Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  Coincidentally, one of the Olifants shareholders, Janine Scorer, had invited Karen Trendler up to the reserve for the weekend. Even though the road journey up from Johannesburg had been long and tiring, she jumped at the opportunity to witness conservation history being made. Karen has reared so many orphaned black rhino calves, she’s lost count. It was a privilege to have her there to be part of the release of animals with which she has such empathy.

  The rhino were released in the Klaserie Nature Reserve on the farm Copenhagen, at two separate locations approximately four kilometres apart, not too far from the old Enoch’s Gate (a primary access gate to Olifants that was closed 17 years ago). In an atmosphere belying the significance of what was happening, the two rhino were gently released and quietly left to explore their new home. A couple of days later, the younger of the two bulls moved straight into Balule down the Brakspruit (Mohlabetsi) riverbed and under the train bridge onto Drifter’s and Ukhosi. After a few more days there, he moved across onto Olifants near the old Lion Pan, then down to Nature’s Valley, from which he strolled onto the floodplain of the Olifants River. He then walked past lodge 56 and back onto Ukhozi.

  Possibly the lack of mud wallows in the vicinity prompted the rhino to move further west where there was a higher waterhole density as well as suitable habitat. The younger bull has been relatively easy to follow as its radio telemetric transponder is working well, while the older bull’s does not work at all. Nevertheless, the movement of the older bull has been monitored by trackers on foot, who take up the spoor each day from the last waterhole visited by the rhino.

  And, in case you were wondering, yes … the sightings of black rhino have been officially recorded in Olifant’s game sightings register at reception – twice so far!

  On 27 May, nearly a month after their release, I received a call from Colin to say the older bull that they had been tracking on foot had now moved onto Olifants near the bottom end of Lisbon under the Four Pylons, heading for the Sable Dam/Rhino Pan area. After visiting Hide Dam and Nkonkoni Dam, the rhino moved to Sable Dam and then a couple of days later moved south past the old rhino pens and across our cutline onto Venice.

  As I write we have received confirmation that this bull has crossed the railway line road heading west along the Brakspruit riverbed … incredibly this was the identical route the younger one took two weeks previously! The latest position on the younger rhino is that it appears to have settled in the Olifants west/Ukhozi area, near the old main gate. This appears to be where the older bull is now heading – the very heart of the habitat that years ago Ron Thomson had said was ideal black rhino country.

  A little more about these wonderful creatures. Black rhino Diceros bicornis are smaller than their 2 200 kg white cousins, in fact, they are approximately 900 kg lighter, weighing in at a maximum of 1 350 kg. To get a better idea of this proportionately, consider that a big buffalo bull can weigh about 900 kg. Other obvious differences are that the black rhino holds its head higher than the white and I also noticed the other day how relatively big and more rounded the black rhino’s ears are, a dead give-away to its position in the thick winter bush. As far as I’m concerned that’s all I have to see of the animal to confirm it’s a black rhino.

  Although black rhino can go for a few days without drinking and will travel up to 28 kilometres to water, they love to wallow and if water is available will drink daily. Contrary to popular belief that they are more content living a solitary existence, they are also known to enjoy semi-social acquaintances, as do white rhino, and up to 13 have been recorded in one group. Their lifespan and gestation periods are similar to the white rhino’s, 35–50 years and approximately 16 months respectively. I’m not forgetting they are supposedly more aggressive than the white rhino, although the couple of times we’ve come across the two new recruits their response appeared to be one of curiosity rather than aggression. It may be possible that they were still feeling some of the residual effect from the tranquillisers.

  Black rhino are primarily browsers with pointed prehensile lips which are perfectly adapted to their feeding habits. They are able to utilise over 200 species of plants, showing a preference for leguminous herbs and shrubs.

