Slowly, a convoy of seven off-road vehicles moved through the dark yellow grassland, as if on a string, while pattering rain had turned the sandy paths dark brown-red. The stalks of the dried-up grass were already so saturated that they bent easily and moved only slowly and with difficulty, while scattered dark green vegetation created a stark contrast.

It was Sunday, thirteen degrees below zero, and we, a group of students from BNT, had been on the road since 7:30 a.m. to take part in a very special event: rhino dehorning. What may sound quite harmless and simple was anything but ‘simple,’ had a bitterly serious background, and left me with mixed feelings.

South Africa is the main destination for rhino poaching, as around 80 per cent of the world's rhino population lives here. The poachers' targets are the white rhino (Ceratotherium simum) and the black rhino (Diceros bicornis). 

The decline in the black rhino population is particularly dramatic: while there were still around 65,000 animals living in the 1970s, there are now fewer than 6,500. Since 2008, over 10,000 rhinos have been poached in South Africa. This means that around 90% of black rhinos have been killed in the last 50 years alone – an alarming trend that continues despite intensive conservation efforts. The main cause of poaching is the high demand for rhino horn, especially in countries such as Vietnam and China. Although it consists solely of keratin – the same protein found in hair and fingernails. 

In China, the horn is considered a status symbol or an ingredient in traditional medicine – even though it has long been scientifically proven that it has no healing properties whatsoever. On the black market, rhino horn can fetch 60,000 US dollars or more per kilogram, making it more valuable than gold or cocaine. Poaching networks known as ‘syndicate poachers’ are usually well organised and use modern equipment such as night vision goggles, drones and even helicopters. 

Regions such as Kruger National Park and KwaZulu-Natal are particularly affected, where poaching remains a serious problem despite strict and costly surveillance.

In order to protect these short-legged, grey giants, more and more parks are resorting to a drastic and controversial method: removing the horns from the rhinos' noses themselves. It is hoped that this will deter poachers from killing the animals. The process is painless for the animal, as only ‘dead’ material is cut away – but the psychological and mental strain and stress on the animals is enormous. Although the animals now live in parks, they are still wild. They are used to being free within the boundaries of the reserve and avoid contact with humans. Although attempts are made to minimise stress for the animals by covering their eyes and ears, the ‘hunt’ with the helicopter, the shooting with a tranquiliser gun, the many hands that have to hold the animal afterwards, the smells and the vibration from the saw cause the animals great stress, are disturbing and create traumatic situations. However, the biggest criticism is that this measure is not sustainable. The horns grow back – a good 2-7 centimetres per year. This means that such a traumatic situation has to be repeated over and over again.

The convoy had gathered at a small, open intersection and now we waited. The sky was now completely grey and the light rain that had started had turned into heavy showers. Tom had taken shelter with Vanessa in the off-road vehicle, and I sat with Mak on a game viewer with a roof, watching the rivulets of rain regularly splashing down from the tent canvas while we stayed relatively dry. The others were not so comfortable, huddled together on BNT’s open game viewer with water running down their hoods – if they had rain jackets with them. I felt a little sorry for the group, but no one complained – the situation was too special, the opportunity to experience a rhino so close was too unique. We had been given this opportunity by BNT and we weren’t just here as observers – we were supposed to hold the anaesthetised animal during the horn removal so that it didn’t lie down on its side and damage its internal organs with its own weight. However, there were other participants besides us who, as I later learned, had paid a considerable amount of money to take part. This was not to maximise the park’s profits, but to cover the costs, as removing a horn in this way was very expensive due to the necessary use of a helicopter – hardly affordable for a ‘small park’. It was only thanks to the paying observers that this procedure was possible. I wasn’t entirely sure how necessary we really were, but I was happy to have the opportunity to be part of the action.

