Read The Ten Horns :: To the lowveld

The tyres were singing pleasantly on the road as the station wagon left the city behind. Gradually, city suburbs and malls gave way to highveld farmsteads, patches of thorn trees and enclosures with horses and cattle.

"Well, finally on our way, it seems," said Dr. Lawrence from behind the steering wheel.

"Finally!" agreed Francis, who was sitting next to his father in the front passenger seat. "I was beginning to worry the girls would stay in the bathroom for the next two weeks," he added with a wicked grin.

"Bah, so girls like to be clean. Anything wrong with that?" Alice was trying to look angry, but not quite managing. She and her twin brother usually got along well anyway, but on a day like this, no-one felt like serious fighting. The sun was shining, the highveld as green as an emerald, and it was the first day of their holiday.

"Look, some sort of eagle," said Laura, pointing up into the blue sky.

"Actually just a yellow-billed kite," said Alice, after a brief glance at where she was pointing, and without even consulting the field guide in her lap. She was the group's bird expert. "But we'll certainly see eagles when we get further from the city."

Dr. Lawrence was on his way to Maputo to attend a conference on tropical diseases. Francis, Alice and Laura were accompanying him as far as the lowveld, where they were to spend a week at their uncle's game farm.

"It was nice of uncle Vernon to invite us," said Francis. "We haven't seen him since his last exhibition in Johannesburg." Uncle Vernon was a wildlife artist of some renown, but visited galleries in the big cities only when he absolutely had to.

"I wonder if he's still struggling to sell that painting with the hyenas," Laura wondered.

"He sold it to some Italian magnate a week ago. He told me so last week when we spoke on the phone," said Dr. Lawrence. "Took him almost a year, can you believe it. That painting is a masterpiece, but alas, hyenas have a rather unsavoury reputation, so they are not too popular with buyers!"

Around them, the country was gradually getting wilder as they descended into the lowveld. Rolling plains of green grass were giving way to ever denser bushveld and thick, subtropical undergrowth. Here and there, the rich aroma of spring flowers reached them even in the car, and Alice was looking intently out of the window, now and then briefly glimpsing the bright plumage of a lowveld bird.

"I hope I'm not coming down with a cold," said Laura. "My ears have suddenly gone all weird."

Dr. Lawrence laughed. "Actually just the increased air pressure down here," he said. "Your ears will 'pop' back to normal in a while."

Ahead of them they could see a garage. "Let's make a quick stop for some refreshments," suggested Dr Lawrence. They slowed down, then turned off the road and stopped beside a petrol pump.

While Dr. Lawrence was having the car's fuel tank filled up and checking the water and oil levels, the three young people made their way to the little shop to get something to drink. As they were waiting to pay for their refreshments, Francis noticed the day's newspaper on a stand. His eye was drawn to the front page. He took the paper, paid for it along with his drink, and headed back to the car.

"Hey dad, look at this," he said, holding up the paper so that Dr. Lawrence could read the banner.

Ten rhinos poached on private reserve, it said.

"Which reserve, I wonder," he said half to himself, and then added: "Let's get back on the road, we have a long way to go. You can read it to us when we're on the way again."

They all piled back into the station wagon, armed with bags of potato chips and drinks.

"Thanks," said Dr. Lawrence as he took a fruit juice offered by Laura. "Now Francis, tell us what that article says."

Francis unfolded the paper and began to read, getting more excited as he went along.

WHITE RIVER, MPUMALANGA

Ten rhinos, including a calf, have been shot by poachers in the Matumi Sands private game reserve bordering Kruger National Park. According to police spokesman Inspector George Mkhatswa, the horns of all ten rhinos have been removed by the poachers, and the rest of the carcasses left to scavengers.

A spokesman for the reserve said that while they have had minor trouble with poachers in the past, this is the first time that they lost rhinos to poachers. "Up to now, it has mostly simply been people killing the occasional small antelope to eat," said Mr. John Watson. "This seems to be the work of an organised group."

Inspector Mkhatswa admitted that the police do not have any leads yet, but are working on the case 'day and night.' He agreed with Watson that organized crime seems to be involved. "The fact that they just took the horns and left the rest tells us that they were not hunting for food. This appears to be part of a rhino horn smuggling operation," Inspector Mkhatswa said. "This kind of thing does immense damage to the local tourist industry, and we'll leave no stone unturned to bring the perpetrators to justice."

"Well, this is just unreal," exclaimed Francis. "Matumi Sands is right next to Uncle Vernon's place!"

"What do they want with the horns anyway?" wondered Laura.

"Rhino horn is considered to be tremendously valuable in some circles," said Dr Lawrence. "In some parts of Arabia they use it to carve handles for expensive ceremonial daggers, and in the Far East powdered rhino horn is an ingredient in all manner of quack remedies for just about any disease you care to mention."

Laura was puzzled. "Medicines? You can treat disease with rhino horn?"

"No," said Dr Lawrence. "But some people firmly believe it to be some sort of cure-all. That's the irony. As far as I know, rhino horn has no medicinal value whatever. But the belief in its power is driving rhinos to extinction all over the world where rhinos are found. It's quite tragic, really. A rhino's horn is nothing more than a mass of compressed hair. You might as well try to treat the sick by feeding them the sweepings from a hair dresser's floor."

"Yuck. That's gross, dad," said Alice. "Anyway, if people want to buy rhino horn, why don't they just start farming rhinos like cattle and sell the horns that way?"

