South African Scientists Use Bugs in War against Water Hyacinth Weed

View of boats stuck in a sea with invasive green water hyacinth weed at the Hartbeespoort dam, informally known as "Harties", a small resort town in the North West Province of South Africa, February 16, 2023. (Reuters)
View of boats stuck in a sea with invasive green water hyacinth weed at the Hartbeespoort dam, informally known as "Harties", a small resort town in the North West Province of South Africa, February 16, 2023. (Reuters)
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South African Scientists Use Bugs in War against Water Hyacinth Weed

View of boats stuck in a sea with invasive green water hyacinth weed at the Hartbeespoort dam, informally known as "Harties", a small resort town in the North West Province of South Africa, February 16, 2023. (Reuters)
View of boats stuck in a sea with invasive green water hyacinth weed at the Hartbeespoort dam, informally known as "Harties", a small resort town in the North West Province of South Africa, February 16, 2023. (Reuters)

The Hartbeespoort dam in South Africa used to be brimming with people enjoying scenic landscapes and recreational water sports. Now, the visitors are greeted to the sight of boats stuck in a sea of invasive green water hyacinth weed.

The spike in Harties - as Hartbeespoort is known - can be attributed to pollution, with sewage, industrial chemicals, heavy metals and litter flowing on rivers from Johannesburg and Pretoria.

"In South Africa, we are faced with highly polluted waters," said Professor Julie Coetzee, who has studied water hyacinths for over 20 years and manages the aquatic weeds program at the Center for Biological Control at Rhodes University.

Nutrients in the pollutants act as perfect fertilizers for the weed, a big concern for nearby communities due to its devastating impact on livelihoods.

Dion Mostert, 53, is on the verge of laying off 25 workers at his recreational boat company after his business came to a standstill because of the carpet of water hyacinths.

"The boats aren't going anywhere. It's affecting tourism in our town... tourist jobs," Mostert said pointing towards his luxury cruise boat "Alba", marooned in the weeds.

He has considered using herbicides, but admits it would only be a quick fix against the weed.

Scientists and community members have, however, found a unique way to deal with the invasion by introducing a water hyacinth eating bug called Megamelus scutellaris.

The tiny phloem-feeding insects are the natural enemy to the plants, both are originally from the Amazon basin in South America, and are released by thousands at a time.

The insects destroy the weed by attacking tissue that transports nutrients produced in the leaves during photosynthesis to the rest of the plant.

The insect army has previously reduced the expanse of water hyacinths to a mere 5% on the dam, Coetzee said. At times the weed has covered at least 50% of it.

Environmentalist Patrick Ganda, 41, mass rears the bugs at Grootvaly Blesbokspruit wetland conservancy southeast of Harties, once home to more than a hundred species of birds which attracted a lot of tourists.

But now, unable to find food such as fish and small plants with much of the wetland's water covered in plants, there are only two to three species of birds left, he said.

Scientists warn that while the insects have been fairly successful in controlling the situation, more needs to be done to treat its cause, which authorities could tackle by tightening regulations on waste water management.

"We are only treating the symptom of a much larger problem," says Kelby English, a scientist at Rhodes University.



In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
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In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)

We watch video after video, consuming the world on our handheld devices in bites of two minutes, one minute, 30 seconds, 15. We turn to moving pictures — “film” — because it comes the closest to approximating the world that we see and experience. This is, after all, 2024, and video in our pocket — ours, others', everyone's — has become our birthright.
But sometimes — even in this era of live video always rolling, always recording, always capturing — sometimes the frozen moment can enter the eye like nothing else. And in the process, it can tell a larger story that echoes long after the moment was captured. That's what happened this past week in Beirut, through the camera lens of Associated Press photographer Bilal Hussein and the photographs he captured.
When Hussein set up his camera outside an evacuated Beirut apartment building Tuesday after Israel announced it would be targeted as part of military operations against Hezbollah, he had one goal in mind — only one. "All I thought of," he says, “was photographing the missile while it was coming down.”
He found a safe spot. He ensured a good angle. He wasn't stressed, he said; like many photographers who work in such environments, he had been in situations like this one before. He was ready.
When the attack came — a bomb, not a missile in the end — Hussein swung into action. And, unsurprisingly for a professional who has been doing this work for two decades, he did exactly what he set out to do.
Time slowed down
The sequence of images he made bursts with the explosive energy of its subject matter.
In one frame, the bomb hangs there, a weird and obtrusive interloper in the scene. It is not yet noticed by anyone around it, ready to bring its destruction to a building that, in moments, will no longer exist. The building's balconies, a split-second from nonexistence, are devoid of people as the bomb finds its mark.
These are the kind of moments that video, rolling at the speed of life or even in slow motion, cannot capture in the same way. A photo holds us in the scene, stops time, invites a viewer to take the most chaotic of events and break it down, looking around and noticing things in a strangely silent way that actual life could not.
In another frame, one that happened micro moments after the first, the building is in the process of exploding. Let's repeat that for effect, since even as recently as a couple generations ago photographs like this were rare: in the process of exploding.
Pieces of building are shooting out in all directions, in high velocity — in real life. But in the image they are frozen, outward bound, hanging in space awaiting the next seconds of their dissolution — just like the bomb that displaced them was doing milliseconds before. And in that, a contemplation of the destruction — and the people it was visited upon — becomes possible.
Tech gives us new prisms to see the world
The technology to grab so many images in the course of little more than one second — and do it in such clarity and high resolution — is barely a generation old.
So to see these “stills,” as journalists call them, come together to paint a picture of an event is a combination of artistry, intrepidity and technology — an exercise in freezing time, and in giving people the opportunity to contemplate for minutes, even hours, what took place in mere seconds. This holds true for positive things that the camera captures — and for visitations of violence like this one as well.
Photography is random access. We, the viewers of it, choose how to see it, process it, digest it. We go backward and forward in time, at will. We control the pace and the speed at which dizzying images hurtle at us. And in that process, something unusual for this era emerges: a bit of time to think.
That, among many other things, is the enduring power of the still image in a moving-picture world — and the power of what Bilal Hussein captured on that clear, sunny day in Beirut.