Thirteen years ago, a poor fisherman in a small Turkish village was retrieving his net from a lake when he heard a noise behind him and turned to find a majestic being standing on the bow of his rowboat.

Gleaming white feathers covered its head, neck and chest, yielding to black plumes on its wings. It stood atop skinny orange legs that nearly matched the color of its long, pointy beak.

The fisherman, Adem Yilmaz, recognized it as one of the white storks that had long summered in the village, he recalled, but he had never seen one so close, much less hosted one on his boat.

Wondering if it was hungry, he tossed it a fish, which the bird devoured. He tossed another. And another.

So began an unlikely tale of man and bird that has captivated Turkey as the passing years — and a deft social media campaign by a local nature photographer — have spread the pair’s story as a modern-day fable of cross-species friendship.

The stork, nicknamed Yaren, or “companion,” in Turkish, not only returned to Mr. Yilmaz’s boat repeatedly that first year, the fisherman said, but after migrating south for the winter, returned the next spring to the same village, the same nest — and the same boat.

Last month, after Yaren appeared in the village for the 13th year in a row, the local news media gleefully covered his arrival like the springtime sighting of a Turkish Punxsutawney Phil.

The pair’s story has brought unexpected fame, although no serious fortune, to Mr. Yilmaz, 70, and Yaren, estimated to be 17. They have co-starred in a children’s book and an award-winning documentary. A children’s adventure movie featuring a cameo by Mr. Yilmaz (and a digital rendering of the stork) is expected to debut in cinemas across Turkey this year.

Stork lovers everywhere can watch Yaren and his partner, Nazli, or “coquette” in Turkish, as they preen, contort their necks, clack their beaks, renovate their nest and occasionally mate, thanks to a 24-hour webcam set up by the local government.

“This is not a tale. This is a true story,” Ali Ozkan, the mayor of Karacabey, whose district includes the village, said in an interview. “It is a true story with the flavor of a tale.”

The bird’s celebrity has bolstered municipal efforts to increase local tourism with walking paths and coffee shops near the district’s lakes and wetlands, he said. The area has developed a stork “master plan” to care for the birds.

He initially faced some criticism from constituents who wondered why a mayor was getting involved with storks, he said. But now, residents call in when they notice damaged nests, and a friend from another city recently phoned him to complain that he could not see Yaren on the webcam.

The story has put Mr. Yilmaz’s village of Eskikaraagac — population 235 — on the map, drawing groups of students and tourists who stroll its narrow streets to see the storks and take boat rides on neighboring Lake Uluabat. Many visitors seek out Yaren’s nest, which sits on a platform atop an electric pole near Mr. Yilmaz’s house, and act star-struck when they encounter the fisherman himself, peppering him with questions and posing for photographs.

One recent morning, Mr. Yilmaz stood in the yard of his small, two-story house holding a tub of fish he had caught. In their nest overhead, Yaren and Nazli dozed, groomed themselves and filled the air with the percussive clacking of their beaks.

“Yaren!” Mr. Yilmaz called.

Both birds glided down to the yard, and Mr. Yilmaz lofted fish into their beaks.

“They are full,” Mr. Yilmaz announced after the birds had downed about two dozen fish. “After 13 years, I can tell.”

Storks have long nested in the village, arriving in the spring and mating before migrating in the late summer toward Africa.

Village elders recall when there seemed to be a stork nest on every roof and residents struggled to prevent the birds from swiping laundry from outdoor lines. But most people liked the birds, whose arrival right after pink flowers bloomed on the almond trees was a harbinger of spring.

Ridvan Cetin, the village’s elected authority, said a count in the 1980s found 41 active nests, meaning 82 storks, not including chicks.

This year, the village has only four active nests, including Yaren’s.

“Now they are very few,” Mr. Cetin said sadly.

No one in the village could recall a bond similar to that between Mr. Yilmaz and Yaren.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mr. Cetin said.

For Mr. Yilmaz, a quiet man with leathery hands and a kind, rutted face, Yaren was a serendipitous addition to what he had hoped would be a late, restful chapter in an otherwise difficult life.

He grew up poor. His father pulled him out of school to work in the fields and fish, no matter how cold the weather.

“My life was between the field and the lake,” he said.

His mother died when he was 13. His father remarried when he was 17 to a woman Mr. Yilmaz did not like. So, with only an elementary school education, he fled to Bursa, the nearest big city, and worked in a factory that made yogurt and other milk products.

