A tiny black face peers through the open gate, not daring to go out. A few minutes later, another furry body runs past – he is the first vervet monkey to step into a land of unknown mysteries, his new home. Soundlessly, other troop members follow – the juveniles first, the females and their babies last. Some climb the bridges of tree stumps that have been placed over the fence. Some prefer to walk through the gates of the enclosure as if they know it was opened just for them. As they explore, they smell the air and climb the trees; they scan the horizon and mark their new territory, oblivious to the observers taking pictures. They are free, and this is all that matters.
As a wildlife journalist, I have visited many wildlife sanctuaries. When I first arrived at Riverside Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre (RWRC) in Phalaborwa, South Africa, I expected to meet people who cared about animals, and I was not disappointed. The owners of this 12-ha primate rehabilitation facility, Primatologists Bob and Lynne Venter, are a delightful couple. The 400 vervet monkeys and 96 chacma baboons they look after are in several good-sized and exceptionally well-kept enclosures.
Bob and Lynne’s unlimited passion and vast scientific (and legal) knowledge means their work goes beyond providing a haven for abused or injured wildlife. At the RWRC, the animals are not only brought back to health but they are also reintroduced into their natural habitat.

Origins

It all started in 1992. Bob, who ran a construction company then, rescued a three-day-old vervet monkey from a farmer. The farmer had shot the mother and intended to smash the tiny creature against a wall when no one volunteered to keep it. As a reward, 14 charges were made against Bob for defending the animal.
Back then, South African law listed vervet monkeys and chacma baboons as vermin and pests. Interfering with a person in the process of killing any of these animals was a criminal offence. Bob was sent to court and asked to hand the baby monkey to the authorities, who would no doubt kill it. Naturally, Bob refused.

14 charges were made against Bob for defending a monkey

On the day of his trial, Bob took the monkey with him. The magistrate and members of the court were not impressed. Still, after a lengthy trial, they could not find him guilty of any of the charges brought against him ‘because I acted inexplicably by saving this animal,’ Bob recalls with satisfaction. ‘It was the first time this happened in South Africa. That’s how it all started and what made me want to start a rehabilitation centre for these animals.’

Right to life

In late 1994, his wife Lynne joined him to help run RWRC, which grew over the years and was soon able to welcome vervet monkeys, chacma baboons, bush babies and other wildlife casualties. The operation increased in size after 2002 when the RWRC began receiving volunteers from every corner of the world, all of whom work around the clock cleaning the enclosures, preparing food for the animals, bottle-feeding babies and other such jobs.
The Venters have never stopped fighting for the rights of these animals and have studied primate ecology and South African law. After many attempts, they successfully helped establish the National Environmental Management Biodiversity Act (NEMBA), which became law in 2004, protecting all CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species) listed animals. Vervet monkeys and chacma baboons have appeared on this listing since 1974.

The Venters managed to change the law to give these animals protection

‘The first thing we wanted to do was to change the law, to give these animals proper protection,’ explains Bob. ‘The second was to create a facility where casualties could be brought for proper treatment, and thirdly, to reintroduce and release all our animals back into the wild. These animals predate on insects that are quite harmful to agriculture – they are also big pollinators. They eat seeds, and their digestive system assists in the germination of the seeds when they drop them in their faeces. So why would we try to eradicate these animals crucial to our survival?’

Care and Release

As soon as a monkey arrives at RWRC, it receives 24-hour attention and any necessary medical treatments. It is then placed in quarantine for 40 days, where volunteers and staff monitor it. Once the quarantine is over, it is introduced to a larger enclosure with other babies or monkeys of various ages. Once this integration phase is successful, the monkey group is released into a natural enclosure sufficient in size to be exposed to natural predators occurring in the area, such as martial eagle, giant eagle owl, spotted eagle owl and African rock pythons.

Exposure to predators before release hones their natural instincts

‘Occasionally, the primates get to see black-backed jackals and caracal outside of the rehabilitation enclosures and instinctively recognise them as dangerous,’ explains Bob. ‘Their instinct towards predators and other dangers, including humans, are honed by the given exposure. They demonstrate recognition of danger and predators with specific alarm calls and how they react to such threats, which are passed on to the young and other members to follow the fight or flight behavioural response.’
Once a troop of monkeys has become stable and self-sufficient, they are moved to a specifically chosen release site where they will be tolerated and not hunted, and it is here that they regain their freedom.

