TSHU – THE WHITE RHINO

Orphan

As I write, Lucy and I find ourselves in the midst of an ongoing nightmare. A heavy sadness, the kind that one only hears about in stories, is ours. The worst part is that it doesn’t go away, not even for a minute, once we wake up in the morning.

It all began five years ago when we purchased a farm on the catchment of the Bitou River, near Plettenberg Bay. The beauty, topography and large tracts of indigenous Tsitsikamma Forest make it an ideal habitat for game; bud decades of human intervention have left little of what was once a valley teaming with many species of flora and fauna. Huge herds of buffalo and elephant once migrated along this temperate paradise coastline, but now, only the toughest and most cunning of animals, the bushbuck, the bush pig and the odd leopard, remain hidden in the remote forest vegetation.

Having left Nyati Pools, our previous Bushveld Game Farm near the Kruger National Park, and a life of wall-to-wall nature and animals, it was not too long before we decided to convert the new Cape farm into a Wildlife Refuge and Game Farm. A completely crazy idea, really, as this has never been attempted before in this area, but with the tremendous successes of game farming in the Eastern Cape, why not here in Plett? Tackling this major project – the land development, the building, getting the Lodge up and running, transporting the Game, helping the animals to adapt to their new surroundings, the triumphs, the failures – has mostly been a laugh a minute, and a story all on its own.

To obtain the game we required, we obviously used our contacts up north to help us select, buy, capture, and transport our animals safely. This was done with the minimum amount of stress possible, for the animals, that is. Bear in mind that before game is offloaded and re-released into strange and foreign surroundings, they have to endure a 1,800-kilometer journey, which takes about 24 hours.

One can only imagine the horror of a big whirly-bird chopper herding you into a funnel of canvass, then up a ramp into a huge, dark, smelly, diesel truck, with unfamiliar humans shouting “Vula! … Vala!” Once inside this dark arc, with all the quivering bodies crammed together, all you can hear is a rumble and rattle taking you to God knows where … it must be terrifying. During any decent transport operation, most animals are administered tranquilizers. If the right professional capture team is used, the well being of the animals is paramount.

One of the most well-respected and experienced team up north was lead by a professional called Thys Maritz. He had done some work for us previously and, knowing him quite well over the years, he was our natural choice for the job. Thys has a great love for the animals and his work with them is done swiftly and with real compassion. With years of experience in darting and the use of immobilizing drugs, we had never heard of an incident where the well being of his charges was compromised. He was always up front, in the thick of it, so needless to say, injuries in that type of occupation goes with the territory. This was so much so, that the oke’s body was chequered with scars from skin wounds, and not to mention the few broken bones he had suffered from various gatvol animals.

In November 2001, Thys arrived with his specially kitted-out truck delivering three giraffe, five zebra and a small herd of kudu. During the long, hot afternoon, the animals were released safely. Afterwards, we had a much-needed dop to settle the angst that always accompanies the offloading of such precious cargo. Thys told us about the massive and worsening poaching problem in some of the small provincial reserves boarding the Kruger Park. The reserves in the cash-strapped Limpopo Province were totally understaffed and consequently under siege from poachers. Many white rhino were victims of their indiscriminate snaring methods. Thys had been Limpopo Province’s animal capture man for many years and had tried to rescue several rhinos but, sadly, many had succumbed to their injuries.

He went on to say that they had recently rescued a rhino cow whose throat had been severely injured by a snare. To make matters worse, she had a tiny four-month-old calf. The rhinos were in Thys’ bomas for treatment for their injuries and his team was frantically trying to save both animals. The mother was battling for her life and as a consequence the calf was badly undernourished and in a very poor state.

Knowing we had many years of experience in wildlife foster-care, Thys asked, “If we lose the cow, would you and Lucy tackle rearing the calf? We just do not have the time and care you chaps can give her.”
“Sure thing,” we said with one voice. We could think of nothing more exciting than to have the privilege of getting to know, rear and rehab one of Africa’s most treasured beasts. It had always been a distant dream of ours.
“What about the authorities?” I asked, aware of permits required because of the necessary strict protocols regarding the movement of any endangered species.
“No problem,” Thys said, “I will organize all that with Nature Conservation. In the meantime, I’ll let you guys know if the worst happens and the cow doesn’t make it.”

December brought sad news. The rhino cow had died from her wounds, leaving the baby an orphan. Were we still interested in foster-parenting her?
Absolutely!

Thys explained that it would be a while yet until the calf could travel, but in the meantime we should prepare a camp with a stable, close to our hose, for her. Baby rhino, despite their ruddy appearance, are very delicate and are susceptible to all kinds of stress-related illnesses. They spend a lot of time close to their mothers and are only weaned after about 18 months. Consequently, caring for them is an almost 24 hours-a-day mission. Just like human babies.

