ON February 11 I witnessed an example of the most horrific, man-inflicted animal suffering. The experience has affected me beyond what I thought was possible. More than five months on, I still struggle to deal with the emotions that churn to the surface every time I talk about that day.
I don’t expect to make sense of it, or the similar rhino deaths that take place daily in my country. I do intend to ensure the account of this one rhino’s tragic end reaches into the conscience and hearts of all men and women, and compels each of us to do something towards ending the suffering of this magnificent species and others like it.
These living dinosaurs are symbols of our successes and failures as custodians of this planet.
On that fateful morning, I was called by Mike Fuller of Kariega Game Reserve, in the Eastern Cape, who informed me that one of their rhino had been poached. My heart sank, as I relived the dreadful feeling that had hit me a few months before, when news of a rhino poaching on my own game reserve, Amakhala, came through. Knowing how slow the initial crime scene proceedings can be, I expressed my heartfelt remorse and said I would get there later in the morning.
There was a pause before he uttered the words… “William, he is still alive!” Images of the hacked bone and bloodied tissues I had seen previously came flooding back. “The horns are gone, it’s a bloody mess,” added Fuller.
The location, the description and the circumstances around this animal seemed familiar. I remembered that two rhino from my own reserve had been moved to Kariega three years before and had been joined by two animals from a different reserve, making a sub-adult group of four rhino. At least one of these was now in an unthinkable situation and I prayed it wasn’t one I knew.
The horror of that first encounter remains branded in my memory. In a small clearing enclosed by bush, stood an animal, hardly recognisable as a rhino. His profile completely changed by the absence of his horn. Skull and soft tissue injuries extended down into the remnants of his face, through the outer layer of bones, to expose the underlying nasal passages.
Initially, he stood on three legs with his mouth on the ground. Then he became more aware of my presence and raised his head revealing pieces of loose flesh which hung semi-detached from his deformed and bloodied face. He struggled forward and turned in my direction, his left front leg provided no support and could only be dragged behind him.
To compensate, he used his mutilated muzzle and nose as a crutch and staggered toward me. His one eye was injured and clouded over, adding to his horrific appearance.
I struggled to comprehend the extent and implications of the jagged edges and plunging cavities extending into his skull. As he shuffled closer in my direction, now scarcely 15m away, the realisation of his pain overwhelmed me. I had been so stunned by the inconceivable, I had neglected to consider the pain. How could I understand the agony he was in? How long had he been like this?
I crouched down trying to steady my shaking hand which held the camera, as I realised that this was possibly Geza, the young rhino I had sent to this sanctuary three years before. What could justify this? Without thinking I apologised under my breath, “I am sorry boy, I am so, so sorry.”
His breathing quickened in response to the sound. I was close enough to see the blood bubbling inside his skull cavities and wondered how every breath must add to the agony, the cold air flowing over inflamed tissues and exposed nerves.
I expected his suffering to snap into a full-blown rage at any moment, but it never came. I backed away slowly and he kept staggering in my direction, not showing any aggression. For a moment the thought even crossed my mind that this animal, in an incomprehensible amount of pain, acting completely out of character, could be desperately seeking something, anything, to take away the pain.
I didn’t trust my own eyes to recall the detail of these injuries and so I recorded some images, and backed away. My gut instincts told me he had little chance of healing.
If we are shaped by our experiences, then this experience was a watershed moment in my life. Part of that watershed was out of my control, but the other part involved decisions which were optional and would take me across an ethical line which had been formed by a lifetime of nurturing and training.
I confirmed the fears that the most humane thing to do would probably be to end this tragedy by euthanasia. Then asked for time to consult with other vets who had experienced similar survivors just in case there might be some hope for this animal. With considerable trepidation, I then asked if they would consider allowing the world to see the horrendous suffering.
The practicalities, though, would involve getting a camera on site to take broadcast quality footage, something that would take a few hours to happen in this remote part of the reserve.
Could a vet, who is supposed to care deeply for animals; who is trained to be the mouthpiece for those that can’t speak for themselves; who, more than most, should understand the extent of suffering that this animal had undergone and was still enduring, be at ethical liberty to extend the suffering of this animal a little longer?
Would those who do care, and even those who purport not to care, be shocked out of their complacency at the sight of such inhumanity?
For the previous three years our association of private game reserves had built up measures to combat the looming threat of rhino poaching. I had seen the mortality figures escalate in 2009 and double again in 2010 despite a series of attempts to curb the carnage. Seven animals had been poached during this escalation within a 60km radius, and there was still no sign of the public or law enforcement agencies finding the will to stop it.
Many of the animals poached were being immobilised with veterinary drugs before having their horns and underlying skull bones hacked off with pangas and axes. The assumption is that these animals are under anaesthetic and so don’t feel anything. But they do; in many instances, the amount of drug used does not kill the rhino. If they don’t bleed to death, they wake up under circumstances which are difficult to describe.
The sight of Geza that terrible day brought the realisation that many of these animals were probably still alive and responsive to the mutilation that they were being subjected to; hence the panga marks on the facial areas.
My mind was telling me that to keep this animal alive was wrong, but somewhere inside I felt certain that the story of this despicable suffering could affect even the most hardened minds. Surely those driving the demand for this bizarre product – who say they take rhino horn to feel good – could not feel good knowing that animals are suffering to this degree at their hands.
If they could, in some way, be made to feel part of the massacre, then perhaps this cruel and senseless killing might stop.
It was agreed to call in a camera to get the footage while I phoned colleagues for second opinions. For the next three hours I went back several times, agonising over my decision while watching his condition deteriorate. During those hours I learned that this rhino was indeed Geza, a name which means “the Naughty One”.
His name came about because from an early age he would challenge older rhino in a mischievous manner and then bundle back to the safety of his ever-protective mother. In social gatherings with other mothers and calves, Geza was always the instigator in the interactions, always playful to the point of seeming to show off.
The location of the actual poaching was discovered and a crime scene investigation commenced, piecing together the chain of events which had taken place there. A large pool of blood marked Geza’s initial fall and the spot where the hacking had taken place. Pieces of flesh and bone lay in the bloodstained grass nearby. He had stood up at some stage and staggered about ten paces before falling on a small tree, where, judging by the signs of his struggling, he had lain for some time. I imagined the phases of drug recovery which, without an antidote, would have taken him through cycles of semi-consciousness before Geza was plunged back into the reality of his painful wounds.
While he struggled on his side the circulation of his front left leg had been cut off. This also accounted for his eye injuries. By the time Geza was found, he had lost all use of his left front leg.
The camera crew arrived and I was finally able to bring this nightmare to an end. I administered an overdose of opioid anaesthetic. A gunshot heralded an end to the tortured and agonising struggle.
Geza, the Naughty One, who had touched my heart as a playful calf, died while I held my hand over his intact eye, his shaking body growing still and peaceful. Will this rhino, whose suffering I prolonged, so that the world could get a visual glimpse of this tragedy, end up as just another statistic in a war that rages on? Or, will this rhino’s ordeal touch us in a way that compels us to do something about it?
l The visual images of this story are being used in awareness campaigns run by numerous conservation NGOs. Some of these images can be accessed by following the Wilderness Foundation web-link http://www.wildernessfoundation.co.za/index.php?option=com_content&view=article.
l Dr William Fowlds is a vet in the Eastern Cape.