Tasting freedom

The reintroduction process into the wild is lengthy and involves discipline and hard work. This I came to realise during my three-month stay at Riverside. We started capturing 31 vervet monkeys in their semi-wild enclosure in mid-July 2014 to be released in a temporary 51m x 51m enclosure erected at Wydehoek, a beautiful, hunting-free, private game reserve containing enough natural food and medicinal plants to sustain the animals for many years.
Placing a temporary enclosure at the release site is a fundamental step that most so-called rehabilitation centres tend to ignore. ‘One cannot simply set animals free where they can disperse in all directions and end up dead or injured or starve to death’, Bob explains. ‘Successful reintroduction, or release, depends on these animals being capable of defending themselves, being able to populate their species, identify predators, know whether to fight or flight. They must also have developed a fear for humans, find their food and be able to distinguish plants for their nutritional and medicinal properties.’

More than 600 monkeys and baboons have rehabilitated and released thus far

Two weeks after the animals arrived at the Wydehoek site (which, Venter estimates, is enough time for the animals to have established scented markings and recognise features of the environment) the electrified fence was deactivated, log and branch bridges were placed over the fence, and the gates were opened.
It was an emotional moment as we all watched the monkeys taste their newfound freedom. ‘I don’t have words for it anymore,’ says Lynne Venter. ‘It makes me happy and proud that these monkeys are returning to being wild. It reminds me of everything I’ve given up to do this and why it is worthwhile.’
To date, the Venters have successfully rehabilitated and released 19 troops of vervet monkeys – more than 600 individuals – and one troop of 24 chacma baboons. Another troop of baboons – the second to be released into the wild – will be set free this year. Ten years on, these animals will still be monitored in the wild to learn about their progress and improve rehabilitation methods.

An uncertain future

With the growing public awareness of the plight of primates and other wildlife species, programs like these must be maintained to cope with future casualties. However, sadness fills Bob’s eyes as he tells me about the threats that hang over their operation.
When the new South African government took effect in 1994, it was decided that certain land must be returned to claimants under the land reform act. In 2005, the RWRC’s land was claimed. At the time, the government compensated farmers and landowners for their losses, but because certain tribes disagreed on who should get the Venter’s land, no decision was taken. While they were able to stay longer on their property, it also means that should they lose their property now, they will not be compensated. The new claimants said they would use the enclosures for poultry farming, and they have refused the Venter’s request to rent the property and/or stay on the land.
Bob adds that a dam will soon be built on a river close to RWRC, flooding 50% of the land, including three of their enclosures and their volunteer accommodations. ’We will have to remove the animals. We don’t know where we will go. That’s why we don’t sleep.’ Meanwhile, they continue to rehabilitate as many animals as possible for as long as possible.

Also read: How animals self-medicate

Contributors

MAHINA PERROT is a Tahitian-born journalist with a passion for telling stories of conservation. In 2013, she founded Wildlife Sanctuaries Worldwide. This non-profit organisation aims to raise awareness about wildlife sanctuaries and rehabilitation centres around the world via the publication of articles in newspapers and magazines. WSW aims to become a label which will be awarded to sanctuaries and projects that are working towards creating a sustainable future for communities and wildlife. Mahina currently bases herself in France and regularly travels to Africa.

JESSICA BLOYE is a first-year veterinary student from Lancashire, England. She travels as much as possible in her spare time and documents her journeys through photography. During her gap year, she spent ten months at Riverside Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre, where she formed close relationships with the chacma baboons and vervet monkeys; this awakened her passion for rehabilitation, and after she’s finished her degree she would love to carry on volunteering in rehabilitation centres around the world.