  It is interesting to note that they also have a penchant for Tamboti, Spirostachys africana, and are also able to utilise certain Euphorbia species, both plants that have a toxic latex. The square-lipped white rhino is essentially a grazer, which has historically confined this species to specific habitat types and a narrow distribution range with a mean rainfall of 500 mm per annum. Black rhino, on the other hand, enjoy a much wider distribution in Africa, being more versatile, and able to inhabit rugged desert habitats which, with the exception of goats and camels, are unsuitable for domestic stock. Early records by ivory hunters and explorers verify this, indicating that they occurred in healthy numbers and were encountered frequently in a wide range of habitats. Sadly, mainly due to poaching and poor conservation administration in the countries to the north, the tables have turned completely. White rhino numbers are steadily climbing in South Africa while black rhino numbers are threatened and declining rapidly elsewhere in Africa.

  Coincidentally, whilst writing this chapter, I received a call from Ian Black, one of our shareholders and a keen conservationist who has close ties with the veterinarians working for ‘Back to Africa’. This organisation is mainly concerned with the re-establishment of rare and endangered animals to their former homes and countries. They had recently brought in two black rhino that were born and bred in the Berlin zoo to be released in Tanzania, where they were now virtually extinct in the wild. How sad that a country which not too long ago had thousands of these animals has now sunk to this level. At the same time, it’s so encouraging to hear of committed organisations really contributing to the re-establishment of threatened species.

  Leaving a Bloodline – Legacy or Liability?

  December 2009 – my son turns 17

  I know an Englishman who is the quintessential exemplar of tradition, and who has been a good friend of the family for a number of years. He is also an accomplished author on the history of the Fens, having written two books on this interesting area in the heart of Lincolnshire. Prior to the ban on fox hunting, he was master of the hounds for the Fitzwilliam pack, so I suspect that the breeding of dogs and horses had always been an important part of his life, and may have influenced his philosophy and preoccupation with tradition and bloodlines. So, when on one of his visits to Africa Rex Sly told me the most important thing we can leave behind when we die is a bloodline, I put this down to melancholy contemplation lubricated by a couple of rather stiff gins as we watched the sun set on another beautiful day in the bush. However, he elaborated, saying that although the importance of leaving the legacy of your family name when you die appears to be less of an issue these days, he firmly believes it is a most worthy duty. Having said this, he also said it is a quest fraught with obstacles, as if sent to test the worthiness of the continuance of the very name itself, and as things go, it all starts by having a son. No further thought was given to this, until something happened not too long ago that had his words ring in my ears.

  Meagan and I were seriously beginning to doubt our ability as parents. Our son Dino was just a toddler when he fell and badly injured his little toe on the pathway from the house to the office. He had wandered down on his own looking for Mom, which prompted us to fence the yard, not to keep the lions and elephant out, but to keep the happy wanderer in! Not long after this, on a trip to the highlands to do a spot of fishing, he dropped out of his seat restraints into the steeply cambered gutter of the main street in Lydenburg. We picked him up out of the street as quickly as we could, collected his things and awkwardly bundled the now crying child into our arms. The ‘drop’ didn’t go unnoticed; a crowd of bystanders had already gathered at the scene, most of them curious, some concerned. However, the look of disdain we got from a couple of middle-aged women, who by all appearances were experienced mothers, and who h
ad probably given birth to and raised at least a dozen children single handedly, was hurtful. In a small conservative town where sex is frowned upon because it may lead to dancing, the cry of an infant elicits more than a casual interest; it was as if the residents knew the cry of every baby, and here was the sound of a strange child that needed investigation. No one laughed when I tried to make light of the situation and joked that we were thinking of calling him ‘Guttersnipe’.

  It took another two years to realise we weren’t entirely to blame for the mishaps that befell our son.