The next few weeks saw us frantically constructing the required building and enclosure. Even at this young age, she already weighed about 300 kg, so all the structures and fences had to be very robust. We also had to protect her enclosure from the White Rhinos we had introduced to Buffalo Hills the previous year. Although these gentle giants are usually very docile, who knew what they would make of our new addition to the family. In many of the larger African mammal species there can be some antagonism between the adults who are already in a territory, and any ‘foreign’ youngster that arrives unexpectedly. Rhinos are no exception.
If there was any kind of hanna-hanna with the baby rhino (and it was not a question of if, but when) what could anyone do against a Heavy Brigade like that? There could be a regretful incident, and there was no way we were taking any chances. Our house was a favourite place for many of our adopted wild-kids. The eland, buffalo, as well as the rhinos, all made the odd draai past the house in the hopes of a handout of pellets. Their visits helped us keep an eye on the animals’ condition in their new environment. Therefore, we electrified the perimeter fence to discourage any lose-encounter visits from inquisitive animals, and we installed a live wire along the inside of the camp to teach her to respect the fences too!

Construction aside, we spent time enquiring about any special milk supplements and medicines she would need, and I laid in supplies. Not every supermarket stocks rhino baby-food!

The paperwork was approved, and although we were all prepared I must admit to being a little nervous for her arrival.

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vula – vala open – close
gatvol have had enough! Guts full
dop alcoholic drink
bomas outdoor fenced area for caring for sick, injured or quarantined animals
hanna-hanna excitement, interference, threat
draai turn

Adoption

Early one morning in February 2002 a truck bringing the calf to her new home at Buffalo Hills came rumbling down the hill. Although she was well tranquilized when offloaded, she indicated in no uncertain terms that she was most unimpressed and proceeded to charge anything that moved, sending all and sundry scrambling for safety. We gave her space, and peace and quiet. Even at that age she could do a man serious damage.

Later that afternoon, I cautiously entered her camp at grub time. Speaking softly, I walked through the gate clutching the feed-bin. This triggered an immediate charge – she came steaming full bore – with a very quavering voice, I had to stand my ground if for no other reason than to show I was not scared. Inwardly, I was totally terrified, my system screaming to me to skraap post haste. Right at the bin, only inches from me, she suddenly, thankfully, hit the brakes. Then she gave the most heart-rending bellow of despair, as if to say, “What have you done to me now? Leave me alone!” She turned and went to sulk in the far corner of her paddock, a lost and abandoned soul.

With relief, shock and heart sore feelings all mashed together, I left her food for her and retreated crestfallen. Her mother had been unable to feed her after her severe injuries, and the calf had refused a bottle since her capture. Thys had used much cajoling, and had tapped into her hungry despair to get her to eat a mixture of chopped up Lucerne with a powdered milk supplement sprinkled over it. When all was quiet, she sidled up to the bin and ate.

It was going to take a good while for her to accept us, and we decided not to enter her domain again, too soon. We would feed her over the railings. It was critical that over the next couple of weeks she should settle down, and then would hopefully accept us in her own time. In the meantime, as this business of rearing a rhino was a first time experience for us, we were continually on the phone asking for advice. We regularly called a friend at the animal rescue centre, WildCare, in Pretoria, who was real fundi with baby rhino.

As the days drifted by and we slowly got to know each other, she would coyly approach at grub time. With the whites in her eyes showing, she’d give a quick sniff of my hand and then retreat to a comfortable distance. Thankfully, she was now using her cosy stable lined with fresh straw. While she was feeding, I would sneak in, chatting to her all the time, and muck out her stable. Fortunately for me, rhinos wave middens and all the grass cakes were in one spot. As it grew dark she would settle in her hokkie, and on our regular checks through the night she would acknowledge our presence with a quiet “hoe-choo.” This was a sound not unlike a donkey, but gentler. Naming her was easy; we called her Tshu, short for Tshukudu, which means rhino in a number of vernacular African languages.

As the trust between us flourished, Tshu would sidle up at feeding time, literally inspecting every inch of me and lifting her chin for a little scratch. I was now allowed into her realm, and she would stand by, observing my every movement as I cleaned up her new home. Lucy, however was still fretting that I would get flattened. She went through major angst and was always close at hand, continually checking to see if we were both in one piece!

Then the inevitable happened. One night our adult rhinos came to inspect the goings-on. Tshu, hearing them on the other side of the fence, ran up to investigate and discovered that there was more of her kind in the neighborhood. There was much “hoe-choe-choeing” between them, which had us out of bed in a flash. Dwarfed by the two giants towering well above the paddock fence, was tiny Tshu in a quandary. All we could do was call her from the opposite side of the enclosure. After much deliberation, punctuated by squeaks, she turned tail and came running to us. A real case of ‘better the devil you know,’ I guess, but a victory nonetheless. The adults seemed to accept the odd situation, after a while, much to our relief, moseyed off into the darkness. It took a good while, some TLC, and some of her favorite pellets, Tshu to settle down.