In various parts of Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique, the spirits of the ancestors take on corporeal form and dance for their living descendants. Not just to entertain but also to inform, chastise and guide. The forms they take are varied and spectacular, and the occasion of their portrayal is called the gule wamkulu – the great dance.
I first saw the spirits dancing at a lakeshore hotel years ago. It was a spectacular piece of dinner theatre, and, of course, the dancers were paid performers, but it had a power and immediacy that I have not forgotten in over a decade. But there is much more to the gule than mere tourist entertainment.
The dancers prepare weeks in advance by carving masks and making the outfits in secret. These are not thought of as costumes but as actual spirits, each representing a character that fulfils a purpose or delivers a message. Uninitiated people may not see the masks, and the dancers must keep their identity secret, compartmentalising their daily lives from their parallel existence as spirit dancers. The outfits are stored in secret places, and the dancers change far from the village in the forest before making their way from the relative wilds to the civilisation of the village.

‘Gule wamkulu is a cosmic celebration of life and death,’ says Father Claude Boucher (Chisale) of Mua Mission. ‘It comments on and influences issues affecting society – materialism, dispossession and inequality – and reflects the rich cultural heritage of the Chewa people.’ The rituals, traditions, taboos and social etiquette portrayed by the gulu represent and document mwambo – the moral code laid down by the ancestors.

It wasn’t long before Father Claude started questioning the Church’s policy

It’s worth noting here that ancestor veneration, as practised by many African tribes, is not ancestor worship. The ancestors are respected, remembered and – when they have something important to communicate to their descendants – heeded but not worshipped. This common misconception may be one cause of the long-standing conflict between Christian missionaries and the gule wamkulu. The refusal to allow converts to take communion unless they relinquish all links to gule is one example. This situation greeted Father Claude when he arrived at Mua Mission in 1967. But it wasn’t long before he started questioning the Church’s policy of accepting other African traditional practices while demonising the gule. Questioning led to understanding; understanding led to acceptance, and acceptance led to his becoming initiated into the gule wamkulu. In the intervening years, he has documented over 400 gule characters and collected and preserved well over 200 masks.

Keen to gain a deeper understanding of the gule and its significance, I visited Mua Mission. I’m not sure what my expectations were, but the reality vastly exceeded them. Beautiful brick buildings with spectacular sculptures and frescoes depict the history, culture and values of the local Chewa, Yao and Angoni people and that of the Catholic Church – and if you think combining all that into one harmonious whole is a tricky feat, you’re right. But somehow, they have. I chatted to Boucher in a vain attempt to understand in a day what he had taken four decades to internalise, and probably the most important thing I learned is that it is almost impossible for a verbal-dominant Westerner like myself to fully grasp the pre-literate symbolism of a society as old as the Chewa. But I think I have achieved a vague comprehension.

Superficially, gule dancers can take four basic forms. The oldest and most traditional is a naked man smeared with ash or mud – representing death – and wearing a mask. As norms changed, a loincloth was added, but the look remained the same. More recently, the ash or mud has been replaced by a full costume of tatters – long strips of colourful rags that symbolise the clothes of the dead. And then there are full costumes that consist of a solid structure that may be supported by one person or by two people as with Mkango the lion, made up in the familiar form of the pantomime horse. It is a bit scary, as it rushes around roaring, but it’s also kind of whimsical and quirky.

Two of the more recent forms are Barack Obama and Ebola

There are literally hundreds of forms or masks. Some are in the shape of animals, some are roughly humanoid, and some are bizarre and outlandish. What they have in common is that they are all deeply symbolic and can, in almost no instances, be taken literally. And new ones appear rapidly in response to changing situations – two of the more recent are Barack Obama and Ebola.
I watched a performance of the gule with Father Claude on hand to explain what was happening. The most important dancers are Chadzunda – the father of all the gule characters – and his wife Maliya or Mariya. Chadzunda’s mask is a fearsome black visage with wrinkles and missing teeth signifying his great age and wisdom. He limps into the Bwalo, but is revitalised when he starts dancing with his young and lovely wife. Mariya’s character has clearly been influenced by the missionary history of Malawi. She is represented as of European origin and is – strangely considering her Virgin Mary connections – sensual and seductive as she dances with Chadzunda. While it is true that the gule represents traditional conservatism, it does move with the times. Mariya’s dancing and devotion to Chadzunda represent both feminine submission and a protest against polygamy.