The helicopter rattled quietly on the horizon as it circled in search of the rhino, and a tense atmosphere hung in the air. Then suddenly there was movement in the group: the helicopter crew had spotted the rhino! Everyone jumped into the cars, which were already running, and the convoy raced through the golden, wet landscape, following the helicopter. Meanwhile, the helicopter crew, consisting of two veterinarians, tried to drive the animal to an open area near a path and sedate it with a tranquiliser gun. Accompanied by the loud rattling of the helicopter, we swept across the paths of the reserve, through dense scrubland and across open steppes, when the helicopter suddenly came to a halt in the air. We swerved sharply to the left off the road, bumped a few metres across the stubbly muddy landscape and then came to a halt behind a row of bushes. I just managed to land the helicopter and see the two vets jump out before the other vehicles arrived. People jumped dynamically out of the off-road vehicles and a group of about twenty-two curious onlookers rushed across stubble and stones towards the swaying animal.

the dizzy giant

The large, grey white rhino had no idea what was happening to him. Just moments before, he had been happily grazing in the thick bush when suddenly something large and loud appeared in the sky, followed shortly afterwards by a sharp pain in his rear end. Then everything became blurry, his legs went weak, he lost his sense of direction, and countless people came running from all directions.

The vets had thrown a red cloth over the animal’s eyes and, after increasing the sedation, closed its ears with large black plugs. Now the large grey animal was swaying completely disoriented from right to left, desperately trying to stay on its feet, while the sedative, I could even still see the anaesthetic dart in its left buttock, was increasingly taking effect. It was a pitiful, desperate and touching sight.

What felt like an eternity passed before the sedative finally took effect and the animal finally collapsed to the ground, snorting. Then our time had come. To prevent the rhino from falling on its side, we ran to the heavily breathing animal and began to support the animal, which weighed a tonne. It was an incredible feeling to be so close to one of these massive, shy animals. I reverently placed my hands on the animal’s neck and was surprised: contrary to what I had expected, the skin was soft, warm and slightly rough, yet delicate at the same time. Intrigued, focused and with my eyes wide open, I studied the animal and felt overwhelmed on the one hand, while a heaviness settled on my chest on the other. ‘Kirk, Kirk, look here.’ It took some time for these words to sink in and for me to react. I looked up and saw Tom standing in the rain with my camera, just a few metres away, busily taking photos. But unlike the usual reaction when someone points a camera at your face, I didn’t feel like smiling at all and could only contort my face into a pained grimace.

tragic euphoria

I looked around some more, took in the scene around me and saw the faces of the others: they were grinning, laughing and rejoicing! People were running around euphorically, posing in front of or with the animal, and it almost felt like a group of excited children at a birthday party.

I, on the other hand, was not in the mood to laugh and celebrate. I was very grateful for this opportunity, this experience, and I was aware of the importance and purpose of this measure: it was about protecting animals – so it was actually something good and positive, and therefore necessary. But it was precisely this necessity that cast a heavy veil over my heart.

This situation was not pleasant; it was terrible! Not only was it based on the constant danger of these magnificent animals being killed, but this measure also crippled and horribly disfigured a once proud animal. Whereas the rhino was regarded in Asia as a symbol and means of strength and potency – and therefore hunted – it had now become for me a symbol of weakness, impotence and disability. I was in no mood to celebrate. I felt like crying or angrily beating up a punching bag – or going directly after the poachers and the Asian buyers, the root of the problem. At least I wasn’t completely alone. I saw a few other sad faces, and Tina even refused to have her photo taken with the animal.

After a good twenty minutes, the whole sad spectacle was over. The rhino had been relieved of the few centimetres of horn stubs that had grown back, and only the smell of singed horn bore witness to the violent intervention in nature that had just taken place. Now we were back in the cars and the rhino was left alone with the two vets to receive an antidote to the anaesthetic and regain its sovereignty. We were already slowly bumping back along the damp tracks when the helicopter took off, signalling the end of the operation.

By mid-2024, the removal of horns to protect the animals was well underway in the reserves of the KwaZulu-Natal region, and it was no longer possible to see a rhino with fully grown horns on its nose. The generation of children now growing up will probably never be able to see one of these animals in the wild with a horn on its nose and will only be able to learn about their original form from old documentaries or books. That is bitter. But what is particularly bitter are the effects of the principle of price, demand and supply. Now that all rhinos have been dehorned, the ‘product’ horn has become even more limited and therefore even more exclusive.

