www.rightsforrhinos.co.za

         “WE DO NOT INHERIT THE EARTH FROM OUR ANCESTORS,

WE BORROW IT FROM OUR CHILDREN.”

GEZA – THE FINAL HOURS

by

Dr William Fowlds

This is the story of a white rhino callously mutilated by poachers and left alive with his horns

and part of his face hacked off with pangas

On the 11th February 2011 I found myself forced into a personal experience of the

most horrific, man-inflicted animal suffering. An experience that has affected me

beyond what I thought was possible. More than five months on and I still struggle to

contain and express the emotions burned within me, 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 that the account of this one rhino’s tragic end, will

reach into the conscience and hearts of all men and woman, and compel each of us

to do something towards stopping the suffering of this magnificent species and

others like it.

I count myself truly blessed to be able to live my dream as a wildlife vet in a part of

Africa that satisfies my senses and fills my soul. One of my many privileges is that I

get to work with rhino in the wild. These living dinosaurs are truly iconic symbols of

our successes and failures as custodians of this planet. The current rhino situation is

a dying testimony of our conservation efforts. If we are not able to save the rhino

from extinction, this flagship species that’s larger than life, what hope do we have of

saving the rest?

On that fateful morning in February, 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 that dreadful feeling, a few months before,

which had hit me when news of a rhino poaching on my own game reserve came

through. Knowing how slow the initial crime scene proceedings can take, I

expressed my heart-felt remorse and said I would get there later in the morning.

There was a silent pause before the sledge-hammer ….. ”William, he is still alive!”

Images of the hacked bone and bloodied tissues I had seen previously came

flooding back, doubting the truth of this outrageous claim. As I fumbled for questions

to check my own doubts, the description of this poor animal began to take shape.

“The horns are gone, it’s a bloody mess”, added Mike. I had seen one picture of a

rhino who had suffered the same fate and the anger when I saw it the first time,

crowded my thoughts as I tried to listen to directions and get my planned day out of

the way.

As I drove rapidly for 30 minutes following the directions; the location, the description

and the circumstances around this animal started to sound familiar. I remembered

that two rhino from my own reserve, Amakhala, had been moved to Kariega three

years before and had been joined by another two animals from a different reserve,

making a sub-adult group of four rhino. At least one of these four, was now in an

unthinkable situation and I prayed it wasn’t one I knew.

On approaching the location where the rhino had last been seen, I was struck by the

tranquil beauty of the place. A small, open area alongside a meandering river with

broken vegetation joining up into thickets of valley bushveld on the hill slopes. A

picture-book setting which could have been used to depict a piece of heaven. It just

didn’t seem possible that somewhere here, there was an animal that was going

through a living hell.

Mike could not bring himself to accompany me, having been to hell and back already

that morning. I grabbed my small camera and began working my way into the wind to

where I was told he was last seen.

The horror of that first encounter will remain branded in my memory forever. In a

small clearing enclosed by bush, stood an animal, hardly recognisable as a rhino.

His profile completely changed by the absence of those iconic horns attributed to no

other species. More nauseating than that, the skull and soft tissue trauma 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 lifted his head up 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 for this, he used his mutilated muzzle and nose

as a crutch and staggered forward toward me. His one eye was injured and clouded

over, adding to his horrific appearance.

At first I stood shocked in front of the sight before me, then 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 15

meters away, the realisation of his pain overwhelmed me. I had been so stunned by

the inconceivable, I had neglected to consider the pain. What possible way could I

have any reference of understanding the agony he was in? How long had he been

like this? Were his efforts to approach me a weakened attempt of aggression

towards the source of his suffering or was there a desperate comprehension of

finality, a broken spirit crying out to die.

