Climate Change is real
Siphosothando Mhlongo
By : Siphosothando Mhlongo
Climate Change is real
September’s frost tightened its grip, turning the meadow into a glassy plain where dewdrops froze mid‑fall. The herd of cattle and goats pressed together, their silhouettes trembling against the pale horizon, each breath a puff of silver mist. Overhead, clouds lingered like bruised cotton, refusing the usual September sun; the light filtered thin, casting long, cold shadows that stretched across the land. As an environmental activist, these past two days’ weather conditions inspired this alert. Normally, in the northern KwaZulu‑Natal Province, by this time of the year, the spring season sun shines, and warmth is felt day in and day out. Flowers, trees blossom, we are used to mild rains and sunny conditions. But climate change now paints a different picture; those familiar patterns belong to the past.
I write this alert to remind fellow activists that climate change is real, and its fingerprints are on every frosted blade and silent rain. In the village at the meadow’s edge, amber lanterns flickered as elders gathered around a crackling fire, recounting how the climate’s rhythm has slipped, how rain that once drummed in August now sighs in September, and how the cold that should retreat has lingered, stubborn. Children, eyes wide, traced frost patterns on windows, their laughter echoing oddly against the chill, while the wind whispered through bare branches, carrying the scent of pine and a faint, metallic tang of change. That night, as the aurora flickered faintly above the frozen fields, the herd lifted their heads, nostrils flaring, sensing the subtle shift. The air held a quiet promise: the season may be out of step, but life persists, adapting to the unexpected winter that arrived in September. It is cold, but at a wrong season. Climate change touches us all, reshaping our planting routes and forcing us to relearn the land’s cadence.
Beyond the meadow, the river that once swelled with spring melt now runs low, its surface glazed with thin ice that cracks under the weight of desperate fish. Downstream, farmers have postponed sowing maize and beans, waiting for a warmth that never arrives, while community gardens wilt under frost‑kissed soil. Above, the sky bears a thin veil of ash from distant wildfires, a reminder that distant heat still reaches us, paradoxically sharpening the cold.
In response, I and Ihawulezwe Social Movement plan to convened a rapid‑action workshop: Where the volunteers will map out micro‑climates, installed low‑cost weather stations, and share a seed variety bred for climate change resilience. This workshop with empower the farmers to erect straw‑bale windbreaks and insulated goat pens with recycled materials, while elders will share traditional water‑harvesting techniques to capture the scarce runoff.
Together we will draft a living ledger, logging each frosted morning and each rain‑less day, feeding data to provincial authorities to demand adaptive policies. Climate change is real.