The hunger of wealthy Asians for a status symbol made of horn has grown even more, with the result that just two months after this experience, the killing of animals in parks had skyrocketed. This time, it was for just a few centimetres of horn stump. It is a vicious circle that can only be broken by eliminating demand or by finally eradicating these already highly endangered animals.

snare sweep – the trap seeker

Just two days later, we were involved in another operation against poachers, but this time it was much less dramatic. While Sunday’s operation had focused on combating so-called ‘syndicate poaching’, which is driven by prestige and money in Asia, today’s mission was to find traps and combat ‘meat poaching’. In ‘meat poaching,’ the goal is to kill animals for consumption – in the best case scenario. There are also cases where the meat ends up at a weekly market and is sold for money – albeit on a completely different scale than with the syndicate poachers.

But meat poaching also kills animals and causes great suffering. In order to kill the animals unseen, huge areas are often littered with simple wire traps, in which all kinds of animals get caught and strangled. The target is clearly antelopes, but rhinos and elephants are also affected. These large animals may not die immediately, but they often lose limbs or trunks, which means a slow death in the wild.

The countermeasures are well-secured fences, an effective anti-poaching unit and regular ‘snare sweeps’ – systematic searches of endangered areas. However, the areas are large, the traps are numerous, well hidden and difficult to find. Such measures therefore require manpower – which is why we were in the Bonamanzi Reserve.

The entire operation was organised by the organisation Snare-Aware.

Snare Aware is a volunteer-run non-profit organisation based in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. Its goal is to combat poaching using snares, which endanger both wild and domestic animals. In 2024, Snare Aware removed over 700 snares along the north coast, particularly in areas such as Umdloti and Sheffield Beach. In addition to actively removing traps, the organisation is also involved in environmental education, for example through workshops with children to raise awareness of the importance of species conservation.

“Please blur the faces of participants later; we don’t want to cause any negative experiences for our volunteers” said Steve (name changed), the head of Snare Aware, opening the briefing for the 50 or so volunteers. ’The traps are difficult to find, especially for untrained eyes. It’s best not to look for the traps themselves, but for the accompanying clues. Traps must be stopped. Look for unnatural plant arrangements on the ground or in the bushes. Put yourselves in the animals’ shoes and follow the paths. Poachers often build so-called “tunnels” that guide the animals to the traps. These are also unnatural formations. And last but not least, look for possible markings. The poachers want to find their traps again and can’t remember them all,‘ says Steve, introducing us to the topic of “snare sweeping” and reminding us once again: ’We are not the police. If you come across a poacher, let the rangers know, but don’t intervene.‘ ’That’s going to be difficult,” I think to myself, torn between whether I should hope to encounter poachers – or not.

After the briefing, we were divided into small groups, each assigned to different areas, and squeezed onto the flatbeds of various pick-up trucks. Slowly, the convoy jolted along the uneven ‘dirt roads’ along the fence line, and every 100 metres Steve gave the command to drop off three helpers.

After about a kilometre, it was my turn. Together with a big, strong Englishman from the organisation Dogs4Wildife, Cameron and the boss of Snare Aware, I jumped off the truck bed and started trudging north through the undergrowth. I followed the small, narrow wildlife trails, winding my way through dense bushes and small sections of forest. I avoided the grassy areas. There was no way to set a trap there. Unlike in Germany, there was mobile network coverage almost everywhere in South Africa, even here in the middle of the bush. It took less than ten minutes for the first messages about traps being found, including photos and locations, to be posted in the chat group set up specifically for this purpose. A success! Albeit a sad one.