At 19, he married another villager he had known since childhood. They lost their first child, a daughter, weeks after her birth. He worked in different milk factories as he and his wife raised three other children, two boys and a girl.

In 2011, with his children grown and living elsewhere with his five grandchildren, he stopped working, returned to the village and moved back into his childhood home, next to the lake where he had fished as a child.

“It was my dream from the day I started working to go to my village and fish,” he said.

Soon after, the stork landed on his boat.

Each time Yaren left, Mr. Yilmaz wondered whether he would return. But after a few years, he stopped worrying.

“I was sure that as long as I was alive, this bird was going to return,” he said.

Early on, no one much cared that Mr. Yilmaz had made friends with a stork. Other villagers teased him or said he was wasting his time — and his fish.

That changed in year five, when Alper Tuydes, a hunter turned wildlife photographer who works for the local government, began sharing photographs of the pair on social media. The story spread, getting a lift each spring with Yaren’s arrival.

The relationship of man and bird corresponds with known stork behaviors, said Omer Donduren, a Turkish ornithologist.

Although storks avoid direct contact with people, they often roost near them, on roofs, in chimneys or atop electricity poles.

The birds tend toward monogamy and display loyalty to their nests, parting ways with their partners to migrate, but rendezvousing in the same nest in the spring to reproduce.

That could explain why Yaren has roosted near Mr. Yilmaz’s house year after year, Mr. Donduren said.

Storks, which can live for more than 20 years in the wild and more than 30 in captivity, also have strong memories, enabling them to remember migration routes from as far north as Poland and Germany to destinations many thousands of miles south, as far as South Africa. It is unclear where Yaren spends his time after he leaves the village, but a tracker affixed to one of his offspring followed the bird over Syria, Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Sudan, Chad and the Central African Republic before it stopped working.

Over time, Yaren’s experiences with Mr. Yilmaz have probably become part of his memory, he said.

“Nature doesn’t have much space for emotions,” Mr. Donduren said. “For the stork, it is a matter of easy food. It thinks, There is an easy source of food here. This man seems safe. He doesn’t hurt me.”

Mr. Yilmaz’s explanation is much simpler.

“It is just to love an animal,” he said. “They are God’s creatures.”

One recent morning, Mr. Yilmaz rowed into the lake and pulled up his net, dropping small fish into the boat.

“Yaren!” he called.

The stork took flight, did a loop to surveil the boat and perched on a lamppost near the bank.

“Yaren!” Mr. Yilmaz called again.

The bird took flight again, finally alighting on the boat, where Mr. Yilmaz tossed him fish after fish.

After a while, the stork lifted off, glided around the village and returned to his nest.

“That’s it,” Mr. Yilmaz said with a satisfied smile. “He is full.”

Lauryn Siako is the rare 8-year-old who springs out of bed to get herself ready for church, her family said. She loves the singing, the dancing, the worshiping.

So when leaders of her church announced that they were resuming the enormous annual Easter pilgrimage to church headquarters in South Africa this year, after a four-year hiatus for Covid-19, Lauryn pleaded with her mother to let her go for the first time.

Lauryn and her grandmother boarded a bus in their home village of Molepolole, Botswana, on Wednesday night with 43 fellow members of the St. Engenas Zion Christian Church, excited for the experience of a lifetime.

But by the following morning, Lauryn was the only one of the 45 passengers still alive.

The driver lost control of the bus on a sharp turn, and it careened off a high overpass on Mmamatlakala Mountain in northeastern South Africa, plunging 165 feet into a rocky ravine and bursting into flames. The driver and all of his passengers perished, except, inexplicably, the stringy girl who had just received her passport a week before the trip and had guarded it closely. She escaped with minor lacerations, South African health officials said.

“How did she come out of that bus?” Lauryn’s tearful mother, Gaolebale Siako, said on Friday, sitting in the modest home where Lauryn had lived with her grandmother in Molepolole, repeating a question she has been asking herself over and over.

“It’s hard to explain,” she added. “I’m hurt that I lost my mom and other people, but I’m also comforted knowing that my child is alive.”

As investigators continued searching for remains and answers as to what happened on Friday, church members questioned how the bus ended up on a treacherous, winding mountain road that they had never taken before in many journeys to the church headquarters in Moria, South Africa.

Kabelo Joseph Selome, a local ward councilor and a cousin of Lauryn’s mother, said in an interview in Botswana that the bus had been following two cars carrying church elders. But when the cars took a turn, the bus failed to follow — suggesting that the bus driver was lost, said Mr. Selome, who had spoken with the elders.

