The White Rhino Trail - Changing Lives

‘What do you think, Boss?  Can we go?’ It took merely a moment to agree to the proposal from Julian Taylor who proposed leading a group of boys on the White Rhino Trail in the Umfolosi Game Reserve.

‘There is one proviso,’ I said, ‘and that is that I have to be in the party as well.’ To his credit, Julian did not blink, swallow or blanch and eighteen months later, a party of 12 Wynberg boys and teachers were winging their way to Durban.  The mood at the airport was interesting – a mixture of excitement, apprehension and trepidation.

We were met at the airport by our guides and taken to the Wilderness Leadership School where we were to spend the night before tackling the Trail.  There we were given our rucksacks and equipment.  A demonstration followed on how to pack a rucksack. For example no spoon was to be packed with the enamel mug as the rattling would chase the animals away.  After we had picked up our heaving packs, all of us immediately reverted to Plan B and proceeded to discard spare shirts, jerseys and shorts.  I saw one boy look quizzically at his toothpaste but clearly he must have seen his mother’s face in his mind’s eye – and the tube was duly deposited into a side pocket. I can’t guarantee that it came out at any stage over the next five days to be used for the purpose of which his mother would have approved.

Before we left the next morning, I was called by Ethan to see the four adolescent male zebras grazing next to the kombis. They were totally unfazed by the comments and the clicking cameras  - barely raising their heads from the all-consuming task of tugging at grass.  It was only when Callum stuck his camera virtually under the snout of one of them, that the zebra objected in the time-honoured, adolescent way and let loose with a gentle eruption.

‘Sis, Sir,’ said Callum retreating at pace and waving his hand in front of his face. ‘Did you hear that?’ Clearly he thought it infra dig for young male zebras to behave in a similar fashion to young male boys.

‘And they have not even eaten hostel food,’ said a grinning Ross as he also backed away.

Leaving the flatulating zebras to increase the hole in the ozone layer, we departed on our three hour trip to the Umfolosi. At the main entrance, while the guides negotiated with park officials, some of the boys took out their ‘spotting’ note books and the competition was on.  In went all the buck we had seen so far. 

Chris grilled Rob, our Scottish Gap Year Student: ‘So what do you have to report?’

‘I saw a gecko in the bathroom,’ was the reply.

‘It doesn’t count unless you indicate the gender.’

At this point, the guide came to the rescue. ‘Oh, that is easy.  The male gecko has two penises.’

There was a stunned silence in the kombi and it was very clear what the boys were thinking.  Before the inevitable, envious, adolescent chirps could start, the situation was saved as two elephants, an adult and calf, came into view on the nearby hill.

‘That is a mother and her calf,’ announced Callum, the doyen of African wildlife.

‘Not so,’ said our guide who was determined to impress us early on. ‘Females stay with the herd, but they soon become exasperated with the high jinks of young male elephants so they boot them out of the herd and allow them to bond with an adult male.  This male acts as the adult role model, and shows the youngster the ropes and teaches him the lessons of life.’

Wow!  Elephant society is light years in advance of human society.  Now it was my turn to sit in stunned silence pondering what an easy job it would be in schools if all adult males accepted the responsibility of co-raising our boys.  Statistics in South Africa show that 85% of the prison population is male.  Where are the male role models?

Broken up into two groups, it was now time to leave the kombis and to set out into the bush.  Our two guides, Mandla and Vuyani, sat us down in a circle which they called their ‘indaba’ so that they could go through the non-negotiables:

• No talking at any stage.  Click fingers when an animal is spotted.
• Single file.
• No running if an animal charges – you then become prey.  (Later in the trip, this resolve would be sorely tested.)
• Their stated aim was to ensure that, after this experience, we would never again go into a game reserve in a car.

We saw plenty of animals – including our first rhino and her calf.  Mandla then decided to lead us across the Umfolosi River bed – which only had a few pools of water.  ‘Be careful of the reeds,’ he said. ‘That is where the lions hang out. So follow closely in single file.’

We did – very closely - unsociably close.  As I was the one at the back of the single file through the reeds, I was fairly keen that no lion be disturbed by those in front. I am sure that I had read somewhere that the Tail End Charlie was the first to be zapped in situations like this.  Only at the end of the trip, when we were safely back in the kombi’s, did the other group tell us that they had seen from their vantage point up on a nearby hill ‘about 15 lions’ leave the river bed at our approach and disappear into those self-same reeds through which we were blundering.

Best that we only found out that titbit of information on our return.

We made it unscathed through the reeds, presumably to the disappointment of the watching group in the hills, and filed across the sand of the river bed.  Suddenly a hiss from Mandla brought us to a rapid halt.  One buffalo bull was surveying us balefully from further along the river bed. 

Mandla called us together and in a whisper informed us that this was where he had once been gored by a buffalo and proudly showed us the scars on his thigh.  The buffalo had been lying in the mud and, to defend himself, Mandla had been forced to shoot it.  I expressed the fervent hope that the animal staring malevolently at us had no knowledge of the past incident or was not a close relative of the now deceased buffalo.

We encountered an elephant graveyard later that afternoon and Mandla erased forever the myth of where elephants go to die. He told us that once an elephant dies (largely because his teeth have been worn down), the lions, hyenas and vultures clean the bones thoroughly.  After this, the elephant herd returns and spreads the bones far and wide.  It is their farewell and their form of burial.

So now we know.

About half a kilometre from the camp, the guides started collecting firewood and passed it on to us.  Not any firewood, but tambuti wood as it was long lasting and aromatic. We all had to carry a certain amount to the campsite.

Our campsite

Our first campsite set the standard for the trip.  It was the Ritz of campsites set on a ledge above a pool with a view of the entire valley.  As dusk set, a large troop of baboons made its way towards the site and soon let us know in no uncertain terms that we were unwanted squatters in its personal bed and breakfast accommodation. The baboons kept up the racket at various intervals during the night as they hurled abuse at us from the branches alongside the campsite.

Everyone had to keep watch for an hour and a half every night. Most of us raided the surplus from the diminishing pile of tambuti wood to ensure a comforting illusion of safety beside the flames and the light. During this time, every boy had to write in the log book.  Temba said during his watch, ‘I keep hearing noises, but when I look, there is nothing there.  I am s-o-o-o nervous.  I have accepted that I am probably going to die.’

Ethan expressed a similar sentiment: ‘I heard a noise that sounded like a lion growling, but we were told by the guides that it was just frogs.  I don’t believe them.  My heart is beating so fast.  If I die, tell my family I love them. Oh… and tell Jessica too….’

The chorus of frogs was incessant all night and they clearly riled Matthew who said emphatically that he ‘used to like frogs – but not anymore.’

Julian Taylor showed that he was an old hand: ‘I feel safer here than in my own house in Cape Town even with the alarm set.’

David showed a depth of thought: ‘I think the biggest aspect of this exercise is the responsibility of knowing that you have other peoples’ lives in your hands.’

Perhaps the last word about our first day should go to Callum who told us right at the outset that he had been looking forward to this trip for over a year: ‘The wilderness has reawakened something in me – something the city has repressed.  I feel more alive here than anywhere else.  I feel at home in this land.  I drink in every sound, every sight, every scent on the breeze.  I am at ease in this wilderness which seems to have tapped into my unconsciousness.’

This Wilderness was well on course for changing a few lives.

A view from our campsite