After 20 minutes we’d heard nothing except a couple of black-backed jackal serenading each other on the open plain below, so we decided to move on to the nearest prominent water point. Being winter at the time, there was a good chance the lions would not be far from a waterhole. But which one? There were five in the area to choose from. I made a calculated guess and headed straight for one of them. Switching the vehicle off the moment we arrived, we again sat in silence, waiting for the lions to call. This time we didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes of stopping, they roared, and judging from the sound, the lions were approximately two to three kilometres away near one of the other waterholes. Most importantly, we now had both the direction and estimated distance. Stopping once more, we were guided even closer by the roaring lions, and now knew exactly where they were.
Shortly afterwards, the vehicle and its six hapless occupants were found, and as described, they were still surrounded by 11 lions, who lay around like overgrown golden retrievers waiting for someone to throw a stick. We managed to get the vehicle started and on the go again. I took a moment to explain that they should not use their one million candle power spotlights when the engine was turned off, otherwise they would flatten their battery and get stuck again. In a cautionary mood, I added, ‘And next time, you may not be lucky enough to be surrounded by a pride of lion!’
Tannin: The Tree-saving Kudu-killer?
Based on a warden’s report motivating the removal of fences – 2004
Somebody once said that game farming is actually veld or grass farming, with game being just by-products. This may be true to some extent, but whoever coined that phrase is probably of the same ilk as those who deride impala, regarding them as little more than ‘goats of the bush’, or is of the conviction that all you need to manage a game reserve is a rifle and a box of matches.
While specific statements or global generalisations may have some merit, they’re usually simplistic and superficial. The functioning of a typical ecosystem is complex beyond our full understanding, and even the most basic ecological management requires the help of science. Odem, in his book Fundamentals of Ecology, finds it incomprehensible that space explorers plan to create self-sustaining life-supporting ecosystems in outer space, yet nobody fully understands the workings of a fish pond ecosystem here on earth!
Although we are not strictly a game farm here on Olifants, the following reminds us of the value of feed quality and the importance of veld management in terms of the available vegetation-to-animal biomass ratio, even in a relatively large reserve such as ours.
In the days prior to the removal of fences, we were obliged to supplement the winter feed for our rhino and so had stockpiled a huge store of lucerne expecting to feed them for a couple of winters. Buying early and storing the fodder can save up to 50 per cent on the cost price as demand increases dramatically later into winter. However, that season and the next, we’d received very good rains and so had no need to feed. By the time we needed to feed again, I was sure our old lucerne stocks would now be too dry to be of any value as feed for the rhino. To the eye it appeared to be unpalatable and possibly even unhealthy for them.
We decided to dump it on Kudu Plains near Hide Dam, and if the resident hippo and numerous other animals that frequented the area felt like a nibble – good … if not, at least the termites would certainly use the cellulose. When the lucerne was initially left out in the bush, I didn’t expect many animals to utilise it, but it was hard for me to simply destroy what may still have some food value; I’d seen too much suffering and starvation in drought years to become wasteful. So when a couple of rhino moved in to make use of this old fodder, I was amazed, particularly as there was still a fair amount of grass on the reserve, and much of it was still green. Once the word got out, every rhino on the property was happily munching away on this three-year-old lucerne within a few days. Why then was this dry and slightly mouldy old feed eaten in preference to what surely was, in our opinion, equally available and more palatable grass?
I believe the answer may lie in the fact that our assessment of palatability or nutritional value in relation to free-ranging wild animals is not as cut and dried as we would like to imagine. How are we able to determine palatability, particularly when deciding for palates other than our own? I have watched kudu eat over two kilograms of bitter aloe at a time and appear to enjoy it. Did you know there are people out there who eat and enjoy rhubarb! So, you see, there’s no accounting for taste.
Many of you may be aware of the defence mechanism in plants and how this affects both the survival of the plant and that of the game that feeds on it. For interest’s sake I have included a brief summary which also goes to show that sweetness and palatability may be relative. In desperation, animals will eat unpalatable and/or bitter vegetation in order to survive. This in itself is survival adaptation. But, if the bitterness is due to high levels of tannins, and they can tolerate the bitterness, it will be to their detriment. In harsh fact, if they continue to utilise this source of food, they will eventually die of malnutrition, which I will explain shortly. On the other hand, bitter aloe, for example, will provide nutrition because although the aloe is extremely bitter, it contains relatively little tannin. As a bonus, I suspect the ingestion of this plant may also help ward off disease-causing parasites which are more prevalent during times of stress.
About 25 years ago, the game farmers of the North West province found that their kudu were dying. Subsequent autopsies revealed that they had full stomachs containing green, apparently nutrient-rich vegetation. Mysteriously, this was happening even at lower-than-normal recommended stocking rates. Although the mystery has since been solved, this phenomenon had scientists dumbfounded for years. Fenced-in game farms were a relatively new and fast-growing concept and a lot of what was stocked in these areas depended on the all-important carrying capacity – which, depending on the veld type that predominated, was determined by the Large Stock Unit-to-hectare ratio, to which I refer in more detail in the chapter ‘Management of game populations’.