The police were investigating the crash as a case of culpable homicide, according to a statement, though they did not provide further details.

Emergency responders found Lauryn outside the bus with minor lacerations to her arms, legs, head and back, said Thilivhali Muavha, a spokesman for the chief health official in Limpopo Province, where the crash occurred. She was in stable condition on Friday, Mr. Muavha said.

Mr. Muavha said the authorities had not yet determined how the girl was able to survive such a devastating crash.

“All we can say is that we are happy that she was found alive,” he said.

The family has been speculating about how Lauryn survived, said Ms. Siako, 38. They wonder whether Lauryn’s grandmother, Onkemetse Siako, 61, threw her out of the window before the crash.

“No one can explain this miracle,” said Mr. Selome, the cousin.

The family learned at a briefing with police officials from Botswana on Friday, Mr. Selome said, that Lauryn had provided a lot of information to the South African authorities. She told them where the bus was coming from and where it was going, and even gave them her mother’s phone number.

The family now wonders whether God saved the young girl so that she could assist the authorities.

Lauryn was her grandmother’s favorite because she was so obedient, relatives said. The two lived together while Lauryn’s mother was away working, and they were inseparable. She got her cooking skills and independent mind from her grandmother, they said. She would wash and iron her own clothes and cook for the family — she baked bread the morning of the trip.

Lauryn was ranked second in her class, relatives said. She wanted to perform in a beauty pageant at school, but she was not picked because she walked too slowly and with her shoulders slumped, said her mother, who works as a safety and health official at a construction site.

Her mother told her to prepare not to sleep much at the Easter gathering. The praying, singing, dancing and prophesying happens on a field at night, and the energy is so high that the congregants rarely go to bed.

Ms. Siako said there was always a lot of excitement in simply traveling to the Easter gathering, which attracts millions of worshipers, and in seeing all the buses gathered at Moria.

The Zion Christian Church split into two branches in the middle of the 20th century after a dispute between the founder’s sons. Members of the St. Engenas branch wear a badge with a dove, while the other, larger branch, simply called the Zion Christian Church, wear a star. Their beliefs are virtually the same, said Joel Cabrita, a history professor at Stanford University in California, who has written a book about the church. They belong to a broader Zionist Christian movement in Africa that counts around 15 million members, the largest denomination in southern Africa.

While the St. Engenas branch decided to restart its pilgrimage this year, the other branch still has not.

The South African police confirmed on Friday that the passengers on the bus, along with the driver, were citizens of Botswana making the journey from Molepolole, a village that is considered the gateway to the vast Kalahari Desert.

As of Friday afternoon, 34 bodies had been recovered, the police said. Only nine of them were identifiable, with the others burned beyond recognition.

The tragedy cast a cloud over Botswana, a heavily Christian nation of about 2.5 million that was preparing to celebrate the Easter weekend.

Ms. Siako and other relatives said they worried about how this tragedy would affect Lauryn’s mental state. It is unclear when family members might be able to travel to South Africa to visit her in the hospital, or when she will be able to return home.

“I cry a lot,” Ms. Siako said. “I’m just worried, how is she right now?”

She said she pictured her daughter alone at the bottom of the ravine after the crash, and wondered whether she was scared and crying. “I’m asking myself,” she said, “did she even see what really happened?”

Ultimately, though, the miracle of Lauryn’s survival might be all this devastated community has to help it heal right now.

“This girl, just her being alive, is comforting the whole family,” Mr. Selome said. “This girl is giving us strength.”

Through the most tense encounters with President Vladimir V. Putin’s Russia over the past decade, there has been one project in which Washington and Moscow have claimed common cause: keeping North Korea from expanding its arsenal of nuclear weapons.

Now, even that has fallen apart.

On Thursday, Russia used its veto power in the United Nations Security Council to kill off a U.N. panel of experts that has been monitoring North Korea’s efforts to evade sanctions over its nuclear program for the past 15 years.

Russia’s discomfort with the group is a new development. Moscow once welcomed the panel’s detailed reports about sanctions violations and considered Pyongyang’s nuclear program to be a threat to global security.

But more recently, the panel has provided vivid evidence of how Russia is keeping the North brimming with fuel and other goods, presumably in return for the artillery shells and missiles that the North Korean leader, Kim Jong-un, is shipping to Russia for use against Ukraine. The group has produced satellite images of ship-to-ship transfers of oil, showing how the war in Ukraine has proved to be a bonanza for the North.

