Child of Africa

by T. M. Clark

  He copied her and soon had the hair samples tucked away in his bag.

  ‘Syringe,’ she said. He passed it with the needle pointing away from her. She removed the covering from the needle with her teeth, then inserted the needle directly into a vein at the back of the rhino’s ear and drew out a sample of blood.

  ‘Amos,’ she said, and he moved close and held a cloth soaked in Betadine on the pinprick. Moving slightly away and taking the cover from her mouth, she sheathed the needle again and passed the sample to Assan.

  ‘Got it,’ he said, closing his left hand on the syringe, and holding out what looked like a couple of large pairs of scissors with his other hand. One was a clamp and the other razor-sharp surgical forceps.

  Assan held a picture in front of her and she followed the notching that they had chosen as the identification for the rhino bull.

  ‘Good boy, you are not bleeding too much,’ she said as she sprinkled Terramycin powder onto the wound, then sprayed it with gentian violet to seal the cuts as well as help them heal.

  ‘There you go; you’ll be purple and fashionable for a few days, but it’ll help keep infection out,’ she said as she passed the sample of the ear to Assan. She measured the horns, marked out where she would cut, making sure she left at least an eight-centimetre stub so as not to damage the rhino’s sinuses. She stood up and stretched her back. Amos removed the chainsaw from its case and handed it to her.

  ‘Everyone clear,’ Peta said, and once she had checked they were, she flicked the switch and the chainsaw roared into life, the sound totally alien in the African bush. Carefully she cut the biggest horn. ‘Water,’ she said when she was about halfway through, and Amos splashed water on the horn to keep it cool. She continued to cut.

  Once that was cleared, she began on the smaller horn.

  She hated the dehorning program and was convinced that a better anti-poaching control would stop the poaching of the rhino, but until someone came up with it, the Matusadona and Chizarira, like every other park in Zimbabwe, was dehorning almost all their rhino to try to stop the rate of decline as the poachers killed them and sold the horns to Vietnam and other Asian countries.

  One of the saddest parts of her job was attending rhino who had survived being shot by poachers. She often had to put them down after their faces had been viciously hacked apart, and their horns cut away too deeply for any hope of regrowth at all. At least this way there was less horn for them to poach, so there was less chance of the rhino being a target. That was the theory behind the dehorning program anyhow. She had her doubts and reservations; many of the people on the ground did, especially after one of their rhino had been poached within twenty-four hours of being dehorned.

  She cut through the last bit and it came free. She powered down the chainsaw and called to Amos, ‘Grab the horn.’ She patted the rhino again, and ran her hand along the edge of the stumps to check that there were no sharp bits. ‘Sorry, boy, I know they were magnificent, but that’s just what the poachers want.’

  Amos took the horns and wrote the rhino’s number on them with permanent marker, then put them in a bag. He used a cloth to dust the shavings from the blade of the chainsaw, which were put in their own bag, before he put the chainsaw back into its case. He also collected all the shavings from around the rhino, adding them to the bag before he sealed it. Amos placed each bag on the portable scale and weighed it. The larger horn weighed 605 grams and the smaller one 71 grams. The shavings were 47 grams. Amos wrote the weights onto the bags, along with the rhino’s number.

  Peta turned to Mitch. ‘Amos is holding about forty-five thousand dollars’ worth of horn. And it doesn’t do any of the things the Chinese herbalists claim it does; it’s just like my fingernails.’

  ‘Why would they kill this beautiful animal for that, when it regrows anyway? Why don’t they just dart and dehorn them? Let them regrow, like a renewable resource?’

  ‘Don’t even get me started on that,’ Peta said. She looked back at Assan. ‘You can administer the booster now.’ She watched closely as Assan gave the rhino a vitamin injection. She smiled as he finished and punched the air.

  ‘Don’t celebrate just yet; we still need to get him up and moving,’ she said. ‘Breathing?’ She looked at Amos, who checked the animal again.

  ‘Steady,’ Amos said.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ she asked as Assan passed her the syringe containing the antidote: naltrexone.