The kudu-per-hectare ratio in these instances was within limits and in some cases, lower, according to this formula. Basically what was happening was the kudu that were now restricted by fences had to utilise the same vegetation, more specifically the same trees and shrubs, repeatedly over a short space of time. All trees and shrubs have a built-in protection mechanism against getting ‘eaten to death’. When browsed on, they begin producing tannin, the amount being produced dependent on the type of plant and how vigorously it is being browsed.
The next time you watch a giraffe or kudu browsing, you will notice that they nibble for a while and then move on. Why do they not stand in one spot and nibble all the leaves off the bush or tree? The reason is the production by the plant of tannin, which occurs to a far greater extent in dicotyledons (woody plants) than in monocotyledons (grasses). One of the effects of tannin is that it discourages further feeding by making the leaves progressively more bitter and unpalatable the longer the animal feeds.
When confined to a smaller area, the availability and choice of shrubs and trees is reduced. This lack of choice forces kudu to browse the same bush or tree more frequently than they would have, thereby ingesting higher than normal levels of tannin. Were they able to choose alternative browse with lower tannin levels there wouldn’t be a problem.
How then is this chemical responsible for the death of an animal? The ingestion of tannin has a dramatic effect on the digestive process in that it inhibits the enzyme and microbial action that helps break down the cellulose in the rumen. Thus the production of protein, and the absorption of protein in the gut, become severely inhibited. This process is vital in allowing nutrients to be released and absorbed by the animal. Simply put, if their rumens are filled with nutrients that cannot be absorbed, particularly proteins, they will paradoxically die of starvation with full stomachs.
The bottom line is that in fenced-in areas in particular, the carrying capacity has to be very carefull
y determined. What makes this extremely difficult is veld that appears lush to the eye, but which may not contain the nutritional requirements necessary to carry large numbers of animals on a continual sustainable basis. Without the possibility of rotational browsing, at intervals long enough to allow the tannin levels to drop, you have problems. Thus it is better to have fewer, but healthier, animals because they are able to derive maximum benefit from the vegetation, without the risk of losing condition or worse. The million dollar question is, ‘how does one determine the optimum number?’ Having slightly fewer, but healthier animals that are carefully monitored over time can provide some guidelines. However, as most of these farms are run as businesses, ‘moderate’ or ‘minimal’ are not words you hear that often in terms of stocking.
In summary, tannin is there to protect the browse from destruction by making it unpalatable and not by causing the death of browsers. In open systems I suspect that tannin-related deaths would be unheard of. However, it has been the result of man’s confinement of high numbers of browsing animals in closed systems that has proved to be a fatal combination.
Witchdoctors!
Based on a warden’s report in 2002
If it doesn’t have a logical explanation, and/or cannot be scientifically substantiated, I don’t buy it. I am particularly sceptical about those theological phenomena involving spirits or ghosts or anything to do with the supernatural and superstition. Yet, I am perfectly comfortable with the miraculous healing powers of certain plants and herbs if the claims are backed by science.
I suppose I have to admit that at times, I have been dragged kicking and screaming to a homoeopath, which to me is pushing my faith to its absolute limits!
I don’t believe in witchdoctors, shamans or traditional healers. I never have and I doubt I ever will. By the same token, I don’t underestimate the power that witchdoctors and sangomas and others of similar leanings, talents and positions, have over their followers. Nor do I underestimate the incredible faith some have in the often vile concoctions they’re required to ingest, which are put together from pieces of unmentionables, and mixed with ground-up untouchables!
The respect these healers command and the results their muti mixtures produce, has to be seen to be believed. Recently, I used this unquestioned faith by believers in the power of the sangoma to help save a man’s life.
A delegation of representatives of the Olifants work force asked me to convene a meeting to discuss a matter of grave concern. Among these men were my trusted and loyal anti-poaching rangers, game guards and security staff, as well as the formally elected shop stewards of our workers’ union, in all twelve men. One of them, acting as spokesman, came forward and with a sombre expression I’ve not often seen on this man’s face, got straight to the point and said that a member of our staff was changing into a baboon at night and entering some of the women’s rooms. Even though the doors were locked, he reported, this baboon-man managed to get in and have his way with them.
‘How does it get in?’ I asked.
‘Under the door,’ he replied.
‘That’s impossible,’ I said. ‘It’s far too narrow a gap for anything to squeeze through.’
‘This baboon has magic powers and he gets in easily,’ they insisted.
Now came the question I knew I had to ask, but was dreading. ‘Do you know who it is?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied and gave me the name of one of our most prominent members of staff, to whom I will refer as ‘baboon-man’ from now on.