The apparent dismantlement of the panel, which had no enforcement power, is one more piece of evidence of how what was once a global effort to constrain nuclear proliferation has eroded rapidly over the past two years.

“It’s a remarkable shift,” said Robert Einhorn, a State Department official during the Obama administration who is now a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution.

“For much of the post-Cold War period, the United States, Russia and China were partners in dealing with proliferation challenges, especially with North Korea and Iran. They were fully on the American and European side during the Iran negotiations, and helped with North Korea during the ‘fire and fury’ period in 2016 to 2017,” he said, referring to the Obama administration’s final negotiations with the North and former President Donald J. Trump’s threats when he came to office.

In that era, Russia regularly voted for sanctions against North Korea, as did China, even while they all did a fair bit of business, and more than a little smuggling at sea and over their narrow border crossing, especially a rail bridge where the three all meet.

But as Mr. Einhorn noted, that unity has fractured with the re-emergence of great power competition. The partnership on containing nuclear threats, even from North Korea, whose nuclear facilities pose a safety challenge to both China and Russia, has vanished.

Russia is now helping North Korea evade sanctions, and neither Russia nor China is actively working to pressure Iran to slow its accumulation of enriched uranium, the critical step needed if it ever decides to build nuclear weapons.

When resolutions have come up to condemn North Korea for its constant barrage of missile tests, Russia and China have rejected them. But eliminating the “experts committee,” which began its work in 2009, cuts new territory in relieving pressure on the country.

The Russian government made no apologies for killing off the panel.

“It is obvious to us that the U.N. Security Council can no longer use old templates in relation to the problems of the Korean Peninsula,” a spokeswoman for the Russian Foreign Ministry, Maria Zakharova, was quoted by Reuters as saying. “The United States and its allies have clearly demonstrated that their interest does not extend beyond the task of ‘strangling’ the D.P.R.K. by all available means,” she added, using the abbreviation for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

The committee had no great investigative powers, but it was thorough — and its findings often created headlines. It followed oil shipments, and explained what happened when ships turned off their transponders so they would not be tracked at sea. The group looked at banking relationships and luxury goods that made it to North Korea, despite sanctions passed 18 years ago. It also inspired private groups to dig deeper, explaining mysteries like how Mr. Kim got his luxury cars.

The experts were outsiders, and their findings were often not adopted. “Everything that goes into the report has to be approved by Security Council members,” Jenny Town, a North Korea expert and senior fellow at the Stimson Center, a nonproliferation think tank, noted on Friday. “So while it is an investigative body, its findings exist in a political process.”

Still, the existence of the committee gave an international, neutral imprimatur to the charges of sanctions evasion. “They have been very useful in producing some gravitas on sanctions implementation,” said Ms. Town, who is also the director of 38 North, which publishes analysis of North Korea’s capabilities and pronouncements.

The State Department denounced Russia’s decision, saying that the country had “cynically undermined international peace and security,” and declaring that “Russia alone will own the outcome of this veto: a D.P.R.K. more emboldened to reckless behavior and destabilizing provocations.”

No one is quite sure how many nuclear weapons the North Koreans have produced since the first nuclear crisis with the country, in 1994, or since it first tested a nuclear weapon in October 2006 during the George W. Bush administration.

Experts outside the government believe the arsenal is around 50 or 60 weapons now, though the estimates range from as low as 40 to as high as 100 — a reflection of how little is understood in the absence of inspections by another arm of the United Nations, the International Atomic Energy Agency.

But the biggest concern about the North is not the size of the arsenal but its intentions. Two leading North Korea experts, Robert L. Carlin, a former top intelligence official who was often involved in North Korea negotiations, and Siegfried S. Hecker, the former director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, argued late last year that “the situation on the Korean Peninsula is more dangerous than it has been at any time since early June 1950,” when the Korean War broke out.

New declarations by North Korea, they said, make it clear the country has given up on the idea of reunification and may be preparing for a military solution to the division of the peninsula.

“Like his grandfather in 1950, Kim Jong-un has made a strategic decision to go to war,” they argued, a position many of their former colleagues in the intelligence world said was overly wrought. “We do not know when or how Kim plans to pull the trigger, but the danger is already far beyond the routine warnings in Washington, Seoul and Tokyo about Pyongyang’s provocations.”

In fact, the North’s language has changed, and it now talks more openly — as Russian officials do — about using nuclear weapons if provoked on matters large or small.