Through the wind screen of my vehicle......
zum Thema von Erik Verreynne
Info: Erik is registered as a veterinary surgeon with The Botswana Veterinary Medical Board, the South African Veterinary Council and The Royal College of Veterinary surgeons. He is a member of the South African Veterinary Association Wildlife Group, the technical committee of the Kalahari Conservation Society and the Botswana Rhino Management Committee.
Quelle:
tulitrust.org/news/u...-veterinary-advisor/
Through the wind screen of my vehicle......
The road took me back to NG11 and 12, back to Eretsha where the elephants died in summer, where the flood plains were fast drying after an exceptional high flood.
As part of the CLAWS team, we needed to prepare the cattle in the herding program for the coming rainy season on the flood plains. And we desperately needed to deploy more collars on the lions for the ALERT system.
The water was still high and the Cruiser negotiated a few bonnet deep crossings to reach the southern shore of the floodplain. Vehicle support from Jumbo Junction and Unchartered Africa/ Natural Selections greatly helped to find the lions. The perk of the high waters were plenty of scenic swimming spots. The backdrop of my office this time was just phenomenal.
It’s a dynamic time of the year for the people, the cattle and the wildlife on the floodplains.
Every morning herds of cattle are crossing the road from the kraals onto the floodplains, meeting up with herds of zebra and even some bold buffalo bulls. The large buffalo herds are still hanging back on the apple leaf islands, avoiding the lions who now focus on the flood plains.
In the late afternoons, groups of cattle are trailing back. Some return on their own, others are followed by the lonely figures of their owners while the bells of the leader cows echo over the vastness of the green carpet around them. Other cattle resist the daily routine of returning and await the perils of night in tightly formed groups on the sausage tree islands.
It was Independence Weekend and most children were home. Children and adults in Eretsha were splashing in the tannin rich waters still pushed into the village. Strange markers revealed the many fishing nets and success dangled in strings over the shoulders of bare footed fishermen bringing the richness of the shallow waters home.
Stacks of harvested thatch reed were waiting next to the deeper channels for roofs and walls to be repaired before the rainy season start in full swing. The drag marks of many oxen sledges zig zagging between the floodplains and the houses are fast disappearing signs of the urgencies dictating the pace of the spring season.
Far on the horizon to the southwest the first columns of smoke where shepherds are setting the reed beds and grassy plains alight, were painting the sunsets with crimson and lilac, and flocks of storks following the flames are dotting the evening sky.
Only a few elephants are still hanging out in the dry vegetation of the recent death acre to the north. All but one of the ill fated waterholes in the woodlands are long dry, the surfaces covered with a crusty layer of clay. A few zebra and sable and roan antelope are their only companions.
Many elephants have moved across the flood plains onto the apple leaf islands towards Vumbura Plains, returning now and then to pick the last of the dropped jackal berries, shaking some in expectation while patiently waiting for the water berries to ripen. Other elephants, not near as many as previous years, remained north of the road, taking the long dry-season walk into the woodlands past the villages and dry empty fields every morning, just to return again to the floodplains under the cover of darkness every night. All of them have the wet streak of stres on their temples. It is a difficult time for them, especially the family herds.
At night their muffled rumbles at the water pans are silenced by the loud grunts of several bloats of hippos enjoying the last deep pools on the flood plains.
In the distance the roars of the lions are getting closer, and the barking of zebra stallions getting louder and louder. It’s the start of the conflict season when the flood plains turn into killing fields, dotting the green carpet with hollow eyed skulls and clean picked rib cages.
Cattle and wildlife are joining on the lushness of the flood plains. The lions follow from the south, doing hit and run sorties from the denser islands across the deeper channels. The hyenas, vultures and Maribou storks follow to clean up, the lions seldom return after they have eaten.
The mystery of the elephant deaths are pushed to the background by the seemingly tranquility. Nobody talks about it anymore. With most of the cattle on the flood plains and with the BDF around, the area is cautiously avoided. Fireside and Kgotla discussions have changed to the fish deaths upstream towards Sekondomboro and if the deaths will reach them. One man wonders if the journalists will also follow and film the fish deaths. He ponders on why the world out there only worries about the elephants...
I flew over part of the area where the elephants died, driven by my concern about the future threat of the dry carcasses to the cattle in the area. Few vehicle tracks lead into the heart of the area where people usually walk to find their cattle during the rainy season, a battered shotgun or hunting rifle slung casually over the shoulder.
Most of the cattle are on the flood plains now. Only a few wander north along a rippled network of elephant paths where the dry season forced the bare soil further and further north. The cattle looked disturbed when the helicopter passed.
It have been months after the elephant deaths, but the extend of the silent tragedy was still striking and shockingly real. First you see one lonely carcass, then two, then a cluster, then more clusters, and then more and more. Some areas are simply strewn with the signature of death.
Most carcasses are concentrated in the woodlands north of Eretsha and Gunitshoga. Single ones are scattered as far as the veterinary fence to the East, and far south of Gudigwa. The carcasses are now only shrunken skin and piles of white bones against a back drop of dry leafless trees and yellow grass.
Most carcasses still have their tusks intact. Those who had it removed by the authorities are painted with a red cross. More are painted with white streaks where vultures patiently waited for days to penetrate the tough skin.
Some bodies are lying on their sides, others on their chests, some near or in the now dry empty waterholes, others far away from any water, and some even scattered on the flood plains.
Some carcasses were once majestic single old big bulls. They were leaning against the trees before the killing menace buckled their legs, their empty skeletons still pinning the trees that they fell on. Others were youngsters now lying in a cluster not far from some adults.
Strangely the monster was very selective. In most cases there are only a few carcasses around each waterhole, only some members ripped from the family herds. The reports of orphans wandering around the villages at the time confirms the tragic selection of only some.
The carcass pattern fails to convince me that death lurked in the water. It resembles more a monster that stirred a demon inside selective elephant victims, a demon which chased them to believe that water can sooth the pain or fever, or quench the massive thirst. It drove those affected to the waterholes and even onto the flood plains.
This monster did not kill some fast and others slow. This monster pursued its victims until they collapsed in weakness on their way to the water, dying slowly under the weight of their own bodies.
I can just wonder about the cause while looking into the trail of devastation. Sadly a combination of Covid 19 transport restrictions and a very inaccessible terrain may have robbed us of a scientific diagnosis.
Time is slowly covering the tragedy. And with it the real significance of why.
The first spring rain has come and the trees are turning green. The knobby combretums are covered in white brush like flowers. Soon the grass will form a cool green carpet that covers the tracks of the monster. As summer rolls on, the waterholes will be filled with water again and many animals, including the remaining elephants will feast again on the abundance of the woodlands. The four hundred or so carcasses will soon be dwarfed by many more live elephants. The tragedy will just be a memory, an emptiness in the hearts of the surviving elephants stopping briefly and momentarily sniffing the remains, the bleach white bones that should remind us will be hidden away off the beaten track. Until it happens again. And it will happen again.
Time is patient and history a relentless judge. Next time the monster may be far less forgiving and the impact more severe. But until then life goes on.
The reality of every day life here overshadows the memory. The dying fish, the lack of work and food and clothes, the coming rain, preparing the fields, the heat, the dust, the biting flies, the leaking roofs, the lions and the conflict are now more important. That never changes. That and the seasons and the river never changes........
Quelle:
www.facebook.com/erik.verreynne
Gruß Gina