But possibly the most important, ancient and interesting mask is that of Kasiya maliro – Mariya’s animal counterpart. The name means “the one who accompanies the corpse to the graveyard,” but it is a symbol of life, not death. Kasiya maliro is represented by a stylised antelope, but that’s just there to hide her real nature from the children – and the uninitiated. The antelope is depicted as the tiniest head and tail on top of a huge inverted uterus and vulva. I didn’t spot it at first and when Father Claude explained it to me, he admitted that it took him a long time to work it out, too. I guess for a Catholic priest, that’s not so surprising. Kasiya maliro is the universal feminine, the womb of the world and the tribe. She is the giver of life, and she is there at every important ritual, including death and the initiation of both boys and girls.

A black-faced mask topped by a pot of smoking coals

Another dance I witnessed was that of Kalulu – a cute but strange hare that symbolises the chief and represents desirable qualities like boundless energy, the willingness to serve, and the ability to listen, as indicated by the large upright ears. This is in stark contrast to Mbaula – a complex character portrayed by a fiercely-horned, black-faced mask topped by a pot of (real) smoking coals. Mbaula dances around, giving gifts, and even allows people to make popcorn on his head, but this generosity is a deception to hide his true character. He is really after power, someone else’s wife, undeserved wealth, or all three. This mask appeared only in the 1980s in response, some say, to the despotism, acquisitiveness and sexual incontinence of Malawi President Kamuzu Banda. Many of the masks are used as a satirical mirror and have an overt political message and a covert moral one.

But some, while still communicating a serious message, are just adorable. I fell in love with Chilembwe, a cute, hilariously funny roan antelope character displaying some of the best physical comedy I have ever seen. It had the crowd falling about with laughter at the Kulamba ceremony.
Dances are held for many different purposes, such as initiations, funerals, the appointment of chiefs, the interpretation and treatment of spirit possession and the placation of the ancestors. Gule can guide or reprimand the community or specific people who have behaved contrary to accepted custom. That’s where characters like Mbaula come in, and others warn against sexual infidelity, theft, domestic violence and the abuse of magic. The ancestors are very conservative and demand adherence to a strict moral code in terms of interpersonal relations, distribution of resources, succession, inheritance, gender issues and sexual norms.

The dancers also perform at important ritual and political events, like the Kulamba. This is a gathering of Chewa people from all over Malawi, Eastern Zambia and Western Mozambique to pay homage to Gawa Undi, the king of all the Chewa. Dating back hundreds of years, this is a real “gathering of the clans.” But it has changed somewhat in nature and is now complete with busloads of people, buckets of beer, ephemeral markets selling anything from Kariba kapenta (small fish) to Chinese widgets, political glad-handing, long sycophantic speeches, loud music, hot sun, dust and spectacular gule dances.

I made a mental note to jump out the car if his head caught fire

The journey to the Kulamba was perhaps more instructive than the actual event. We got a lift from Lilongwe to Zambia with the acquaintance of a friend, a minor but ambitious politician. Stopping off en route, he surprised us by handing out thousand-kwacha notes to a succession of pretty girls that, recognising his car, came up to the window to greet him. I was reminded of Mbaula and made a mental note to jump out of the car if his head caught fire.
Before we left Lilongwe, we chatted to a few people about the gule, and were surprised at their response. The waiter who served us in a popular coffee shop said, ‘They are bad. They rob you and beat you up and cut you with pangas.’ And the coffee shop owner nodded in agreement. Was this attitude a result of the ongoing demonisation of the gule by the churches and mosques, or was there something more to it, I wondered. Well, I was soon to find out.

On the way to Zambia, as we neared the border, we came across three men walking down the road. Clad in dirty loincloths with their skin smeared with ash, they wore unelaborate but sinister Hannibal Lecter-like masks. And they each carried a panga and a big stick. Their body language was aggressive in the extreme, and there was nothing quirky or whimsical about them. I – jokingly – suggested to Andrew, who is usually a rather intrepid photographer, that he hop out of the car and take a pic. He refused, wisely realising it would be akin to walking up to a pride of lions for a whisker-sharp close-up. These were so obviously not nice guys – and they clearly were not real gule either – but they used the combination of fear and anonymity offered by the masks to commit crimes against the community. And the worst part is that many people, like those we chatted to in the coffee shop, don’t understand the difference. The ancestors would not be amused.

VIEW Gallery: The meaning of the masks

With special thanks to Father Claude Boucher (Chisale).