  Amos removed the cotton from the rhino’s ears and took the rope off its head and back legs. The rhino now only had the soft blanket over its eyes.

  Amos passed the chainsaw’s case to Assan. ‘Take this with you, in case I need to run.’

  ‘Assan, take the men to the bakkie and get it started,’ Peta instructed.

  The men disappeared into the bushes, only Amos and Peta remained. They heard the vehicle start and come closer. Only then did Peta administer the antidote. Then she and Amos ran for the bakkie. Mitch put his hand out to her, and she took it and climbed on the back. They watched as the mighty rhino flicked his head and the cloth fell to the ground, then he rose up, staggered once, and walked away in the opposite direction.

  One of the team laughed. ‘Not like the last one, who chased us. This one, he liked you from the moment he didn’t run away when we were upwind of him, getting into the right position. He liked your smell.’

  ‘How do you know it’s my scent he liked and not yours?’ she asked as Assan turned the bakkie away from the retreating rhino and made for headquarters.

  ‘Because I know this one. We call him Mumparie, because he is very-very naughty. He is the one who chased old Chifumba last year, when he had to climb a tree, and stamped on his bicycle.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before I got so close?’ Peta asked.

  ‘Because you always treat the animals here like they are family. Mumparie is the number one in this area.’

  Peta stared at where the rhino had disappeared. She couldn’t put men on every rhino like she wanted, but as long as Matusadona was inside the Intensive Protection Zone, they were safer than anywhere else, but it didn’t stop the pain in her chest at taking the horns from such a magnificent specimen, leaving him defenceless against attacks from lions and hyenas.

  She turned her head, then groaned as she rubbed her neck.

  ‘You need a massage,’ Amos said. ‘You should make that trip into Kariba you keep threatening, or perhaps you should spend more time at Joss’s place and see that new masseuse he hired at the lodge. I tell you, she has magic fingers.’

  ‘She does, does she?’ Peta asked, laughing. Then she frowned. ‘But you are right, I do and I should – maybe when I see Joss at the weekend.’

  ‘You like him, lots,’ Amos teased.

  ‘I do,’ she admitted.

  ‘You know, you should just move in there, stay with him,’ Mitch said. ‘He’s mad on you too. I’ve never seen him so much as look at another woman the way he focuses on you when you visit. And he leaves his lodge to visit you too; it’s not easy getting him to leave that place.’

  ‘He suggested that, but we thought we should give it more time. For now, it’s easier if we commute to each other. Other couples survive being apart during the week; I’m sure we can too. Besides it’s not only my job that requires me to be here in the rhino nursery, it’s Dad and Tsessebe too. That’s quite a crowd to take on, not just one old lady vet.’

  Amos smiled and said, ‘Old. Eish.’

  ‘Old? What? If you are old then I must be ancient.’ Mitch laughed. ‘And it’s not like he has no baggage either; he comes with a lodge and a heap of needy people he helps Bongani look after.’

  Peta smiled. ‘Okay point taken, from both of you. Assan, you can stop driving now.’

  Assan stopped the bakkie and bounced out of the driver’s seat. Peta and Amos climbed off the back and into the front. Mitch stayed in the back. Having him here for the rhino dehorning was great timing, and she was even contemplating having him do the shooti
ng of the rhino for her, instead of the photography, after he had proven just how good he was with his hunting rifle on the range.

  ‘Thanks, Assan,’ Peta said as she slammed her door. ‘Where’s the next one?’ she asked and Amos looked at the list.

  ‘It is the big male you introduced from South Africa. Ngozi.’

  ‘Bladdy hell,’ Peta said. ‘I don’t know who put a hot poker up head office’s butt. We’ve been telling them for years that we are losing our rhino, and now they give us a quota to dehorn. It’s madness.’

  ‘We have lost many guards along with the rhino,’ Amos said.

  ‘I know. The graveyard at Matusadona grows bigger all the time.’

  ‘I fear that the poachers will not care that there is only a little horn; they will kill the animal just so they do not have to track it again,’ Amos said.