  Now a little older, but still not quite ready for school, Dino would accompany Meagan and I when we attended board meetings in Johannesburg. We would also use this opportunity to take a couple of days’ leave, do a little shopping and catch up with family and friends. Dino really looked forward to these Jo’burg trips, it was a time to play on the escalators at the mall, and to meet up with his cousin Gareth and his friend Greg, who were about the same age. This particular trip was planned to coincide with the Reserve’s annual general meeting in June of that year. We were invited by Greg’s parents, Alistair and Michelle McKenzie, to stay with them in their charming home situated in their village of Kosmos near Hartbeespoort dam. We’d stayed there on previous occasions and loved it. Besides the McKenzies’ congenial warm hospitality, the location made it the perfect base for Meagan and me; it was also ideal for Dino as he and Greg really enjoyed each other’s company and would play together in relative safety for hours on end. This sleepy hollow is situated in a semi-tropical zone and most of the houses have beautiful, well-established indigenous gardens creating a comfortable country feel, yet it is less than an hour’s drive from the city centre. … And, oh yes, this was also where residents have seen the odd leopard in their gardens from time to time. These beautiful animals come down from the surrounding hills occasionally, and besides the odd stray cat or dog that is taken, the majority of their prey is confined to small antelope, rock hyraxes and ground birds, which are abundant. To date there have been no incidents of leopard having posed any physical danger to people in the area. But I digress – back to Dino.

  Being a year older, Greg was already attending crèche until midday, so until he came home Dino had a few hours to while away each morning. Having done the escalators and walked the busy malls to his heart’s content, we thought it was time to do something else, something less mindless, and something he could learn from. Then I remembered the Hartbeespoort Dam snake park close by, where as youngsters we would bring in snakes we had caught in the surrounding areas or rescued from being stoned in chicken coops. Turning to Meagan, I said it would be interesting to visit the park after all these years. I’d also heard they now had a wider variety of reptiles as well as many other interesting animals, and was sure that Dino would not only find it fascinating, but also learn a thing or two.

  Midweek is usually the perfect time to visit these parks. You basically have the place to yourself and if you get there early you will often get to see management and staff at work as they go about feeding, cleaning cages and moving animals. We have also found that with fewer people around the staff are generally more amenable to answering questions from curious kids.

  We arrived at the ticket office very early on a cool Tuesday morning, and although everything was still closed we could see someone inside shuffling a few papers around and fiddling around with keys ’n things. Then a minute or so later the window slid open and a man with a cheery face greeted us

  ‘Good morning, how many tickets?’ he said

  Meagan had noticed that children under 12 were half price. ‘Two and a half,’ she said, sliding our credit card across the grubby counter.

  ‘Sorry, we don’t take cards, cash only’

  I turned to Meagan: ‘How much cash do you have on you?’

  Scratching in her handbag amongst the usual paraphernalia necessary to keep a child clean, hydrated, medicated, fed and occupied, she managed to assemble enough loose change for the tickets. Collecting the change and placing the tickets in her bag, she turned to me: ‘Where’s Dino?’ she asked.

  As if in answer to her question, a scream from inside the snake park left us in no doubt of his whereabouts; his cries filled the early morning air, obliterating any peripheral sound; there was nothing else my hearing would allow into my brain. Apparently my reaction time could have been measured in split seconds; despite this I was numb with fear, but not paralysed by it, and I distinctly remember how slowly everything appeared to be happening. I will never forget that even though I was wearing top-of the-range running shoes, I found myself wishing I was barefoot, because it felt like the technical cushioning of the shoes was too spongy and slowing me down. I just couldn’t get to the source of the scream fast enough … and worse, I could hear Dino but couldn’t see him.

  If my memory serves me right, the open-air demonstration pit was approximately 30 metres from the ticket office and entrance. The structure consisted of an oval pit which covered an area of some 40 square metres which had been sunk about one-and-a-half metres below the surrounding ground level. A well-tended short grass and boulder-strewn island of about 15 square metres, encircled by a one metre wide dry concrete moat, was located in the middle. It was on this island that the snakes were kept and where the snake venom milking demonstrations and educational talks were held. This was usually done on weekends while spectators watched in awe and wonder while standing safely behind the chest-high wall surrounding the pit.

