The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (the ebook reader txt) 📕

quickly, perhaps even while trying to take off. It was the same with the other one, which had managed to get a little further away. After a thorough search of the immediate area we found four in all.

The wildebeest carcass must have been loaded with toxin to cause death that quickly. Any smaller a dose and the bodies would be dropping miles away and the poachers would never find them.

We walked back and stood leaning against the Landy’s hood, surveying the carnage. The rangers also remarked that the wildebeest’s tail had been sliced off.

‘They have died strangely. There is witchcraft here,’ Ngwenya said ominously.

A wildebeest’s tail is much prized by sangomas who use it as the Zulu equivalent of a magic wand. Ngwenya was correct in believing witchcraft was behind this killing, but for the wrong reason.

‘Yes, there is witchcraft here,’ I said, confirming his suspicion, ‘although not in the way you think.’

I then told them the story of dreams and vulture brains, of the sangomas and the Lotto, and waited for their reaction.

Bheki was first to respond. ‘I have heard of this. Far away up in the north near Mozambique, but never here.’ He shook his head. ‘We do not do this.’

‘But it is with us now,’ said Ngwenya. ‘These people do not think. If the vultures die, who is going to clean up all the dead animals in the bush? Disease will come from the rotting meat left behind. It will be bad.’

Ngwenya looked around. I could sense with all the talk of disease what he was thinking. ‘The poison is still here, we must burn everything – the wildebeest, the dead birds, everything, or more will die,’ he said, pointing at the vultures circling above. ‘And tonight the hyenas and jackals who think they have a feast will also die. We must do it now or …’

‘No. Not yet,’ interrupted Bheki. ‘The thieves can see the birds above us from faraway and they’ll come back to check for more. Let us rather hide now and we will catch them later today.’

‘Good idea,’ I agreed. ‘I have also heard that these vulture poachers act as impimpi – informers – for other poachers. If we don’t catch them this time, the elephants and rhino will be in serious danger as well.’

I looked at my watch; it was already early afternoon, and there was always something else that needed tending to on the reserve.

‘I have to go now, but radio me so I know what is goingon. But whatever happens, do not let any more birds – or anything – eat the meat.’

‘Of course, Mkhulu. We will find you here later.’

A couple of hours afterwards I was driving along looking out for either Mnumzane or the herd when a gunshot barked a couple of miles away. I braked hard … then the calm voice of Ngwenya staccatoed over the radio.

‘Mkhulu, Mkhulu, come in, Mkhulu.’

‘Standing by.’

‘We have them,’ Ngwenya said, jubilation incongruously creeping into his usual phlegmatic voice. ‘Two of them.’

‘Already! Well done. OK, stay right there – I’m on my way.’

As I passed the housing quarters an idea came to me. Perhaps we could play the sangomas at their own game …

I drove to the storeroom next to the garage and selected several items, placed them in two large hessian bags and loaded everything on the back of the Land Rover. Then I went into the kitchen and took three packs of beef ribs out of the fridge, wrapped them up and shoved them under the driver’s seat where Max couldn’t get at them.

Then I radioed two other Zulu rangers, one a middle-aged man whose impressive gravitas would ideally serve my purpose, told them to change into civilian clothes and where to meet me.

Finally I called Ngwenya and asked if he had quizzed the poachers about the poisoned carcasses.

‘Negative,’ came the reply.

‘Good,’ I said relieved. ‘Don’t say anything about the vultures or the poison. Just pretend you’re arresting them for killing a wildebeest. I’ll explain when I arrive.’

I picked up the two other rangers and on the way we stopped at the lodge where I raided the curio store.

As we drove to where Bheki and Ngwenya were waiting, I explained to the two rangers what had happened and whatI wanted them to do. I then showed them what was in the bags. The older man stared and started laughing; he grasped the plan instantly.

‘How is your hyena call?’ I asked the younger ranger.

‘At school I was the best,’ he said modestly.

Imitating animal sounds with uncanny accuracy is a skill many rural Zulu youngsters acquire and tonight we would put it to good use. A hyena, some believe, has supernatural characteristics. When you observe these magnificent creatures up close, their loose-limbed canter and eerie nocturnal howl, you can see why this myth continues.

Zulus are natural actors who enjoy a show and this was going to be fun for them. But it was also serious and their acting had to be both simple and convincing. I left them under a tree to discuss their drama tactics and drove on to join Ngwenya and Bheki.

The two culprits were squatting on their haunches, hands cuffed behind their backs while Bheki and Ngwenya sat around the carcass, their presence deterring the gathering flock of vultures from descending on the poisoned meat. The surrounding trees were now heavy with their presence.

The poachers were in their early twenties and both adopted the air of feigned apathy and despondency that I have seen in every poacher we have ever caught. Given half a chance, though, they would be gone like rabbits and if they still had their guns they would be shooting. In fact, where were their guns, I wondered? I didn’t see any.

Ngwenya greeted me and I gave them some water. It had been a hot thirsty day keeping vigil.

‘Yehbo, Mkhulu,’ he said before taking a long draught from the canteen. ‘It was easy. They walked up and sat down and we came from behind. I fired