  ‘I worry about that too,’ Peta said. ‘What direction are we heading in to find Ngozi?’

  Amos looked at the paperwork. ‘He was last seen on the banks of Kariba, so let’s head west.’

  Peta slowed, and stopped. ‘Drat. That means navigating the steps down. Any other rhino still in this area I can chase instead?’

  Amos shook his head. ‘No, Mumparie was the last one. The rest are all down in the valley, and their guards’ last contact with us was about three days ago.’

  ‘I wish they’d given us a helicopter to do this job; it would have gone much faster,’ Peta said. ‘I know I’m wishing on an empty well, but it’s hot, and those big warm winds are not helping.’

  Amos pointed. ‘Look.’

  There were black plumes of smoke coming from the direction of the main office and camp area.

  ‘Oh God,’ Peta said as she got on the radio. ‘Tsessebe, Tsessebe, come in. Are you guys alright?’

  No answer.

  ‘We have to help,’ she said. She ground the gears in her haste to get moving.

  Amos reached for the radio. ‘Tsessebe, Tsessebe, come in,’ he called.

  Still no answer.

  They raced as fast as they dared towards the smoke while Amos continued to try to hail Rodger and Tsessebe.

  They came into range and could hear the other units were all out fighting the blaze that had been started just outside the Matusadona, had quickly spread inwards and was now threatening the main camp, the rhino orphanage and the tourist accommodation.

  Peta tried to go faster. ‘I hope Dad listened to Tsessebe and left the fighting of the fire to the staff.’

  ‘Surely they won’t let him fight the fire in his condition?’ Mitch said.

  ‘I hope you’re right, Mitch.’

  ‘Mind the pothole on the left,’ Amos said.

  Peta steered right. ‘You are good for me, Amos. You know that?’

  He nodded. ‘Something is off about this fire.’

  ‘Look,’ Peta said. ‘It’s getting worse. Something is feeding it – look at that black pumping upwards. There’s accelerant in that smoke.’

  They came up out of the small depression they had been in and the radio was now busy with different guards talking about small fires that were starting to merge into a single front. Jeff was on the radio: ‘The original front itself looks like it’s still on track to hit the main camp. We have not been able to back burn. We’ve alerted the tourists and all staff to evacuate.’

  ‘My dad and Tsessebe?’

  ‘They said they were going to take the horses and the rhino babies and get to safety. They left a while ago.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Peta said. But she didn’t slow as she headed towards the main camp – directly for the fire front.

  The smoke on the wind now reached them and pieces of blackened material fell on the windscreen.

  ‘This is a bad one,’ Amos said.

  She could see that there was not one but two fire fronts, driven by the winds.

  ‘There’s still a gap,’ Peta said and adjusted to drive between the roaring columns of flames. ‘As long as Tsessebe and Dad got out okay, we’ll fight this thing and stop it getting further into the reserve.’

  But as she spoke she noticed another fire front to her right. The fire danced about the tree tops, swirling in turrets of orange and red as it caught whispy-whirls and touched down once more in front of the burning bush, igniting the tinder, then swirling again.

  ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Look.’ She stopped. The high winds were driving the fire, and the gap had closed.

  ‘We’re fucked,’ Mitch said. ‘We have fire on three sides.’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ she said. She had to think fast and move even quicker. No longer was her objective to try to get to the housing complex to help; now she had to save her men and herself. If she could get to a road where she could go faster, get out in front and around the side, or to a place where she knew the fire would pass over with the wind, where they could stop the small creeping fire that came after the inferno, they would be okay.

  She needed to head for the deepest ravine she knew: Picnic Pool, a rivulet not far from where they were. It had been a favourite picnic spot for their family when her mum was alive.

  ‘Hang on, everyone,’ she warned as she spun the wheel one hundred and eighty degrees and headed back the way they had come. They bounced along the track, past where they had so recently dehorned the magnificent rhino, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was nowhere in sight. He’d also run from the fire.