He said that the rest of the delegation demanded that I chase him away or they would. I told them that in terms of the Labour Act there was no proof of any misconduct to warrant dismissal. This legalese fell on deaf ears, because they merely repeated their ultimatum and a standoff ensued.
To try and convince me how strongly they felt, they offered another means to confirm this man’s guilt – and that was to consult a witchdoctor. This, they said, would weed out the guilty person and confirm their suspicions. I agreed to their proposal provided they were prepared to pay for the services of a sangoma as I knew they didn’t do any pro bono work. As we were required to get an out-of-town witchdoctor, in an effort to ensure a measure of objectivity, I offered to help with the transport costs.
We managed to get two witchdoctors for the price of one, with the older man appearing to be the sangoma. He not only looked the part, but was considerably older than the other, though I didn’t have the courage to ask whether the younger chap was an apprentice. I was just happy to get the ‘bones rolling’, so to speak. They negotiated the contract, comported themselves in a most professional manner and were punctual, arriving on time at the pick-up point in a late model Mercedes-Benz. Both men were dressed in modern suits, with their traditional garb being brought along in an old leather suitcase, like those used by wealthier travellers in the ’forties and ’fifties.
The mood amongst the staff back at the village was nervously apprehensive. Everyone believed in the power of the sangoma and they all knew the seriousness of what was about to unfold. As far as they were concerned, this was where the buck would stop.
Without too much delay, the two men emerged, both looking the part in leopard skin capes, feathered headdresses, wildebeest tail switches, sticks, bags of bones and bits and bobs off some animals I’d only ever seen in a museum. Then, in a well-rehearsed ritual, they stepped into the circle and began the chanting and bone-throwing almost immediately. They created quite a spectacle. Any twinge of guilt out in the crowd, however small, would show on the facial expression and in the body language of those subjected to the process, which would no doubt give them away. Even if only fractionally implicated, the fear and belief is so strong, that anybody knowing what to look for and watching for these signs would pick up subtle clues. I suspect that this was one of the main reasons why there were two witchdoctors so that while one ranted and chanted, the other observed the crowd. I remember thinking that this was an excellent strategy.
The wildebeest tail switches went swishing back and forth and up and down to the collective chant of ‘Siavuma!’ Bones and other bits were thrown in a loose heap, accompanied by throaty, guttural words I couldn’t make head or tail of. This must have gone on for the best part of an hour. Then suddenly, the tempo slowed, ending abruptly with a finger-pointing accusation that left no doubt as to who the sangoma had singled out. Surprise, surprise, it was the same man accused by the delegation a few days previously. There were no dramatics, just quiet acceptance, some head shaking and mumbling, nothing more. But the drama wasn’t over. There was more to come. Their job done, the two gentlemen, sweating profusely from their performance, began to pack up their gear. This they did slowly and with the same methodical indifference a plumber employs when he packs his tools away after unblocking your drain. Having showered and changed back into their suits, they came down to the office where I handed them their cheque for the agreed R3 500.
Thinking that wasn’t bad for less than two hours’ work, we drove them back to Hoedspruit. But, my problems, and particularly those of the baboon-man, were now further than ever from being solved.
Confirmation from the sangoma gave the staff confidence and renewed their determination: they were now adamant in their demands. They wanted this man gone, to which they added that if I didn’t fire him, they would ‘fire him’ literally, using the infamous ‘necklace’ method! They were absolutely serious and I knew that unless something was done to stall them, they would act out their threat. This man’s life was in real danger. Calling him into my office, I suggested he take leave and get off the reserve for a while until things cooled down.
By now I had established that there was, perhaps, some substance to some of the accusations against him, but it was certainly not serious enough to die for, or even lose his job over. He was adamant he was going nowhere, but asked for a ride into town, which I gave him.
Later that afternoon, he returned with the police, who sat down in reception. From there they sent
for those who were threatening him to appear. They did not appear. Draining the two Cokes we had given them, they politely thanked us and then drove themselves to the village. Ten minutes later, leaving a substantial dust cloud behind them, they drove out, making their way straight back to Hoedspruit. What transpired, I later learned, was that the delegation had, in no uncertain terms, told the police to go home, that this was none of their business, and if they interfered they would be sorry.
At that point I knew I had better think of something, and quickly. It was a shocking revelation for management to see how little respect our people had for the police. I knew from the reaction of the police that we were on our own, and that the solution would have to come from within.
The next morning, I called everybody to a meeting, and everyone except the baboon-man turned up. I’d had enough of this threat of intimidation and savage injustice, so I laid it on the line for them. Knowing that the threat of criminal charges didn’t seem to faze them, I still needed to make them understand that the consequences of their threatened actions would be very far-reaching.
Firstly, I let them know that they were not going to kill anybody on the reserve while I was in charge. Secondly, I reminded them that the shareholders had known this man for many years; he had watched their children grow up, and, I said, if you murder him, the shareholders would live in fear of you, and so, would not use your services.
Mhudi Page 36