  Reaching the pit, I leaped up onto the perimeter wall and lay with my torso on the broad lip. Looking down I could see Dino sitting on the edge of the island; how he had ended up in this predicament was also clear to see. Having climbed up and onto the polished surface on the top of the wall, he must have slipped off the lip and fallen into the pit, landing on the concrete. Thankfully he took quite a tumble and hurt himself when he fell, otherwise he would not have cried out when he did. The worst realisation was that if he wasn’t compelled to stay in one place crying and hurt, I know he would have gone exploring the island, which was littered with at least a dozen poisonous snakes. Fortunately there were no snakes on the relatively cold concrete surface of the moat where Dino had landed. The cool weather of the previous evening had kept them confined to the grass, where they lay around waiting for the sun to warm things up.

  He was still crying miserably and only stopped when he looked up and saw me reaching out to him.

  ‘Grab daddy’s hand!’ I yelled, trying hard not to focus on the huge snouted cobra that lay less than an arm’s length away from him. These relatively thick-set cobras can attain a length of well over two metres and are amongst the largest and heaviest in Africa. In addition, the venom of this species is potently neurotoxic. Two puff adders as thick as a man’s forearm, which if stretched out would have measured at least a metre, lay dead still and tightly coiled only a little further away. Their blunt arrow-shaped heads belied their lethal weaponry, which comes in the form of 20 mm long hypodermic fangs capable of injecting potent cytotoxic venom deep into their victims. Although sluggish movers, puff adders have the fastest strike rate of any snake, measured at nearly 20 metres per second! … Even an experienced Indian snake charmer could never pull back from that, so what chance would a child have?

  Holding onto the lip of the pit wall with my left hand and reaching in, my lower abdomen on the rim to make up the reach necessary, I grabbed hold of his outstretched arm and yanked him out of the pit in one smooth adrenalin-powered pull.

  Placing Dino on the relative safety of the pathway, we removed all his clothing to check for fang marks. This was also a good opportunity to check that nothing got damaged in the fall, but it wasn’t easy – Meagan and I were fumbling for the same buttons and zips, but once we had our shaking hands under control we were able to check his naked, shivering little body for damage. There were no visible marks on him, well, not at that stage anyway. A few moments later, when I involuntarily smacked his backside in a knee-jerk reaction telling hi
m to never just run off like that again … the red hand-print was now as clear as a tattoo on his white but slowly-turning-blue-from-the-cold bottom. This time, however, he didn’t cry.

  Only the largest specimens of snouted cobra and puff adder were used in the snake pit arena, both for crowd appeal and to collect the highest volume of venom. Also I suspect that the larger snakes are easier for the handlers to see, enabling them to keep an eye on them when they moved about demonstrating the milking technique or giving an educational. Had Dino been bitten by one of those cobras, he would have died in minutes. The puff adders were also so big that the sheer volume of their venom injected into a child of his size would have overwhelmed his system before any treatment was possible. The nearest hospital was in Pretoria, over an hour’s drive away, and nobody at the snake park at that time of the morning was qualified to administer antivenom. Had Dino been bitten by either species, he would have died!

  Besides the park staff going about their routine daily chores, we were still the only visitors in the park. We decided to move away from the reptile section and progress to the area where the big cats were kept. They’re always interesting, but I particularly wanted to see the rosettes on the black leopards, which would be clearly visible with the morning sun on their coats. On our way to the leopards, we stopped at the lions. There were two barred cages, each housing a pair of magnificent lions: in the one there were two beautiful ‘Kalahari lions’ and in the other, a pair from the lowveld. The only difference I could make out was that the one male had a darker mane than the other. I also recall being totally unimpressed with the housing of these enormous carnivores, but impressed with the size and condition of the lions. The cages were the old prison bar type enclosures, where the animals would typically pace back and forth in front of the bars all day, but these lions weren’t pacing, in fact three of them were lying sleeping on the rock ledges which had been built in to create a little more of a natural environment.