I, on the other hand, found nothing. As more and more messages were posted in the group, I began to doubt my perception. ‘Surely I, with years of “terrain search experience” from my work with the German riot police, should be able to find something.’ But the others in my group and even Steve had the same experience. The burly Englishman was at least able to find a single old trap, but the rest of us had no success. ‘Well, if even Steve, who’s an expert, can’t find any traps, then it seems that none have been installed in this area,’ I reassured myself, and Steve confirmed this assumption: “In itself, it’s a good sign, but of course we would all have liked to have had some success,” said Steve at the end of the first “sweep”.

rhino cemetery

After a short lunch break, we headed to the other side of the reserve. There, the park borders directly on the village of Hluhluwe, which means that poaching is increasingly common there. ‘Other side’ means driving, first of all. Driving through the park. So basically nothing different from a safari – only this time with a higher purpose. I liked that. I like being ‘part’ of something and not just a consuming tourist.

Satisfied, I let my gaze wander over the landscape, enjoying the zebras, giraffes and various antelopes, and getting to know the other participants a little. There was the big dog trainer from England. With his organisation Dogs4Wildlife, he was on a mission to train tracking and protection dogs for anti-poachers to make their fight against poaching more effective. The costs were mostly covered by sponsors from Europe, as most of the parks, especially the small ones, cannot afford well-trained dogs. Then there was the vet, whom I’ll call Peter. Peter has been helping with such campaigns for years and is a trained nature guide and trail guide himself. He loves the wilderness, the animals and plants, and was therefore able to give us valuable tips for the upcoming tests.

The north of the park was now completely different from the south. Here, too, we searched in dense bushland, but there was much less grass. Instead, cactus-like, poisonous euphorbias dominated the landscape and often blocked the way. As a result, we had to run around much more and some participants quickly lost their bearings. Here, too, it didn’t take long for the chat group to fill up with reports of finds – but again, I found nothing. It was frustrating. Yes, it can be a good sign. It could mean that nothing had been placed here, which is ultimately the goal. But it could also mean that I was unable to spot the traps. ‘Maybe I’m just too fast?’ I thought as I was the only one to step onto the cross path that marked the end of our search section. Maybe. But the others who gradually stumbled out of the thicket hadn’t found anything either. Since we still had plenty of time, we decided to search the next adjacent area on our own. Here, the situation was quite different. We still couldn’t find any traps, but we did find some old bones from various antelopes. So, someone had been on a rampage here in the past.

Meanwhile, the vegetation was becoming denser and denser, and entire fields of euphorbia were increasingly blocking our path, forcing us to make wide detours through the undergrowth. Not ideal conditions for poachers. But we pushed on through branches, past thorns and over roots, because something else had caught our interest: the bones of a rhinoceros were supposed to be nearby.

And indeed, there was a special atmosphere. The vegetation on the ground had become sparser, but had formed a dense canopy of organic material, and in front of me lay a large white bone. I looked around and realised that large and small bones were scattered everywhere within a radius of twenty metres – I was standing in the middle of a graveyard!

daggerboys

Three black dagger boys chewed quietly and contentedly about 150 metres away, enjoying the warm yellow sun as it sank lower and lower, creating a stark contrast to the golden grass carpet of the savannah. We stood in the shade of the forest edge. The sun shone directly on the unpredictable animals through the treetops behind us, making us almost invisible to them. Four hundred metres behind the buffalo, a few giraffes strolled by and some impalas crossed the horizon. It was a peaceful scene and a very special atmosphere: no paternal Dylan watching over us, no rifle offering protection from buffalo bulls that might suddenly charge. It was just us, the shadows of the trees and Peter, at least. He had joined our group a few minutes earlier when we emerged from the thicket. Together, we had followed a small supply path through the countryside on our way back to the off-road vehicle and had just come across the group of buffaloes.

We had time and enjoyed ourselves. For many, it was their first time encountering one of the Big Five on foot, and some were visibly nervous. I, on the other hand, was reminded of my time in the wilderness in mFulaWozi. With my senses sharp yet completely relaxed, I suddenly felt free, alive and perfectly content again.

Yes, it could have been dangerous – but isn’t that what life is all about?