In the months to come our Heavy Brigade, as we called them, developed a strong bond with Tshu, and would visit on a regular basis. They even slept next to her stable on many nights, which made feeding her then somewhat hairy. Strangely enough, the rest of the crew – the buffaloes and eland – accepted the situation after one visit. She had integrated into being just another member of the Buffalo Hills family whose lives, unlike ours, had not really changed.

The level of Bush intelligence, and the animals’ ability to adapt, never ceases to amaze us.
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skraap disappear
fundi expert
middens a specific area where an animal regularly deposits its dung, to mark its territorial boundaries
hokkie mall enclosure: her little home

Getting to know you

With Tshu’s first month behind us and life on an even keel, our bond with her continued to strengthen. One bright morning Tshu suddenly approached as I entered. I could feel, rather than see that something had changed in her attitude towards me. Was it in her step or just her general body language? I’m still not sure, but the rules had changed. She came right up to me and rubbed her side against my thigh, at the same time greeting me, not with the usual “Hoe-choe,” but with a squeak very similar to that of a whale.

As I put my hand on her back a weird, almost indescribable, static sensation ran right through me. I am positive Tshu felt it as well. At that instant all barriers seemed to fall away. We had found each other. From that moment we became big magabbas. I had stolen her heart and she hijacked mine.

A good mud bath and scratch is a ritual close to heaven for a rhino, so to celebrate this occasion she wandered over to her wallow and waited for me. I went into the mud for the first time since her arrival, and she allowed me to give her a good scrub. This was the beginning of a very serious love affair that would take us through many months of joy and heartache.

This newfound love and security altered the goal posts somewhat. My business was Tshu’s business. My comings and goings were monitored and commented on with all sorts of rhino language. Stupid it may be, but the famous song, ‘Getting to Know You,’ from the movie, ‘The King and I,’ flashed through my mind. My days were no longer my own. Tshu knew my daily routine and if I had to return to the house at an unusual time, to attend to some errand, I would have to do it incognito. Rhino have very poor eyesight but his is more than compensated for by their acute sense of smell and hearing. My voice, smell, or a whiff of my cigarette smoke would give me away, and I’d have to go and say ‘hello’. My diesel bakkie would always put her on the alert that I was in the area. But there was a strange twist to this. Some days I would set off through the back door, which was out of her range of hearing or smell, and I would walk down the hill to go fishing for the day. If Lucy used my bakkie during this time, Tshu would somehow know that I wasn’t driving it and she would not go through her usual rush-and-greet ceremony.

She developed a favorite daily ritual. Just before lunch, weather permitting; she would have her mud wallow. We would go to the pan, where Tshu would wait for me to get the mud mooi reg, smooth and sticky, by treading it with my bare feet, just like grapes are squashed. She would then sak down her haunches into the mud, and roll over onto her back exposing her massive belly. I would be obliged to rub her stomach with the sloppy clay. Such bliss for her! Sometimes she would kry so lekker she would even fall asleep!

A complete scrub-down followed the tummy wash, for which she would have to wake and stand up. The most amusing part was when it came to scrubbing in between her hind legs. She would lift one of her massive back limbs and stretch it out to make access easier for me. At the end of this ritual, it was difficult to tell which one of us had had the mud bath!

The next activity was scarier – play time! Her full-speed charges straight at me were a lot more hairy than the similar, but small-sized versions, we had experienced with Snudge. I had to trust that the forward rush would be broken by a handbrake turn at the last second. Then she would stomp off, all at an awesome, ground-shaking pace. These wild games were punctuated by abrupt stops for time-out and intensive rubs from me.

When she eventually tired of playing with me she would mock attack her favorite tree-stump that we had sawn off and set up as a toy in her camp. She regarded this as both a security blanket and punch-bag. Rather the stump than me! Come-snooze-time, I would leave, and she would snuggle up in the sun to pass away the hours until my return in the late afternoon.

I encouraged her to follow me as I walked around her camp, which proved to be no problem. Everywhere I went was good enough for her.

The next big step and test was to walk outside her enclosure. What would she do? Once out, would she return? What would we do if things went haywire? Lucy and I had some serious debates on these issues, but in the end, in Tshu’s interest, we just had to pluck up the courage and go for it.

We figured that the best time to do it would be before Wallow & Lunch, as she would be eager to return for her midday pleasures. At midmorning the next day, I collected my swart pyp walking stick, which was a length of 50 mm black irrigation pipe. This was not much use against anything that was determined to attack, but one can make horrifying noises blowing down it. And, if forced to use it as a fairly stiff whip, it made a helluva loud ‘whack!’ without doing any real damage. I also took a two-way radio, just in case Lucy had to come to the rescue.

