My time at Siyafunda Endangered Species Reserve has come to a close. And my final hours were as amazing as my first. On the game drive the night before my departure, we returned to the scene of the dead kudu (a woodland antelope) in a tree discovered earlier that day. A leopard had made the kill, pulled the kudu up a tree and left it dangling over a branch. We knew she’d be back. But when?

As the sun began to disappear behind the great Drakensburg Mountains, we pulled up in the jeep and waited. And waited and waited. It grew dark and, still, nothing. We were about to pull away when someone spotted a leopard cub in a different tree. And then a second in another tree. The photographers among us began snapping in the dark and captured beautiful images.

With our attention focused on the trees in the distance, we didn’t see the spotted hyena through the brush directly in front of us making for the dead kudu.

She jumps with open mouth at the kudu head. Finally, she latches on and pulls the whole animal down to the ground. She drags the kudu into the nearby wooded area. We hear, but cannot see, her eating.

Hyenas are regarded as the bad boys of the bush with a swagger and confidence that sends a chill. When we see them at a kill, we assume they horned in on another animal’s prize. Yet, 95% of what they eat, they kill themselves.

The circumstances of this kill suggest it’s in the 5%. The kudu hangs in a tree near two leopard cubs. So when the mother leopard returns, and she does, she looks up and around. No kudu. Meanwhile, the hyena, having finished its meal, walks around behind us and seems to be heading back into the bush. Suddenly she circles and returns to the vicinity of the kudu tree. We believe she is eyeing the cubs.

This is an eventful evening and everyone is abuzz with excitement, retelling the details as we return to camp. Our patience, or rather that of our ranger, Kayla, has paid off again. As a research site, Siyafunda trains its rangers and volunteers to take time and observe. Look for signs of activity and put it in context. The oxpecker circling above could mean an elephant or rhino is near by. Vultures that multiply within seconds in the sky mean a kill has been consumed and left for pickings. Foot prints in the road are identified as fresh or old and point to who, what, when, where and sometimes how.

On a game walk one morning, Mike, Siyafunda’s owner and master tracker, pointed out a fallen tree that a rhino had been using to scratch his underside. See here how the bark had been rubbed off in a specific direction? And from the direction of the prints, he was coming from the nearby river, going to feed on his favorite grass and stopped here to have a scratch. Mike is explaining. I’m looking hard, I really am. But, I just see a log.

All activity in the bushveld is part of a story. No animal works in complete isolation of others, even if they are loners. And the presence of humans makes an impact. Period. No matter how inconspicuous, how considerate, how well-intentioned. They know we are there, they know who we are and they, mostly, go about their business despite us.

But there’s a bigger impact we make in this reserve and it’s, for the most part, good. If not for Siyafunda and other reserves like it, habitat would continue to dwindle, poachers would go unchecked, frustrated farmers would continue to protect their farms — to the detriment of these magnificent animals. I am more convinced than ever that properly run reserves are necessary in Africa. (See https://amgattari.com/the-king-of-the-pride/)

So, we humans, are part of the story in the bushveld. How can we not be? Man has created this situation. Now we must work to rectify, restore and reserve what we can.

I was thinking of all this on my last night in the bush before falling asleep. Sometime later, maybe it was 2 or 3 in the morning, I was awakened by a low, long booming grunt. Then short, quick ones. Then long again. It was Khalari Jr. and Zamula, the two elderly lions I had met on my first day. They were very close to our camp, as close as they’ve ever been.

In my story, these gentlemen were saying goodbye.