Contributors

JENNIFER STERN is a Cape Town-based travel writer who has been trawling southern Africa for fantastic adventures, fascinating and little-known museums, awesome food, great coffee and interesting encounters since the previous century. She is fascinated by how people shape the world – and how the world shapes people, and she sees every new project as another adventure. But adventure, she believes, is not about risking your life. It’s risking your preconceptions about life. Jennifer’s latest adventure took her to Malawi and Zambia to learn more about the mysterious gule wamkulu or great dance.

ANDREW BRUKMAN is a photographer currently living and working in Cape Town. His roots are in documentary photography with strong influences from conceptual art. While on an adventurous road trip through southern and east Africa, Andrew spent time with Jennifer Stern to photograph Malawi and Zambia’s ‘gule wamkulu’. You can see more of Andrew’s work on his website, www.andrewbrukmnacreate.co.za.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world. For the past three years, I have lived almost exclusively in South Africa’s national parks and nature reserves.
On a typical day, while some people sit in city traffic, I could photograph lions in the Kalahari, tracking rhinos with rangers or swimming with turtles. My good fortune is made more palpable because I once had an office job, a so-called successful career working in the cities of Johannesburg, Cape Town and London.
But I spent much time staring out the office window, pretending I could see elephants on the horizon. Perhaps it stems from my childhood. My parents regularly took my two sisters and me to the Kruger National Park. At the time, I probably took these family holidays for granted, but many years later, the memories are still clear.
Interestingly, the most visceral reminders of those holidays are not the sight of wild animals but the smells and sounds of the bush – the unmistakable scents that rise from the dry earth after the rain has fallen, the chirruping of woodland kingfishers, the barking of baboons and the rasping grunt of leopards.

I only realised later that, while I enjoy the excitement of cities, I felt most alive and connected to myself when immersed in nature.
While at my desk in Johannesburg, I was conscious that I was just a few hours away from places like Kruger, the Okavango Delta and the Drakensberg mountains. It was infuriating and inspiring in equal measure.
But then, after daydreaming for several years – and no doubt annoying my successive bosses – the little voice in my head became a booming demand I could no longer ignore. So I listened.
I approached South African National Parks and proposed travelling through the country’s most important protected areas for a year. I’d write a blog, take photos and tell the stories of South Africa’s wild places, showing why our national parks and nature reserves are so important, what is being done to protect them, which species are endangered, who the people are that live and work there and what their stories are.

After getting SANParks’ endorsement and working for a year to raise sponsorship to cover the costs, I set off on my “Year in the Wild”. Ford loaned me an Everest 4×4 and other sponsors, like Goodyear and Cape Union Mart, were equally enthusiastic in their support.

wild places transcend social and political divisions

I found that almost everyone I approached believed in supporting conservation and that wild places generally transcend social and political divisions. On top of that, everyone seemed to love a good adventure, and the most common response I got on meeting potential sponsors was, ‘Can we come with you?’
It wasn’t all easy, though. Any wilderness can be a physical test. I’ve sweltered in temperatures of more than 50°C in the Kgalagadi, and I’ve shivered through a few sleepless winter nights in my tent at the top of the Drakensberg escarpment. And the novelty of hiking for days through thick, thorny bushveld wears off pretty quickly, especially when the animals are scarce.

But being in the wilderness is more of an emotional test, especially if you’re alone. You can’t hide from yourself, and at first, I was lonely. But I learned to find companionship in the land and the animals, and I became grateful for the basics: food when I’m hungry, water (or beer!) when I’m thirsty, the shelter of a rooftop tent in a thunderstorm, sunshine on a cold Karoo day, and my own health.
Often I would go to sleep feeling down, but then I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see the blazing stars. Or I’d rise in the morning to the panorama of the Richtersveld or watch elephants walk past my camp.

At these times, when the enormity of wilderness swallowed me up, I could transcend my own personal story. It was in forgetting myself that I was able to find myself. Trust me, a violent Kalahari thunderstorm directly above your tent will quickly put your emotional preoccupations into perspective.
The African wilderness is full of these experiences. Here I found belonging and contentment that eludes me in a city. To me, life makes more sense when viewed through the prism of wilderness. In the wild, I sometimes drift into a meditational state and inadvertently achieve an unexpected mental acuity. Perhaps the wilderness gives space for our thoughts and emotions to expand.

