Saved From the Charge of a Black Rhino

Saved From the Charge of a Black Rhino

Many years ago, accompanied by a friend I visited the Ndumo Game Reserve in North-East Zululand to study the magnificent birdlife, and also look for ubejane, the irritable and dangerous black rhinoceros as well as the beautiful nyala antelope. Peter Jacobs and I spent a day on foot with a knowledgeable Zulu guide I recall as Sipho... and found our rhino.

 

The Magnificent Black Rhino

While on the hike, we entered a vast plain of short dry grass, with a little scattered scrub along the edges and a single, stately acacia tortilis (umbrella thorn) tree standing in lonely isolation in the midst. The three members of our party hesitated at the edge of the grassy plain, and then made a way forward in single file towards the lone tree. The broad expanse of short grass around it was devoid of other cover. When we were about half way across the open ground, walking towards the tree, Sipho called to us:

"Stop!" he whispered, jerking his hand up in a sharp, urgent jab.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Thula. Don't talk," whispered Sipho. "uBhejane. Black rhino." He gestured with two fingers for us to look beyond the tree.

From a small patch of thorn scrub on the other side of the plain a heavy, dark grey bulk had appeared, ambling towards the thorn tree to which we were headed. The beast hadn't seen us, but it had its head up testing the breeze for scent. One could see the sharp prehensile upper lip that identified the creature as a browser. It was a hundred metres from the tree. We were thirty metres short. We stood and waited for a few seconds, but the rhino came on steadily, testing the air. He looked huge.

"What must we do?" Peter mused. "Should we go towards the tree?”

 "Yes. Run to the tree,” said Sipho, using a mixture of Zulu and broken English. “Don’t go back. No cover. It's a black rhino. It is the grumpy vicious one. It can move very fast." Then he added encouragingly. “He will kill you if he catches you.”

Looking behind us for shelter and realizing how vulnerable we were, we didn't wait for further advice. We made a rush for the thorn tree, towards the rhino that had slowed to halt on the other side. It was now about sixty metres away from the tree. Sensing the movement and now having our scent from a shift in the wind, the massive beast raised its tail and began to trot and then gallop towards us, with a heavy, lurching action that showed its enormous power and weight. It snorted and belched and farted as it came.

We sprinted. Husain Bolt would have been proud of us. Gasping from the exertion and sweating profusely, we gained the shelter of the tree, and the rhinoceros drew up some lengths short, testing the wind again and making thrusting motions with its horn.

Peter and I scrambled up the single trunk onto the three thick branches closest to the ground, and then went higher to where the long white thorns penetrated our shirts and furrowed our shoulders and necks in the canopy. Sipho climbed quite calmly onto a lower limb and stood there about two metres from the ground. He declined to join us higher up.

 We tried vainly to seat ourselves in more comfort about three metres off the ground , making the quite thin branches we were seated on sway wildly and threatening to tear the base from the trunk with our combined weight. Inquisitive now, the rhino lumbered up to within a short distance of the tree and then walked forward to stand in its sparse shade, swinging its head from side to side.

 

It rubbed its hide briefly against a part of the tree trunk where constant use as a rubbing post had worn the bark red and raw. It was clearly agitated by our intrusion, but its weak eyes couldn’t make out our whereabouts. We looked down and saw the bloated purple ticks that troubled the rhino's hide. The muscles bunched over the neck and shoulders were massive. It impressed us as an enormous, powerful and strangely beautiful creature.

“How can anyone want to kill these remarkable things?” I wondered.

 

We were silent at first, and then Peter started to giggle at our plight. His mirth was soon amplified by my own. The tree swayed wildly as we choked back our laughter, disturbing the rhino and sending it off. It wheeled away from the tree and ran a few paces with its tail up, droppings emerging from its rear like little bombs as it went.  Eventually we dared to climb to the ground, while the rhino stood watching the tree from the length of a football field away, for a quarter of an hour.

 
"We call him ‘ubejane', the vicious one," said Siyabonga once more, thus assuring a stay close to the tree. A movement from one of us was seen by the rhino. It swung back again to face directly towards us and advanced with purposeful steps, its weak eyes once more sensing movement. 

We went up the tree again, carefully avoiding the thorns higher up, and deciding how best to end the stand-off.  After some time the rhino lost interest, swung around and jogged away out of sight. We came down again, to sit on the ground and tend our scratches and punctures.

 
Now, fifty years after my first encounter with rhino, these magnificent beasts are threatened with extinction as many significant players look on helplessly or with disdain. Many who might help are consumed by their own problems, while voracious and brutal syndicates in Southern Africa and the Far East refine their tactics to generate wealth out of the distress of these great beasts.

Others simply look on with ignorance at what is happening, little concerned at the impoverishment of their own and other people’s children who in future might have to look at books or stale videos showing the animals.

A few committed and brave people are in the firing line, trying with limited resources to save the remaining rhinos. Armed guards, aerial surveillance, fences, dehorning or poisoning of horns, improved legal procedures will all help, but finally it is probably the education of consumer populations in the Far East that will bring an end to the slaughter.

Soon, unless more action is taken, we will have few of these great creatures left to remind us of their massive, dignified presence.