Free To Be Wild Rethinks Voluntourism And Puts Ecotourism Ethics First

Outside Bulawayo, a wildlife sanctuary that began with a single orphaned baboon in 2014 has grown into one of Zimbabwe’s more expansive conservation operations, caring for a wide range of native species while running education programmes that reach more than 14,000 schoolchildren a year. But as much as it is a rescue and rehabilitation centre, Free To Be Wild has also become a case study in how voluntourism and ecotourism can be done responsibly — or badly — in the wildlife sector. Founder Baye Pigors says the organisation has never strayed from the principle that shaped its earliest days: that an animal harmed by human actions still deserves a chance at a wild future. That question of responsible engagement sits at the centre of how the sanctuary operates. Voluntourism has drawn sharp criticism across the conservation industry in recent years, particularly where animal contact is shaped more by visitor expectations than genuine welfare considerations. Pigors is blunt about where she stands on that debate: wildlife should never function as a prop for a photograph or an experience engineered for human enjoyment.

At Free To Be Wild, she says, the sanctuary works to invert that relationship so that the visitor experience grows out of understanding wildlife, rather than manipulating it for entertainment. That responsibility looms particularly large given the scale of the education programme, which brings thousands of Zimbabwean schoolchildren through its gates annually. The goal, she says,
is for children to leave fascinated and connected, while also understanding boundaries and the importance of protecting animals in their natural habitats. That same caution shapes the sanctuary’s approach to volunteers, the other pillar of its ecotourism model. The programme draws people from a range of backgrounds and skill sets rather than requiring prior wildlife experience. Volunteers might spend a day preparing food, cleaning enclosures, assisting with enrichment activities, undertaking habitat maintenance, supporting education sessions, or contributing skills in photography, fundraising or administration. Pigors is emphatic that the programme is not built around guaranteed animal contact, since the animals’ welfare takes precedence over the visitor experience. What matters most in a prospective volunteer, she says, is a willingness to learn, a strong work ethic, humility and genuine commitment to conservation — qualities she believes matter more than formal qualifications.

Screening and preparation form a significant part of how the sanctuary guards against the pitfalls associated with poorly managed voluntourism. Before any involvement in animal-related activities, volunteers are briefed on procedures, boundaries and the specific needs of individual animals. Staff also monitor the animals closely during interactions, and Pigors says any sign of stress or overstimulation prompts an immediate change in approach, regardless of what a volunteer might have hoped to experience.
Respecting an animal’s boundaries, she argues, is among the most valuable lessons a volunteer can take away — and a marker of the difference between ethical ecotourism and its more exploitative alternatives.What started as a modest primate rehabilitation project has evolved organically into that broader model, Pigors explains, because wildlife rarely exists in isolation.

Today the sanctuary cares for animals that arrive orphaned, injured, confiscated or surrendered, spanning far beyond primates even
as they remain, in her words, at the heart of the organisation’s work. “Rehabilitation should always be about the animal, not about us,” Pigors says of the principle that has guided that growth. That philosophy is embedded in the sanctuary’s name. “Free To Be Wild” describes an approach in which human involvement — whether from staff, volunteers or visitors — is treated as a temporary necessity rather than a long-term relationship. Animals being prepared for release are gradually weaned off human contact, encouraged to develop natural behaviours and social bonds, and ultimately taught to regard humans with caution rather than familiarity. Pigors describes the clearest marker of success not as an animal that becomes attached to its caregivers, but one that no longer needs them at all. “The greatest success is not an animal that loves us. It is an animal that no longer needs us,” she says.

Not every animal that arrives at the sanctuary is a candidate for release. Some have been imprinted by earlier human contact, sustained injuries, missed critical developmental windows, or lost access to a viable habitat or social group. Pigors is careful to frame release not as the ultimate reward for rehabilitation, but as one of several legitimate outcomes. A sanctuary’s success, she argues, should be measured by whether the right decision is made for each individual animal — whether that means eventual return to the wild or a safe, enriched life in permanent care. Ecotourism’s role extends beyond the sanctuary’s fences, too. Working near Bulawayo, Free To Be Wild engages with communities that live alongside wildlife and often face genuine tensions involving livestock, crops and safety. Pigors says long-term conservation cannot succeed if it disregards those realities, and the sanctuary aims to build practical understanding and a sense of shared ownership rather than dictating behaviour from outside — treating community relationships as part of the same ethical framework that governs its volunteer and visitor programmes.
Revenue from that model is now underpinning the sanctuary’s next major goal: raising funds to purchase its land outright by the end of 2026.

Pigors says securing ownership would provide long-term stability, enabling investment in rehabilitation facilities, veterinary infrastructure and expanded conservation programmes, while ensuring the animals in care no longer depend on the uncertainty of a temporary home. “We are not simply raising money to buy land. We are trying to secure the future of everything we have built,” she says. Volunteer fees and ecotourism revenue currently support day-to-day operations, she notes, while donations and grants underpin larger projects, including the land campaign itself. For Pigors, the sanctuary’s mission extends well beyond the animals currently in its care. Its deeper measure of success, she suggests, lies in the people who pass through its voluntourism and ecotourism programmes and carry a changed understanding of wildlife back into their communities — a form of release, she says, that involves knowledge rather than animals, but one she considers just as vital to Zimbabwe’s conservation future.

From Destination Issue 27