Tshu and I set off across her camp to the gate. Being so close to the fence was quite a scary adventure for her, as a week previously, she had discovered that the fence could bite. She had touched the energized safety-wire on her side of the enclosure and the shock had brought about great consternation. Tshu, being a Drama Queen, had learned early on that snot en trane would get our instant attention. She made a huge song and dance of the fence-bite, and we lavished sympathy on her to ease the pain of the experience. But the conditioning was in place. The fences ere out of bounds! Encouraging her to risk crossing the no go zone was not an easy matter. Eventually after watching me walk in and out of the gate several times, she decided that she was safe as long as she was with me. With a great deal of “Hoeffie-poeffing” she finally slipped through.

We did not venture far and kept the walk to the perimeter of the homestead. All was well and fine, until it came to going back. Just a few meters away from the gate one of the Heavy Brigade had left a calling card – a great big grass-cake turd – that was a beacon of their territory boundaries. Absolutely enthralled by this business card, Tshu spent the next half hour deciphering its hidden messages, and then obviously having gleaned from it was she wanted, she started eating the darn thing. Many mammal young do this – usually eating the dung of a close family member. This provides them with essential bacteria for their own digestion. As it was a natural part of her maturation, nothing I could do would budge her. I tried pushing her … what hope did I have? She just shoved me out of the way. This was her business and she did not need my interference at all. The only solution was to wait, which I did. But the morning was passing and I had other commitments.

Lucy arrived and after a quick consultation we had a brainwave. I slunk off through Tshu’s gate and disappeared from her view. Lucy came round the back of the little Rhino with a bin full of stones and gave the bin a mighty shake. The noise galvanized Tshu: she never even looked for the Bogie Man, but with great urgency shot through the gate into the safety of her hokkie and to me.

This method of revving Tshu into action worked for a long while. Whenever she became stubbornly way laid, a well aimed stone into a nearby bush, coupled with an imitation of an animal alarm-call would have her right next to me in a flash. We had many belly laughs at her expense, because she was so priceless! She over-reacted every time, and treated us to such desperate and urgent expressions of her little rhino face. She hoeffed and choeffed and the whites of her eyes showed as she thundered towards us at full steam. Despite her rapidly increasing, giant size she was completely spooked – by nothing more than a small stone in a bush!
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magabbas great friends
mooi reg just right
sak sink, lower
kry so lekker feel so good
swart pyp black pipe
snot en trane sadness and tears – literally runny nose and tears!
Revving stirring up; frightening

I’m alright Jack

Winter arrived unusually early that May. A sudden freezing cold front came sweeping in unexpectedly. Temperatures plummeted, sleet, rain, and wind battered us. Tshu was our first concern as she was not accustomed to such harsh conditions. Rhinos, despite being huge, tough beasts, which you think are almost indestructible, are in fact very sensitive to extreme temperature changes. We feverishly toughened up her hokkie by providing more protection from the cold and plenty more bedding. We also rigged up a bank of infrared lights, which she took to instantly. The wind howled with sheets of rain in a style typical of the Cape of Storms. Fortunately, Tshu was as snug as a bug in her hokkie.

Our need for concern was by no means a neurotic over reaction. Inexplicably, Tshu suddenly came down with a scary bout of dysentery. This condition can swiftly dehydrate and kill the very young of any mammal. Lucy and I urgently hit the landlines to the best vets and rhino fundis we could think of. Between the friends at WildCare that had helped from the outset, Bert our vet, and Dr Peter Rogers from Hoedspruit, we managed to work out a successful treatment plan. They suggested that the first thing was to cut out any concentrates, such as her favorite horse-ration cubes. From then on it was a diet of electrolytes. This entailed making up a special muti of water containing salts, glucose and other necessary trace elements.

In the meantime, it was a real sukkel for us as we did everything we could to make her as comfy as possible. As you can imagine, there was runny-dung everywhere. If you think a human baby with diarrhea is a hassle, imagine five kilograms of it at a time! We also had to clean her ‘little’ rhino rump and legs, followed by traditional Vaseline treatment. Everything had to be done in the stubborn storm, which refused to abate.

The main problem was how to administer the muti. Prior to the dysentery, Lucy had noticed that Tshu would often nuzzle our hands, and she was sure that Tshu was looking for a bottle. She had rejected sucking from a teat in the early days with Thys and we had actually never tried.

We decided to give it a go once more: it would certainly make life easier to get the medicine into her. We made up the mixture and poured it into an empty 2-litre Coke container. I attached a teat left over from an eland we had hand-reared and offered it to Tshu. Well, I’ll be dammed! She took to it like someone who had been starved of her favorite food. Fantastic! We were elated. This sorted out that problem.

As soon as the first gale died down, an even worst front hit our shores. The 60-knot wind smashed everything in its path. Trees were uprooted and our neighbor’s roof was ripped off and flung into nearby Pines. The wind was so strong that the sinkplaat lodged in the branches, and, held there by the force of the gale, didn’t fall to the ground until the storm had abated.