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 ago. Thoughts and emotions raged through my head. How low had we

fallen to inflict so much suffering on such a magnificent creature whose care had

been entrusted to us? Could any reason justify this happening? Without thinking I

apologised under my breath, “I am sorry boy, I am so, so sorry.” His breathing

quickened in response to the sound. Was he trying to smell me, was this their

characteristic huffing which is part of natural investigatory behaviour or was this a

pathetic version of rhino aggression in response to a source of threat. 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 at any moment for his suffering to snap into a full blown rage, but it never

came. I backed away slowly and he kept staggering in my direction, not showing any

aggression, just one agonising effort after another. 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 from this vortex of emotions and pain. On the walk back

to the vehicle where Mike now waited, the weight of responsibility began to descend

on my shoulders. This poor animal, suffering at the hands of my own species,

through at least one night of absolute agony, now relied on me for relief from this

torture. My gut instincts told me he had little chance of healing even though I had

experienced rhino making some spectacular recoveries from severe injuries. I

recalled having heard of a few other cases of rhino having survived and scrambled

for the details somewhere in my swirling mind.

Thinking I should be fairly hardened to trauma and the sight of poached rhino and

mutilated bodies, I had to re-assess my own reaction to what I had just seen. This

took things to a new level. This stirred up anger and despair and regret and shame

more than anything I had ever experienced. This brought the suffering of this and

many other rhino right into the living room of my soul.

Surely, I would never be able to think of a rhino poaching in the same way ever

again. 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.

Knowing that this reserve relied on my professional opinion on what to do next, I

buried my personal emotions and approached Mike with three recommendations.

Firstly, I confirmed their fears that, in my opinion, there was no chance of saving this

life and the most humane thing to do would be to end this tragedy by euthanasia for

this animal. Secondly, I asked for time to consult with some of the other vets who

had experienced similar survivors just in case there might be some hope for this

animal.

Thirdly, with considerable trepidation, I asked if they would consider allowing the

world to see the horrendous suffering that was taking place a short distance from

where we stood. 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 gone through 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?

The request sounded irrational to my own ears, and I wrestled with the thought of it.

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

60km’s of me, and there was still no sign of the public or the 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. I

assure you, they feel; as, 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 I am

finding difficult to describe.

I had always wondered why the poachers made such a mess of the rhino’s faces

when their modus operandi suggested that these were well organised criminals. 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 chaotically arranged around 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 get to even the

most hardened minds. The people driving the demand for this bizarre product, who

say they take rhino horn to feel good – surely, they couldn’t 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 and agonised

over my decisions while watching his condition deteriorate. During those hours I

learned that this rhino was indeed “Geza” – the Naughty One – a male born on

Amakhala, the reserve on which I live. He was born in January 2006 as the second

calf of “Nomabongo” – the Proud Lady. His mother was the first rhino to come to our

reserve, which like many in our area, was a reserve which had transformed previous

farm land into protected areas.

I vividly recall the day Nomabongo arrived in 2003. Her presence, just one rhino,

immediately transformed the whole atmosphere of that landscape from farmland into

wild land. I also remembered the first week of Geza’s life. Unlike Nomabongo’s first

calf, which she hid from us for 6 weeks, the “Proud Lady” showed off her boy calf

within a few days of giving birth to him and a photographer friend captured these

moments in some breathtaking photos.

Geza’s name came about because from a very 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 a point of seeming to showoff.

Typical of normal rhino social structures, when Geza was two and a half years old

his mother pushed him away as she prepared to give birth to her next calf. During

this time Geza joined up with another rhino cow and her female calf named Landiwe,

who was born in May 2006.

Geza stayed with Landiwe and her mother. The mother provided the protection from

mature bulls that Geza now needed as he was still not old or big enough to protect

himself. This grouping remained until it was decided to remove some rhino off our

reserve and Geza and Landiwe were relocated in August 2008 as a pair. They

adapted well, as they knew each other and, as young rhino in a new environment,

this helped ensure a successful relocation.

