The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times(50)

“Again I knew I had to do something. And I’d had a lucky break. Just before I started my trip to Africa, I was invited to a private lunch by James Baker, when he was secretary of state under George Bush Sr. And he offered to help. He sent telex messages to all the American ambassadors of the countries I planned to visit, asking them to help me. So I was able to appeal to the ambassador in Kinshasa, and he spoke to the minister of the environment, who sent a policeman with us when we returned to the market that evening. It was deserted except for that one little chimp—I think word had gone around about the police! We cut the rope, and Little Jim, as we called him, in honor of the secretary of state, clung to me with his arms round my neck. Of course, I couldn’t care for him, but he was transferred to the loving care of Graziella Cotman, the woman who had begged me to go to Kinshasa and see if I could help. That was the start of our sanctuary programs for orphan chimps.

“And we’ve already talked about how I realized that to help the wild chimpanzee situation it would be necessary to improve the lives of local communities, many of which were suffering the effects of extreme poverty—and how that led to Tacare.”





From Shy Young Woman to Global Public Speaker



By this time I was beginning to understand how Jane had managed to tackle what many believed were insoluble problems—through determination and having the ability to inspire and get help from those in the best position to bring about change. But what about her transformation from a field researcher who spent hours alone in the forest to someone traveling and giving talks three hundred days a year, always surrounded by people?

“What enabled you to make that transition?” I asked her. “You’ve told me you were a shy child—how would you have felt if someone had prophesied to your twenty-six-year-old self what your future would be?”

“If someone had told me when I first went to Africa that at some point I would have to give lectures to large auditoriums full of people—well, I would have said that that would be impossible. I had never spoken in public. And when I was told that I had to give a talk—well, I was terrified.

“And for the first five minutes or so of my first lecture, I felt I couldn’t breathe. But then I found it was okay. I could breathe again. And that is when I first realized that I had this gift. A gift of being able to communicate with people. To reach their hearts—with spoken as well as written words. Of course, I’ve worked hard to get better. When I was practicing with my poor family for that first talk, I made a vow: I would never read a speech. And I would never say ‘um’ or ‘er.’”

“Why did you make that vow?”

“Because I thought people who read speeches were boring. And lots of ums and ers are irritating.”

I loved hearing this legendary speaker describe the first speech she gave and how she had resolved to practice—to give it her all.

“Anyway, the gift was there waiting to be used, right from the start. I remember the third talk I ever had to do was at the Royal Institution in London, where lots of famous British scientists have spoken. The tradition was that no one introduces you—you simply walk to the podium as the clock is chiming eight, and as the last chime ends you start your lecture. And on the first stroke of nine, precisely, you must stop. So I’m terrified, completely terrified. I had to attend a small formal dinner beforehand and then they put me alone in a room for an hour.”

“But isn’t that what you always want?” I asked. “Time to be by yourself, to focus?”

“That’s what I want now, but back then—well, it was just an hour to get more and more nervous! And as they led me to that room, I panicked as I realized I’d left my notes behind!

“Frantically I asked somebody to make a call to Mum, and she was able to come early and bring my notes to me. That calmed me down a bit. But I remember pacing round and round that little room.”

I asked her how it went.

“Well—I was led out there, like a lamb to the slaughter. I walked out onto the platform. I remember the old clock made a whirring sound as it got ready to chime the hour. And—well, I began to talk at the last stroke of eight and I ended, exactly where I meant to end, on the first stroke of nine.

“Afterward, one of the staff asked me for the transcript of my talk, and I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he said, looking surprised, ‘Well, you know, what you read from.’

“He looked amazed and slightly bewildered when I handed him a single piece of paper on which there were about six or seven scribbled lines in red ink!”

“You have been giving talks to huge audiences for decades now,” I said. “Did you have any sense at the time that this first public speech might lead to so many more?”

“Well, I always knew I had a gift for writing,” Jane added. “From an early age I was writing—stories, essays, poems. But I never thought I had a gift for speaking. It wasn’t until I was forced to make that first speech, and found that people were listening, and heard their applause at the end, that I realized I must have done okay. I think many people have gifts that they don’t know about because nothing forces them to use them.”

I thought about this for a moment, then asked Jane if she believed she had been given that gift for a reason.

“I sort of have to believe that,” she said. “I know I have been given certain gifts, and it does seem there is a reason for that. In any case, whether or not there is a reason, I feel I simply must use them to do my bit to make the world a better place and for the good of future generations. And although it feels strange to admit it, even to myself, I do somehow believe I was put here for a reason. I mean, when I look back over my life I can’t help thinking that there was some kind of path mapped out for me—I was given opportunities and I just had to make the right choices.”