Our greatest fear was a power failure, a common occurrence in many rural areas. Sure enough, with the wild wind and freezing rain, in the middle of the night, the area was thrown into total darkness. We were already doing shifts, checking and comforting Tshu every three hours. Now this! Lucy woke me from a troubled sleep to tell me what had happened. She was worried that the extreme cold could aggravate Tshu’s dysentery and the consequences were too much to bear. We had to act fast and decided to dig out the portable generator we had used when we had first arrived on the power-free, waterless farm.

Protected by oilskins, we drove down to the shed to hoick out the generator. It normally takes two people to lift the thing, but such was my urgency that in one movement it was loaded. We rigged it to Tshu’s lights, said a silent prayer as it had been a while since we had last used it, and pulled the generator starter-cord. It fired once. I pulled again, and with a cloud of smoke the old engine sprang to life. Bakgat! Hooray! Soon, we had Tshu all warm again. However, it needed to be topped up every two hours. If we weren’t feeding the generator then we were feeding Tshu right through the night and the best part of the following day!

Everything was damp and cold, or just plain wet. We were exhausted, pap, finished. Meanwhile, Tshu, oblivious to the trauma, lay sheltered and cozy, vas aan die slaap – and with the only lights burning in the whole valley, nogal.
The inclement weather stayed with us during the next week and we were dogged by further power cuts. Fortunately, we had started treating Tshu’s bug at an early stage and her condition improved. But it was three weeks before she returned to her happy self, and for the grass cakes to thankfully return to normal consistency.

As winter settled into a patterns of steady cold and wet, our confidence as adoptive rhino-parents grew. We felt we had weathered the storms of her babyhood and the reward was in the look in her eye that said, “I’m alright, Jack!”
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muti medicine
sukkel struggle
sinkplaat corrugated iron sheeting used for roofs
Bakgat Good! Great!
Pap weak
Van aan die slaap fast asleep
Nogal to top it all!

Newspaper headlines

The news hit us like a bomb. Front page of the Sunday Times. A large photograph of Thys Maritz, with the headline ‘Huge Poaching Syndicate Scandal’.

There was alleged skullduggery involving illegal game dealing, especially of white rhino, from the Limpopo Province’s Reserves. Thys was implicated. Our reaction was similar to that of many South Africans when Hansie Cronje was involved in the international cricket betting and bribery scandal; we simply could not believe it of Thys. But then another thought entered our heads, “Could this possible involve our Tshu?” Our first call was to Thys. Another blow! The impact of the accusations had hit him hard and he was simply not available to anyone. Not even to us.

Three long weeks later we finally had a chat with Thys. Things looked glum. He had been charged and was awaiting his hearing in Hoedspruit. He went on to say that the cops would no doubt get in touch with us regarding Tshu, as they were following up on all his rhino dealings. “But not to worry Jack, just tell it like it is, just tell them the truth. Limpopo Nature Conservation knows the score.”

With heavy hearts we tried to come to grip with all the possibilities. Sure enough, a few days later a person from the Crime Squad branch in George, plus a Nature Conservation official visited us. We gladly showed them around and, most importantly, showed off the rhino. Tshu, as usual, came running up to greet us. We told them her full story; they checked our permits, took some photos and departed.

A week later they returned and I was asked to make a sworn statement, which I did. Most concerned, I asked what would become of Tshu.

“I’m not sure,” I was told, “we have to wait for the outcome of the court case. But in the meantime you just carry on caring for the renostertjie!”

We contacted Thys’ legal team. They assured us that Tshu was not at risk. We were told to send them our statement and to list any costs we had incurred caring for her. At worst, we might have to buy Tshu ‘back.’ We sighed with relief – another storm had passed and we could settle down and get on with our business of raising our rhino.
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renostertjie young, small rhino

Rhino Chase Dog

Tshu was now an absolute pleasure, a true gentle giant. She had mad tjommies with our staffy, Kubu and Labrador, Mukiwe, who were both well used to all types of wild orphans around the place. And she had also befriended a tame, six-month-old female bush pig, Isabella, who we had taken over from another farm. Tshu was naturally treated with great respect – one wrong move could render any of them quite plat.

A full one-hour bush walk was the order of each day for these animals. On my early morning rounds, I would first recce where the Heavy Brigade and the buffalo were hanging out. It just wouldn’t be so clever to bump into them with my entourage. Once that was established, I would choose a route. At 11:30 sharp (I’d have a mutiny to deal with if I was late), I would don my walking gear and collect my protection paraphernalia. This consisted of my swart pyp, a bag with a two-way radio, cell phone, and a foghorn – in case of an unpleasant, surprise meeting with the Heavies. Once Tshu and her tjommies were together, we all ambled off towards the river.

The animals were a laugh a minute. Tshu had the habit of inspecting and smelling everything, so she would lag behind, then on realizing she was missing something, would come steaming up beside me. The dogs, which were usually highly trained to ‘come to heel,’ would instantly abandon me and go skieting off to avoid her. If they weren’t fast enough, Tshu would nudge them with her horn and boy! Did they scarper off then! If Mukiwe the Labrador, became totally involved in a good smell, he would completely forget about Tshu. She would pad up silently, as rhinos do, and give him a sharp nudge with horn – right between the legs. Eina! Eina! With a whimper – really more from fright than pain – he’d be off, looking over his shoulder in disgust.