  She kept heading west. She gunned her engine, pushing it for everything it could give her, knowing that if she could just get them all down into the depression at Picnic Pool, and if there was water, they could hide as the firestorm blew over, and would be protected from the hottest part of the fire – if there was water there. If not, they would have to hide under the bakkie and get out quickly after the fire passed to extinguish any flames it had ignited in the vehicle. The tarps – they could soak them and use them as a giant fire blanket.

  She began the steep descent into the ravine, ensuring she took it slowly despite the urgency, because she didn’t want to roll her vehicle. When she stopped near the pool, she explained her plan to the team and they all rushed to wet the tarps. All the time they could hear the crackle of the fire as it grew closer.

  The pool was not big enough for all of them and a fat hippo that had claimed it this season. But he seemed to recognise the urgency with which the humans were working, and he didn’t begrudge them wetting the tarp and filling canisters. Despite showing them his huge yellowed teeth, he didn’t attempt to exert his authority over his territory. Peta worried that if they attempted to hide in the water he might attack them.

  They threw the wet tarps over the bakkie and slid underneath just as the first large sparks began raining down on them.

  The roar of the fire as it danced over the ravine, skipping as if the gaping hole in the underbrush didn’t exist, sounded like a freight train. They could feel the heat even under the bakkie and the tarps. Peta put her arms over her head as she lay on her stomach, sandwiched between Amos and Mitch.

  As it quietened, Mitch peeked out. ‘It’s jumped us. It’s gone right over. Look,’ he said as he pushed the tarp up and pulled himself out.

  Sure enough, the fire had skipped them, and the fat hippo now showed his teeth to challenge something else: a wave of small animals that had bounded into the ravine in front of the flames.

  ‘Don’t relax just yet. The fire is still coming – this time it’s at ground height. We need to get up that side and stop it. Tear the tarp and use it as a beater.’

  She used a scalpel from her bag to help cut the tarp. The men took a few pieces each. They wet them again before going up the ravine. They only made it about halfway before the flames crept over the edge, and they began fighting the fire in earnest, beating the front line with their pieces of tarp. Peta also cut smaller pieces to put over their mouths to help with the smoke inhalation. She pressed hers to her mouth and ran to help.

  They stopped the fire just as it reached the plateau at the bottom,
but they could see that the rest of the front had burnt around them, and was now over the edge on the far side and moving away from them. Many of the smaller animals had stopped running, realising they were safe, but were still on the other side of the water, watching the humans with great caution.

  ‘We did it,’ Amos said and Peta hugged him, jumping up and down.

  ‘We did it!’ Mitch said too, joining in their excited embrace.

  ‘You are one badass vet,’ Assan said, putting out his hand to shake hers. ‘If anyone asks me what I learnt during my time with you, I will tell them it is that you never give up. I thought that fire had us.’

  ‘Believe me, Assan, today we were lucky; it could have been so much worse. Someone was smiling down on us. Come on, let’s see if we can get back to camp and see what damage it did there.’

  They drove over blackened ground that crunched beneath the tyres, and stopped whenever they saw a fallen animal to make sure it was dead. For those that weren’t, Peta would tell the boys to put them in the bakkie with them, and use the pieces of tarp to bind their legs so that she could treat their burns when she got back to camp. Mitch helped her euthanise those that were too badly burnt.

  She drove on. Already they had enough small buck, tortoises and other animals, including a small genet cat, on the back for one to be sitting on each of the boys’ laps, with more by their feet.

  As she neared the outskirts of the entrance to the camp, she saw Nguni, her sister’s bakkie. It appeared to be stuck against the upright of the gate and it was burnt out, still smoking.

  ‘No ... No ... No ...’ she whispered as she drove towards it.

  Peta stopped with a jolt. Nguni’s windows and headlights were blown out from the intense heat. She ran the short distance to it.

  ‘Dad! Tsessebe!’

  Mitch got out as fast as she had and tried to stop her getting too close to the hot metal. ‘Wait, vehicles can still be hot up to half an hour after being burnt out.’

  ‘Dad! Tsessebe!’ Peta called, but she had stopped, Mitch holding her.