"It's a possibility that is being investigated by some," said Dr Lawrence. "If you cut the horn off a live rhino, it will grow back, so you could possibly simply harvest rhino horns instead of threatening the entire species. But a hornless rhino is not quite as much of a tourist attraction, so for a nature reserve like Matumi it would probably not be an option. And you can be sure that even farmed rhinos would be a regular target of poachers, just as cattle get stolen by stock thieves. Anything as valuable as rhino horn will be a constant target of thieves, I fear. Anyway, I hope you don't run into poachers during your holiday. From what I hear, these people are quite ruthless. I'm going to ask Uncle Vernon to keep a close eye on you."

He noticed the way Alice and Francis looked at him. "Oh, don't even think of convincing me otherwise."

The news about the poachers had put a bit of a damper on the holiday spirit, but it did not last long. All around them, an ever-increasing profusion of life was bursting forth in the early summer warmth. Lush subtropical growth was interspersed with plantations of citrus fruit and bananas, colourful birds perched in dense foliage, and here and there, troops of monkeys and baboons ran across the road.

"Now, let me see," said Dr. Lawrence. "Our turn-off should be quite close now. Ah, there! Uncle Vernon's place is on the same road as the reserve."

Some way ahead, they could see a large sign. Matumi Sands Private Game Reserve, 10km.

They turned right onto the well-maintained dirt road, and Dr. Lawrence drove more slowly, partly because the road wasn't as good as the paved one they had just left, and partly to give everyone a chance to do some sight-seeing.

"So which of us will see the first game, I wonder," he said.

"Oh, I have already seen plenty, but since they're all of the feathered kind, I suppose you people will not consider them real," said Alice. She always got irritated when no-one took birds quite as seriously as she did.

"Look!" cried Laura and pointed.

A small herd of zebra was slowly trotting through the bush, all stripes and swishing tails.

"And we seem to have a winner," said Dr. Lawrence. "In the mammal category, anyway," he added, grinning at Alice. "The bird category is boring. Because the winner is always the same person."

They drove for a few kilometres on the dusty road, spotting more game next to the road, behind the tall fence.

"This is already part of Uncle Vernon's farm, isn't it dad?" asked Francis.

"Yes," replied Dr. Lawrence. "We should get to the gate just now. Ah, here we are."

To their right was a large sliding gate, with a sign above it saying "Vernon Kruger - Art Studio and Gallery". Dr. Lawrence leaned out of the window and pressed the buzzer on the intercom set. When there was no reply after half a minute, he pressed it again.

"I hope they are not all gone off somewhere. Surely they know we are comi..."

"Vot do you vont!?" barked a rather gruff female voice, with a heavy German accent, from the intercom's speaker.

Dr. Lawrence flashed a wicked grin. "We want to take over your home. Open the gate or we'll ram it to pieces!" he called into the microphone.

"Go avay! Ve hav no time fur ze jokers araund here!"

And with that, the intercom clicked and went dead. Dr. Lawrence pressed the buzzer again. Before the woman on the other side could start hurling abuse at him, he quickly called out. "Helga, it's me, Victor. You are expecting us!"

"Ah, Herr Doktor Lauruntz! Vy dit you not say so? Com in, you are most velcom! Just hang on ein minute."

They could hear her briefly fumble with something on the other side, and then the large gate rolled open. They drove through it and up a tree-lined lane towards the large house.

Francis was smiling. "Still the same housekeeper, I see," he said.

Up front, Uncle Vernon's large, sprawling house came into view. Its thatched roof stood majestically in a lush garden of tall bushveld trees and a green lawn. Next to it was a small rondavel, and on the other side, a large shed and other outbuildings. Chickens and geese scattered before them as they drove up to the house.

Helga strode out of the house to meet them. She was a large, powerfully built woman, and sported a German accent as thick as her blonde braids.

Everyone got out of the car and stretched. From around the house a huge, tan mastiff came bounding, barking and howling with joy.

"Eugene! Here boy!" Laura called, and the dog obliged by almost bumping her into the nearest tree and happily slobbering all over her hands. He was supposedly a guard dog, but welcomed everyone, friends and strangers alike, with the same boundless enthusiasm.

"Go avay, Eugene," called Helga. "Let me hav a look at ze children. My, how you hav all grown!"

And with that, she embraced them one by one in an iron grip and planted kisses almost as wet as those of Eugene on their cheeks.

"Com in everyvon. Herr Kruger is just on ze phone in his office. He vill be here shortly."

They unpacked all their luggage from the car's boot and back seat, and followed Helga into the house, where she made them sit in the spacious living room and plied them with tea.

A few minutes later, Uncle Vernon appeared from his office. He was a big, bearded man who made even Helga look small by comparison, and talked in a jovial, booming voice that carried all over his garden.

"Well, here you all are! You're a bit earlier than I expected!"

He grabbed the two girls in a bear hug which practically cracked their ribs, and then shook hands with Francis and Dr. Lawrence.

"Vernon, for heaven's sake, I have to operate with this hand," said Dr. Lawrence with a painful grin.

"Sorry 'bout that, old chap!" boomed Uncle Vernon and laughed uproariously. "Well, on to business. I think you folks should first get settled in, because there's a storm coming and I want you all safe in here before the power goes out."

"Before the power goes out?" inquired Francis.

"Yes, indeed: whenever there's a storm, we almost always have power failures here these days. I have a generator for emergencies, but I seldom bother. Candle light is softer on the eyes," replied Uncle Vernon. "And more romantic," he added with a wink at Alice, who blushed.

"Now, let me see. Alice, Laura and Victor can have the guest rooms, and I think Francis will feel more comfortable out in the rondavel. Go make yourselves at home, and then we'll have a chat and a drink."