The real fun began when we hit the river. The dogs would leap into the stream and play with sticks. Tshu would savor the crystal clear water and on a warm day would roll in a patch of mud to make a wallow, and just have a ball. Then, the sports would commence, particularly a game called: ‘Rhino Chase Dog’. You need a lot of space for this game, so we would walk to the flood plain. Tshu would put on her bravest war dance, tossing her head, swaying on her feet, and would then mock charge one of the dogs. Of course they evaded her, but than would go into mad-dog frenzies, twisting and turning, all at full speed. We called this ‘wheelie-ing.’ Tshu would toss her head and with her familiar ‘ Hoeff-‘Choeffs,’ come hoeffing back to me. She seemed to say, “Hey! This is simply not cricket.”

Make no mistake; Tshu in full flight was an awesome thing. What amazed us was how agile rhino are, despite carrying that weight. They are so light-footed, they can turn on a tickie, and can brake form a full-tilt charge to a standstill, in an instant.

But Tshu was most impressive after a wallow. With mud all over her bulk, she would go into top-gear, charging across the plain, the dust and pieces of mud flying off, giving a dramatic sense of exaggerated speed. Just like the drawings in a comic book! After the plains game, I would find a shady spot and park-off with the dogs. This was Tshu’s graze-time, where she would amble around the veldt and sample all the good, tasty bits in her new, wider world.

When she had had enough of that, she would trot up to me with a real sense of purpose. With huge rubbery lips that Lucy likened to a pair of shucked perlemoen, she would grab my shirt, and try to lift me up. Invariably a few buttons popped off. It was as if she was saying, “Come on, home time!”

On two occasions, we nearly did bump into the Heavies. With a shout of alarm, I picked a direction and ran. The dogs immediately followed me. Each time Tshu realized that something had gone wrong and never even looked to see what it was. With eyes rolling and “hoe-choeing,” she came steaming on behind us. Once the danger was past, she turned around to challenge her enemy. She did her little war dance, as if to say, “OK! Now you come here and try something!” Then, turning to check me out, and finding me in stitches of laughter, did the whole number again. Priceless!

Tshu was only four months from being fully weaned and was becoming even more demanding. She had sussed out and conquered our little neck of the woods and she needed to wander further a field. How to achieve this, while ensuring everyone’s safety – but especially hers – was a deep concern. The three rhinos seemed to have a great rapport through the fence; the adults still spent many night sleeping under a nearby tree and they all marked each other’s middens. We felt it was time to introduce her to the Heavy Brigade.

The programme had to be put on hold when Tshu went down with another bout of the dysentery bug. This time, with the help of the vets, we had smears sent away for analysis. The results revealed that she had a bug linked to the stress she had suffered in her first few months of life. We were back onto the same regime as before but were now armed with a specific antibiotic for her illness.

At least this time the weather was kinder, and her happy spirit was not affected. Within three weeks she was back on her normal feeding pattern and enjoying Rhino Chase Dog again – a reassuring sign that her health had returned.
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tjommies friends
plat flat
skieting shooting off
scarper run away – actually informal English from the Italian scappare to escape
Eina! Eina! Ow! Ow!
Veld natural undeveloped area
Turn on a tickie an expression meaning doing a tight turn; tickie is a very small silver coin from the last century worth a few pennies, then.
Perlemoen abalone – a local shell fish

Bureaucratic midden

One Friday I had a call from Cape Nature Conservation. “How is the renostertjie?”
“Fine,” I said, “but still recovering from her dysentery.”
I put the phone down en wondered to myself what that was all about. Getting a call out of the blue after all these months? My gut feeling was that something was up. All our alarm signal started ringing. With intense apprehension, Lucy and I got onto the landline the sudden interest. One of our friends in Limpopo Province made a few discreet inquiries and called us back. What came next was the beginning of the nightmare.

“Jack! There’s a truck on its way, these blokes have a court order to take Tshu away! You had better get yourself organized if you want to stop this.”
Lucy and I were flabbergasted! Streams of questions raced through our minds and we found no logical explanations. It was the weekend – a long weekend nogal – as the following Tuesday was Heritage Day. Who could we call for help? We hit the telephones for two anxious, grueling days. Advocates, lawyers, officials in the cop force, contacts… you name them. Understandably, many people were out of town, and therefore unavailable.