The group of four young rhino, were the first to be introduced into this section of this

sanctuary and their presence there had the same effect of transforming the reserve

back to wild land. Now two and half years on, Geza was critically injured and the

other rhino had disappeared into the thicket vegetation. Even if they were still alive,

this event would ensure their removal from this area and with them a part of the soul

of the land would die too.

As the hours passed slowly by, the location of the actual poaching was discovered

and a crime scene investigation commenced, piecing together the train of events

which had taken place there. A large pool of blood marked Geza’s initial fall and

where the hacking took place. Pieces of flesh and bone lay in the blood stained

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. Again, a large area of blood stained earth bore testimony to his solitary

ordeal. Every dozen or so paces another pool of blood marked where he had stood a

while. I imagined his body going through the phases of drug recovery which, without

an antidote, would have taken him through cycles of semi-consciousness before he

was plunged back into the reality of his painful wounds. It could not be accurately

ascertained how long he had been left in this state. Could this have possibly

happened two nights ago? We were not sure. The possibility of this was too much to

comprehend so, for now, I kept it out of my mind.

His front left leg had been cut off from circulation while he struggled on his side and

this accounted for his eye injuries too. When cells get starved of oxygen they die off

and release inflammatory chemicals inducing a cycle of swelling, pressure and pain

ending in necrosis. By the time Geza was found, he had lost all use of his left front

leg. Through blood loss, shock, dehydration and pain this animal was paying dearly

for man’s senseless greed.

The wait for what seemed like ages eventually passed. The camera-crew arrived and

I was finally able to bring this nightmare to an end. The most humane way to end it

all was to administer an overdose of opioid anaesthetic. The method would have to

be the same way the poachers did it, with a dart. A heavy calibre bullet to the brain

would ensure finality – no return to hell.

As the dart penetrated his skin I wondered if this rhino had any mental association of

being darted all those long hours before and the agony that ensued. Would he

recognise that dart impact and the ordeal that followed shortly after? Would any

feelings of helplessness suddenly be overcome by one final fit of rage as I would

expect it to be? His response was to take only a few paces in our direction as the

dart penetrated, before his injuries stopped his advance.

Within a few minutes the drugs were taking effect and even though his final

conscious moments could have been extremely painful, I knew that the pain would

be subsiding as he began to slip away. One final close up inspection of his wounds

confirmed there was no going back and I injected more anaesthetic directly into his

bloodstream. A sense of relief mingled with sadness, disgust and shame descended

over that small piece of Africa, which for long hours had been gripped in tension and

violation. The heavy bullet slammed though his skull, with the noise and shock wave

blasting out across the landscape, heralding the end to a 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. Geza,

who had his horns and part of his face hacked off while he was still alive by poachers

feeding a chain of careless greed and ignorant demand. 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? What I have witnessed ensures

that I will never find peace until the killing stops.

As I write this, news reaches me of seven more rhino killed yesterday. Please help

all of us on the frontline of this war against rhino poaching. If we can’t save the rhino,

what hope do we have of saving the rest?

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Dr William Fowlds.

Help us spread the word on what is happening to the species by getting this

message out to those who believe that the rhino horn is a valuable product that can

enhance their well-being. Rhino horn has absolutely no medicinal value nor does it

offer the most suitable material for ceremonial daggers. The visual images of this

story are being used in awareness campaigns run by numerous conservation

NGO’s. Some of these images can be accessed by following the Wilderness

Foundation web-link below.

http://www.wildernessfoundation.co.za/index.php?option=com_content&view=article

&id=18&Itemid=24

You can do something about rhino poaching NOW!

Watch the video, sign a petition and send a letter.

In order to reach as many South Africans as possible, Sboniso (aka Spoon) and Paul are to walking, 2000km, from Musina in the Northern Province of South Africa to Cape Town at the tip of Africa. (They passed the half way mark mid June 2011)

The awareness campaign includes, talking at schools, universities, colleges, companies, displays in shopping malls and conferences. They are currently getting TV, radio and print media in all the regions the y are going through including national coverage.