The author, Fathima Husain, is as a Senior Program Associate at WRI India.
It was twilight in November 2023, and I found myself standing outside the Secretariat in Kohima, gazing at the faint silhouette of the towering Japhü Peak. The cold breeze kept me alert, but what weighed heavier was the question lingering in my mind: Why did I sign up for a four-day road trip with total strangers? I had just moved to Nagaland from Chennai, and the thought of embarking on this unfamiliar adventure felt like leaping into the unknown. But when a jeep finally slowed to a stop beside me, the time to second-guess had passed. I smiled nervously as I climbed into the front seat, introducing myself to Forest Ranger Lansothung and Praveen from Nature Conservation Foundation, who had graciously accepted my last-minute request to join him and his colleagues. Thus began my journey to celebrate the Tokhü Emong Bird Count (TEBC) organised by the Wokha Forest Division, a community-centred annual bird watching event aimed at documenting and promoting the protection of Nagaland’s birdlife.
The drive north to Wokha district, the home of the Lotha Naga and their annual harvest Tokhü Emong festival, was a two-hour journey through winding mountain roads. With every curve, my excitement grew, but so did my realization of how little I knew about birds of Northeast India. Before this, I had considered myself a proud birder, one of those who could confidently identify birds. But soon, I was humbled by my companions who were human versions of the Merlin birding app. They exchanged birding anecdotes, naming species faster than I could keep up. Yet they balanced their expertise with humour, their jokes making the hours slip by effortlessly. Over the next three days, we noted over 100 avian species.
That night, I crawled into my sleeping bag, determined to catch up on the bird knowledge I lacked. I armed myself with my phone, flipping through bird guides, eager to study some of the five hundred species found in Nagaland. But the next thing I knew, the sun was rising, and I had barely learned five species. The vastness of Nagaland’s bird diversity had already made me feel both excited and overwhelmed.
The next morning, our group headed towards fallow lands in the mountains to meet a group of school students. This event was the official inauguration of the TEBC. We walked together, off the main road, into a dense forest path that opened into a clearing with a breath-taking view of the valleys below. Watching the young participants—binoculars dangling around their necks, eyes wide with wonder—was a sight to behold. Every time one of the children spotted a bird, they huddled in excitement, pointing silently toward the canopy. They moved with quiet precision, following bird calls and movements with a focus beyond their years.
While I had initially hoped to capture birds with my camera, I found myself more drawn to documenting the enthusiasm of these young birders and the event itself. The delight on their faces as they identified a bird—often proclaiming the local name without hesitation—was a testament to the deep-rooted connection the Naga community has with nature. Here I learned that, historically, some birds were hunted for sustenance in the forest as part of the local way of life. Today, there is an awareness of hunting birds for pleasure and its impact on the ecosystem. This shift in understanding has led to a change in public sentiment, with many people now embracing conservation efforts and moving away from hunting. Today, the focus has shifted toward protecting birdlife, reviving communities’ relationship with nature.
Over the next few days, we continued our journey across other districts, navigating bumpy, unfinished roads and making frequent stops to log bird sightings on the eBird app. I was grateful to be with people who genuinely enjoyed the process, embracing the journey rather than rushing toward the destination. It did not hurt that we never ran out of snacks either.
As the days went by, I realised we were not just birdwatching for personal enjoyment. We were contributing to scientific knowledge about a region still largely unrecorded in the birding world. The eBird checklists we submitted were part of a larger effort to map the biodiversity of this part of India, and each species we recorded added value to the growing scientific database. A defining highlight of the trip came when we made history by becoming the first group to conduct and submit a bird count in Tuensang—one of the last two districts in India without any prior birding records on eBird. The significance of this moment was not lost on me. Knowing that we had played a role in filling this gap felt immensely rewarding. It was a small yet meaningful step in expanding India’s birding map and shining a light on the rich avian life of Northeast India.
On our way back to base, something extraordinary happened. At an unplanned stop along a quiet stretch of road between Mokokchung and Wokha, we finally saw what had been on our minds since the start of the trip—the Amur Falcon. It was a surreal moment for me, given that my entire journey began with a message to Bano Haralu (who put me through to Lansothung), the conservationist celebrated for her work in protecting these falcons through community-based efforts. Seeing one unexpectedly was thrilling. However, just as I began imagining how excited I would be to tell her, the skies filled with hundreds more. We stood in awe as we counted over 500 Amur Falcons soaring above us, making their way back to their roosting grounds along the Doyang River.
It was the perfect conclusion to a life-changing trip. In just a few days, I had spotted 30 lifers (new bird species for me), gained first-hand insight into how community-based conservation can thrive, and interacted with children and elders who shared a deep understanding that biodiversity is essential to their identity and future. The sight of the falcons returning home, soaring freely above us, was a fitting reminder of how intertwined people and nature can be—and how every small effort toward conservation truly matters.
Fathima Husain is as a Senior Program Associate at WRI India.