Through our frantic calls we gleaned the information that Tshu was being removed to WildCare, the animal orphanage in Pretoria that had given us such unstinting support and advice throughout our rhino raising. Apparently Tshu was evidence in the ongoing case against Thys. We phoned our contact at WildCare. Yes, they knew about the intended abduction, in fact, one of their personnel was accompanying the truck!
“I’m terribly sorry, Jack, I know how you feel. But we can’t do anything; it’s a legal matter. Sorry.”
“Why can’t Tshu stay here?” I begged. “ You know yourself she’s safe here. Cared for. Loved. Furthermore, you were the ones who advised us that moving her at this stage in her development could have disastrous consequences. All the vets, and that includes the rhino fundi, Dr Rogers, say Tshu must not be moved in her present condition still recovering from dysentery! Please, you have the authority to halt this madness.”
“Sorry,” was the answer again. “No can do; but at least you know Tshu is coming to a place where she will be looked after properly.”
“Thanks for nothing,” was all I could mutter, utterly crestfallen. It is so hard to lose a loved one and this last ditch hope was slipping out of our hands.

The legal beagles advised that nothing could be done to ignore the court order, unless we got an interdict, which would set us back R70, 000. Great! Some suggested I just disappear into the bush with Tshu … a possibility, but then there would be all sorts of ugly repercussions.

I contacted the manager of our local Nature Conservation Office. In order to move a rhino from one province to another, an export permit must be issued. “Did you issue the permits for Tshu?” I asked. “No” he replied, “the permit was issued from Head Office in Cape Town.”

I phoned them. “How can you issue a permit to move Tshu, when you don’t even know if she’s fit to travel? In fact, you guys have never even seen her! Don’t we have any say, seeing we’ve been rearing for the last eight months? Surely you guys should check on her. She is, after all, an endangered species and a National Asset.”

“Oh,” he replied. “We rely on the integrity of our colleagues in Nature Conservation in Limpopo Province. We assume they know what they’re doing, so we just issue the permit! Sorry we can’t help you.”
“Or won’t,” I thought.

“Well, I never!” I moaned to Lucy, “and these chaps call themselves Conservationists! What a bunch of spineless bureaucrats! Just typical! Make no decision, so no one can be held responsible!”

We had reached a sad dead-end. Words cannot describe how bitterly broken Lucy and I felt. Our Tshu was being abducted and there was Sweet Fanny Adam we could do about it. Drained, frustrated and with heavy hearts we waited till the truck and the cavalry came clattering over the hill at eight on Heritage Day morning. For us, it was Black Tuesday.

We met Sarge ‘OB’ and his handlanger, a young lady inspector, who had the arrogance of a Puff Adder, but not the beauty. We called her Inspector Law, because she kept stating that she was a qualified lawyer. (I must say, I wouldn’t have minded putting a couple of rats in her bed, like the ones my housemaster, The Law, found in my school days!)

At the gate were the WildCare Representative, a bureaucrat from Limpopo Nature Conservation (we’ll call him Joe) and his two helpers. With a fist full of faxes and papers, I launched into a tirade of all the reasons why this move would be a disaster for Tshu. With disinterested, far-away looks, they all nodded in unison at my salient points. They reminded me of those little nodding sausage dogs you used to see years ago in the back windows of cars. I had called in Bertie, our vet, and Glen, a journalist, to back me up.

“All this means nothing to us Mr Mudd,” OB said. “We have a court order to collect this renosterkooikalfie from your premises. We are not obliged to answer any of your questions. I’m only here to do my job.”

Jislaaik! How many times in my life has that excuse been thrown at me? “Lucy,” I muttered, “these guys are a real bunch of wallies!”

We had all met at the shed about fifty meters below the house. No way would I allow this mob to run around Tshu’s place. We had always made a point, since her arrival, of keeping our Tshu away from any humans, other than Lucy and me, to avoid any familiarity and stress, and to help make her rehabilitation easier when the time came. I had always been determined that helping her return to the wild would be done the right way.

Access to our house is on a rough, narrow road through an overgrown natural forest. Their truck was just a flatbed with a rusted, bombed-out game crate on the back. It was never going to get to Tshu’s camp, even if we had allowed it. Which meant they had to load Tshu at the gate where they were. The tailgate of the truck was about a meter form the ground. “How are you going to load Tshu?” asked Lucy, “ You haven’t even got a ramp!”
Joe answered: “No man, we sommer going to reverse against the embankment.”
Lucy stared at the man and asked, with just a touch of acid, “And the 600 kilogram renoster? Do you just think she will just walk up that bank and into a strange, rusty truck? You must be joking!”
“Ja.” Joe assured her, full of confidence. “You just bring her down her with her bottle and she’ll follow you into the crate.”

This was just one of many ridiculous mistakes they made. Their attitude to loading, and lack of expertise in this case, made me feel that they were in the business of repossessing furniture and vehicles. By now I was dik die donder in, and I let them know it. “If you get stuck inside that crate with Tshu, when they slide that rusty door, you’ll be broken into klein stukke and then God help you, because I won’t!”

Finally they decided to go back to town to get material for a ramp.

