Cultivating Community Newsletter- 'The Octopus's Garden'

[Amanda Shankland]

Good day, 

The Cultivating Community newsletter provides commentary on how community-centred thinking and action drive sustainable environmental and food movements forward. I hope you enjoy this March edition!

‘The Octopus’s Garden’

I first came to South Africa in 1993, the year before apartheid officially ended. I was eleven years old. The innocence of my childhood was broken by the realities of apartheid: racism, segregation, and overwhelming poverty. But, when I reflect on the various encounters that brought the stark reality of human violence to the forefront of my young mind, it was my initial interaction with an octopus that truly crystallized this sobering reality.

My family owns a cottage on the ocean near George called the ‘Brink.’ I spent one beautiful summer day there with my siblings, father, and uncle. While we all played in the ocean and the sand, my uncle caught a large octopus. This otherworldly creature, with its iridescent cloak, long delicate arms, and eyes that glimmer with curiosity and intelligence, appeared to reveal the depths of the ocean’s many secrets. The life of this magnificent being, though, was ever so slowly extinguished before my eyes. My uncle held it by the head, squeezed out its brain and beat it against the rocks for what seemed to be hours. The octopus has a second brain, though, that extends throughout its body. So, the beautiful creature withdrew and contracted, curling inward as if to embrace its soft, malleable body. The vibrant hues gradually faded as the light of his consciousness was extinguished. The signs of distress and agony were so evident I recoiled. After this distressing hour or so, it still moved while it was placed on a wooden slab and then tenderized with a hammer for another long hour. My uncle then boiled it in a large pot; its tentacles protruded from the top of the cauldron, resembling scenes from my favourite children’s books about witches. My uncle handed me a piece of the finished product, a white rubbery substance devoid of smell or taste. I wondered, “Why all this trouble?”

I have made three trips back to South Africa since 1993. On my second trip in 2008, my only encounter with an octopus was at a Greek restaurant. Another uncle of mine made it his guilty pleasure to drive into town on occasion and indulge himself with this delicacy. My uncle, Bernie, if you knew him, you would understand why I say he was as innocent as the octopus he sat there consuming. This was one of my last memories with Bernie, as he passed away a few years later.

On the third trip in 2016, I brought my youngest son, Saidi, who was five then, with me. One night, we got our flashlights and went out onto the rocks to look at all the sea life that accumulates in the tidal pools in the rocks. Saidi was thrilled to spot a small octopus hiding in a small crevice in the rocks. The little creature rhythmically contracted and expanded, propelling itself through the water. It moved with agility and grace, hiding in the tiniest cracks in the rocks. It was iridescent, a vibrant spectrum of shades from rich crimson to deep indigo and purple, with blue, emerald, green, and gold hues. The colours blended and shifted across the octopus's body, creating a hypnotizing display that danced with the play of light and shadow of the water. It mimicked the textures of the rocks, blending seamlessly into its environment. In moments of agitation, its colours intensified, pulsating with energy and emotion. Conversely, in moments of tranquillity, the colours softened to pastels.

I recently arrived in South Africa after almost eight years. On my first day at the beach, I saw my dad’s cousin Mel, and we chatted for some time. She told me a story about her most recent encounter with an octopus. A boy named Ben had a broken arm and could not swim, so he was wading slowly, waist-deep, studying the bottom of the seabed. As he stood there, he realized with astonishment that an octopus was climbing up his leg. Unafraid, Ben bent down with his good arm and gently drew the octopus to his chest. Ben stroked the octopus gently, and it stretched out its tentacle, which enquiringly cupped Ben’s chin. He walked into the deeper water, and with a final loving stroke, he coaxed the creature back into the pool. Releasing a small squirt of ink, it moved quickly away and disappeared from sight. Mel learned from Ben’s mother that the boy had just recently lost his father in a car accident. Mel pondered if what she had just witnessed was a miracle from heaven meant to bring joy to the boy’s life.

My encounters with octopuses made me think that maybe every animal belongs to one big soul. These beautiful animals can serve to remind us of the grace and love within our souls or remind us of the pain and darkness that also plagues us sometimes. My experience with these amazing animals mirrors my experience with South Africa. There are so many struggles here, many of them stemming from social hierarchies based on illusions of separateness. In our connection with nature, though, we are reminded of our connections to each other. We are reminded of the possibilities for a shared humanity and that there is a path to a better world. In this world, people would surely embody the curiosity, intelligence, beauty, and loving nature of the octopus.


Ben with the octopus

Special thanks to Mel Walton Ne Stone for her story. 

About me:

I am a writer, consultant, and educator specializing in environmental water policy, sustainable agriculture, and food systems. I hold a Doctor of Philosophy from Carleton University and am an adjunct professor at Carleton University and the University of Ottawa. I live and work on the unceded territory of the Algonquin-Anishinaabe. I am committed to efforts towards decolonizing our food system and the affirmation of traditional knowledge of foodways. I seek to advance a notion of community that includes all plants, insects, animals, and people.

As a freelance consultant and editor, I offer guidance on agricultural and environmental priorities. Please feel free to contact me if you would like to retain my services. I hope you enjoy this short article. You can subscribe to my newsletter on Linkedin here.

Amanda Shankland Ph.D.

Photos of the 'Brink' at Dolly's Cove, near George, South Africa

[John Davidson]

Such a beautiful, reflective piece of writing. Thank you for this.