that our phone bills are due and taxes must be paid by April 15.

Let’s consider that right here, at the edge of this stage the earth just stopped. If I take one more step, I will drop off and never come back. What if beyond the western slope of the Rocky Mountains or off the coast of California there was a drop from which you would never return.

That world is filled with fear.

What if our entire world was in fact contained within a crystalline ball beyond which we could never travel? How would the stories we tell our children differ? What would be our hope for the future?

Fortunately, the work of Galileo, Haley and Newton proved the Earth is not contained within a celestial sphere, and that indeed, we are very small.

Astronomy is unique in that it engages all of the other sciences.

When we look through a telescope we engage engineering and physics for what we see and how we see it. Telescopes make use of some of the most advanced technology on the planet.

When we look to our closest neighbor Mars we see polar caps and massive dust storms; what we believe to be ancient river beds and deep, carved canyons. Geology helps us understand what may have happened there based upon what we know happened here, on Earth.

We look to the light of distant stars shining through nebulae and recognize the chemical signature of the elements we have here on Earth.

Did you know that ten years ago we sent a spacecraft through the tail of a comet and discovered an amino acid. To date, we have discovered more than 1800 planets in orbit around distant stars. We are able to analyze their atmospheres for chemical composition and average temperature.

Now, we are talking about biology and the potential that life is not unique to our home planet. In fact, it may not even have originated here at all!

There are an estimated 11 billion Earth-like planets in our galaxy alone, and more than 100 billion galaxies in this universe. It is impossible to have this discussion without discussing philosophy.

I want to share with you a short film segment that inspired this story.

To be clear, a lack of understanding for our place in the cosmos is not unique to sub-Saharan Africa or those in under privileged school systems, but around the world with the highly educated too.

In your lifetime, we will become an interplanetary species, living, working, even reproducing on the planet Mars. This journey started 400 years ago with a very simple instrument.

I encourage you to make time to look through a telescope, and then embrace those conversations that unfold.

Thank you.

By Kai Staats|2023-03-06T16:43:20-04:00May 22nd, 2014|At Home in the Rockies, Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|0 Comments

Homeless in Cape Town, part II

If the hippie generation were considered nearly extinct in the narrow coastal regions of the Western U.S., a derivative species prospers here in Cape Town. The rolling, white froth of waves which took form from swells hundreds of meters off shore tease from a late morning slumber those whose dreadlocks long for a salt shower.

The homeless population is omni-present too, sleeping in the doorways of restaurants and surf shops, and between stone walls whose cavities reduce the constant wind to a loud whisper.

I am unable to walk to the AIMS research centre without at least one, usually two people asking for food, money, or clothing. I give what I can, but in return I receive something too.

With the shake of a hand, the lowering of my glasses in order to make eye contact, and a polite application of sir or ma’am, I capture their stories.

Last night, a homeless man sat next to me on the long, blue wooden bench at the train station in Observatory. He talked to himself, as many people living on the street seem to (I am certain I would as well, over time), as we waited for the next, last train to return to Muizenberg. With the ticket office closed, there is no fee for the last run. A number of homeless men (and some women) find transport at this time.

He pulled from a large plastic bag four pairs of shoes: sneakers, white and black running shoes, and another pair I did not see clearly. He settled on the black shoes, placing the others back in the bag.

We sat there, without speaking or eye contact for at least ten minutes. It felt awkward to me so I broke the silence, “How was your day?”

He hesitated, still talking to himself, it seemed. He then looked up and offered a few words. His Afrikaans accent was thick and what’s more, he had a pen cap held between his lips on the right side of his mouth. I nodded, agreeing with whatever it was that he said. Then my ears and brain adjusted, as they do when I live abroad, and the rhythm of his words felt more familiar. I picked up the start of each phrase, then words, then meaning.

He removed the pen cap from his lips and we were communicating.

With my probing, his story unfolded. I nearly reached for my cell phone to record his words as the depth and meaning came clear to me. What he shared was important, for it told the story of so many people of this land.

He is working temp jobs, project to project, as a grounds keeper, painter, and carpenter in training. He has worked primarily for one man, in Cape Town, where he is given food, some clothing, and payment in Rand. He wants to open a bank account, to learn how to manage his budget, but has not yet had enough to make that happen.

I asked if he had a family. His eyes opened wider and he leaned a bit closer, while still at the opposite side of a long bench. I turned my shoulders and chest toward him, unfolded my arms to let him know I was fully listening.

“Yes. I have a son. He was born in 2006, so now he is … he is …

[he calculated the years] eight years old.”

“Wonderful,” I responded.

The man smiled for the first time, continuing, “My son, what a beautiful boy. I love his so very much. He is just eight years old, but already so clever. He, he can take my cell phone and already figure it out. No one taught him this, he just, he just knows,” nodding.

“He sounds very smart indeed.” He paused for a bit, looking at his shoes then back to me, “We were to have another child, but … but he was still-born.”

“I am so sorry. I can’t imagine the pain of that for both of you.”

“Yes, yes it was very … difficult for us.”

There was a lull. He fidgeted with his shoulder bag and I with the buttons on my cargo pant pockets. Then he continued.

“His mother and I, we want to be married. I want to marry that woman for I love her very much. We lived together, but she made me to leave. I smoke cigarettes and drink beer and will not have me.”

I listened. He continued.

“I go to church. Every Sunday. I want to be a man of God. We are all people of God, you know, but I want to do his will, to do right for my son and his mother. Some day, I will come back to her ready for marriage. I promised her this … and I will. Some day … some day …” and he trailed off, talking to himself again as much as me.

He nearly had tears in his eyes, as did I. We pushed them back with a smile. He knew the challenges, he set his goals, and he is working to achieve them. But kicking alcohol and smoking are not simple processes, and no amount of attending church will cure him of these.

Again, I see patterns of basic human behaviour, which will never be correctly assessed nor managed. Addiction. Self-medication. Dealing with the pain and fear of life on the edge. How many times has he come to this realization but without guidance, without an example in his life, how can anyone know what to do next?

We boarded the train and sat across from each other.

He told me about the area where his son and his son’s mother live. A very bad part of the cape where the gangs have control. He told me that if he lived there, he would be forced to join a gang. He chose to live away from them, seeing them only on the weekends, in order to focus on earning money which he sends to them, when he can. He will see both on Saturday, for the first time in a few weeks.

He made a good choice. I was impressed, given his circumstances.

In asked, “You said you attend church often, correct?”

“Yes, yes. That I do. It is a good church. But I never tell the pastor my story. I don’t want for him to know. I only want to pray, to ask God for guidance.”

“I understand. That is very humble of you.”

“Thank you sir.”

“May I ask, however, if your church has programs to help people like you, who want to improve their life?” He did not understand my words for we had just pulled out of the station and the train was very noisy, my accent certainly foreign to him. I repeated.

“I really don’t know. I have not asked. What is this you say?”

“I don’t know about here, for I have just arrived, but some churches in the US have programs to help people like you, people without a home and a struggling family, to improve their position.”

“Oh? I did not know this.”

“I cannot promise, of course, but it might be worth asking.”

“Ok. Ok. I will ask my pastor. He does not know my story.”

I concluded, “You are a good storyteller and your story is worth telling. Tell him, as you humbly told me, ask for nothing, and simply see what he says.”

“I will do this my brother. I hope to see you next time I ride the train.” He rose from his seat, shoulder bag and plastic bag of shoes, and departed at that stop.

I forgot to ask his name.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00May 15th, 2014|2014, Out of Africa|0 Comments