We took Tshu for her last walk and wallow. She was totally oblivious to what was going down, and in her happy way enjoyed our company and that of her canine companions. I felt completely helpless, and also felt a right jerk. With all the trust Tshu had placed in us, here we, supposedly the Guardians of her Future, seemed to be turning on her with this treachery. I could have spat.

The cavalry returned at midday with scaffold planks and proceeded to build a ramp. There is only one-way to transport rhino and that is to get the pros in. But no, they all just carried on. The ramp completes, they asked me to walk Tshu down to the truck, where Lucy had the bottle. Then I would walk her into the crate. Laughable. But I did not want to “obstruct the ends of justice” as they called it, so had to agree to give it a go. Just as we expected, Tshu thought this was all fun, until she checked the truck. The bottle? Fine, she came to it in a shot, but even with that temptation, there was no way – aziko – that she would go up the ramp.

I nearly went ballistic when I overheard one of the cavalry say, “Ek gee niks om, maar daardie renoster gaan in die trok, so help my!”

It was now 4 p.m. and I put my foot down. “I’m outta here! You guys must get a professional vet, with rhino experience, who can immobilize her and do a proper job. And until that happens, Tshu stays here!”

All of a sudden it dawned on them. There were frantic calls to any vet within driving distance. Most refused to have anything to do with the plan once they assessed the sensitivity of darting a rhino of Tshu’s age, with her dysentery as an added complication. They eventually persuaded one of the vets employed near Gramhamstown, who was not known to us, to come down in the morning.

The pain continued.
+++++++
handlanger assistant; hanger-on
Jislaaik! An expression of frustration
Sommer in a causual way; very easily
Renosterkooikalfie female rhino calf
Dik die donder in very angry
Klein stukke small pieces
Aziko not possible; no chance
Ek gee niks on, maar daardie renoster gaan in die trok, so help my! - I don’t care how, but that rhino is going into the truck, so help me!

Hoeff choeff

With so many questions still unanswered, we hardly slept. What had happened to make them come for Tshu? One strong theory was that when she came to us, her chances of survival as a motherless milk-dependant baby were seriously slim. Now, at 14 months old and just about weaned, her potential for growing into adulthood was almost 90 %. Her worth would be approximately R120, 000. When one boiled it sown, it wall all about money in the end.

When we asked about her future, we were told that they needed the rhino, to return her to their Parks. Just to be poached again, no doubt. Then they said that when she was big enough, Tshu would be put out to tender. Money again!

The manner in which she was taken, the cloak and dagger stuff, reeked of skullduggery. Why was her well-being never in the equation? They arrived with no vet, no experienced people, and no one from our local Cape Nature Conservation. Rhino are one of our country’s endangered species and a state asset. The long trip back to Gauteng takes about 20 hours. Stressful enough for Tshu. And yet they brought nothing for her; no bedding, no straw, and no water bowl. They had no milk, no Lucerne, no food. It was despicable. Nobody asked what she ate, or when she ate it. Did she require medication? The authorities knew she was here from the start, why did they not remove her then? Why did they wait six months down the line?

Somebody out there wanted Tshu.

At midmorning the next day, a bright and sunny Wednesday, they returned. The vet arrived, and seeing Tshu, again strongly advised that she should not be moved. But he was overridden by OB who said, “ I will take full responsibility. Please let us proceed with the job.”

I was summonsed to call Tshu to the fence. Of course she came bouncing trustfully down, head up, sniffing the air … but something was not right …Zap! The dart was plum on target. I stood there helpless as the drug took its effect. Her eyes bulged with a blank stare, slowly her knees buckled and down she went. They quickly dragged her onto a mat and used vehicles to unceremoniously tow her lifeless body up the ramp and into the crate. The only retribution for these guys was that after the heavy rains the week before, the air was thick with mosquitoes that bit the hell out of all of them!

Once Tshu was safely installed in the locked crate, the vet used an antidote to bring her round.

As the truck rumbled past, we heard her give a confused and sleep “Hoeff-choefff”.

Goodbye Tshu.

The night, the Piet My Vrou called for the first time, the beginning of spring. For us, another chapter in our lives had closed.
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Piet My Vrou An African cuckoo that returned to the Cape in November each year

November 2002

Its now mid November and the days since Tshu left us are somewhat empty. There are no further developments in the ongoing case, as each time the court date arrives, it is remanded … the latest postponement is for February 2003.

The grapevine has it that Tshu is well and sharing a camp with two other companions at the wildlife orphanage in Pretoria. Her future can only be decided once the legal wrangles are sorted out.

Lucy and I can’t help feeling bitter. We are sure she would have been far better off here with us, without the trauma of the long haul to Gauteng in a ‘dark, smelly, diesel truck, with unfamiliar humans,’ and then the readjustment to another new way of life. More importantly her rehab into the relative wild – with two adult rhinos for company and without any treat of poachers – could have continued uninterrupted. Sadly, bureaucratic intervention has thwarted this future for her.

We can only hope we may get a chance to get Tshu back. God knows we’ve tried …