It wasn’t all deep and serious. After a few days alone, I’d sometimes find myself laughing aloud for no apparent reason. Or I’d talk to the animals. It may seem nuts, but the animals gave me a sense of community.
But I spent time with lots of great people too. It’s one of the reasons I love my work so much. Generally, conservationists, researchers and rangers are deeply connected to the earth. It’s hard work and poorly paid, but they are driven by something more than money and external validation, and I found them inspirational.
People like Sonto Tembe at Ndumo Game Reserve can imitate almost every bird species’ call, giving visitors an unforgettable experience. Or wildlife vet Dave Cooper and his associate Dumisane Zwane, who work countless hours to treat ill or injured animals, including rhinos that poachers have wounded.
I chatted to Nonhle Mbuthuma, an environmental activist who has stood up to politicians and mining corporations on the Eastern Cape’s spectacular Wild Coast.
‘I live in paradise, and it’s a paradise I want my children to inherit one day,’ Nonhle said. ‘We are not against development, but we have the right to say in what kind of development takes place. Open-cast mining will destroy our area, heritage and sense of identity.’

Not least is Lawrence Munro, a ranger and pilot who, against considerable odds, pioneered and now leads the aerial anti-poaching teams in KwaZulu-Natal after years of being told that such a service was not required.

In 100 years, people will look back and think of Africa’s conservationists as heroes

These are just five of the people I met who are doing vital work, even if our materialistic society doesn’t value their efforts. I believe that when people look back in a hundred years’ time, they’ll think of Africa’s conservationists as the heroes of this century. Human slavery was once considered acceptable, and when Abraham Lincoln worked to abolish it, many people with vested interests in its continuation railed against its abolition.
Today, everyone knows that slavery is abominable. The emancipation of the environment is this century’s greatest challenge. Still, as with human slavery, many corporations, governments, and individuals have vested interests in the sustained destruction of Africa’s natural heritage. Conservationists today are fighting a similar battle to Lincoln’s. And like society today considers slavery detestable, in the future, we will consider today’s abuse of Africa’s wild as one of the most tragic and loathsome periods of mankind’s history.

My first “Year in the Wild” went so well that it turned into two, and by the end of September this year, I will have completed three years of almost continuous exploration of South Africa’s 40 most special protected areas.
It’s one of the many tragedies of apartheid that so many people in South Africa were denied access to the most beautiful parts of the country for so long. Everyone deserves the right to engage with their natural heritage.
So I consider myself extremely fortunate. Not many people – even within SANParks – have been to all the national parks, and even fewer have been to all the other special protected areas. I have visited them several times, explored them extensively, and slept in wild places that few have ever seen.

Initially, I was happy just to cover my costs and to complete the journey, sharing the inspiration with others through my photos, social media and articles.
But now, my journey has become somewhat of a pilgrimage. I find myself increasingly bonded to the African wilderness and wildlife. These wild places and their animals have become part of who I am and are probably the greatest source of inspiration in my life. They have taught me that nature is far more important than I ever imagined and that humans need both wilderness and wildlife to live a full, rich life.

South African filmmaker and photographer Craig Foster, who has worked a lot with Bushmen, wrote, ‘It seems like our bond with animals is deeply rooted in our psyches, and we need them just as much as we need wild open spaces. We don’t need them just because they are pleasant – we need them for psychological survival. At a deep level, a land without life, without creatures, is disturbing.’
After three years, I find myself even more determined to make others aware of Africa’s natural treasures. My journey started out as a dream, an adventure, but it has become my vocation.
I’m sure that if other people – especially those in business and government – can see for themselves what I have seen, then they too will be inspired to care more for the few pockets of wilderness that remain.

Contributor

Scott Ramsay is still out there somewhere. But he’s not hiding. Through his work, Scott hopes to inspire others to travel to the continent’s national parks, and nature reserves, which Scott believes are Africa’s greatest assets and deserve to be protected at any cost, not only for their sake but for our own survival. His one-year journey to explore South Africa’s wild places turned into three. Perhaps as the wild places beyond South Africa’s borders lure him, the journey will continue for many years.