It’s here, some hours before my night in the bush, that I first meet the Mambas, a group of young women dressed in camouflage uniforms and heavy black boots. On the ground beside us lie three huge rhino skulls, killed by poachers. A rise in poaching for rhino horn and increased habitat loss over the last 50 years has decimated rhino populations in Africa, with South Africa representing the epicentre of prohibited wildlife trade. Today, approximately 23,885 black and white rhinos remain in Africa, with the global figure of all five species estimated to be around 28,000. At the start of the 20th century, this figure stood at 500,000.
But in Olifants West, the Black Mambas offer hope. In the areas they patrol, there has been a 63% reduction in wildlife poaching and sharing, and no rhinos have been killed since their deployment in 2013.
From the control centre, we bundle into the Black Mambas’ patrol cars and head to the campsite where, to my surprise, there’s cold-water showers, toilets and sinks. Rows of tents are lined up in the sandy riverbed, and while there’s no electricity, the campsite is dotted with solar lamps for when the sun sets. Rows of chairs surround a campfire and platters of fresh fruit, coffees, teas and drinking water are piled on wooden decking, shaded from the beating sun by a tall acacia tree.
After we’ve settled into the campsite and quenched our thirst from the South African heat, it’s time to join the Mambas on patrol. We follow rangers Leitah Mkhabela, Collet Ngobeni, Cute Mhlongo and Debra Mukanzi into the bush, striding in single file through the tall grass which glows golden in the late afternoon sun. Within minutes, Leitah points to some movement in a thicket nearby. We freeze. “Look, a wildebeest!” she says in a hushed voice. It glances at us for a moment before galloping into the bush.
“We patrol the park for eight hours a day – often four in the morning and four at night – covering 15 kilometres along the park’s fence, looking for signs of poachers,” says 35-year-old Cute, who joined the Black Mambas in 2014. “A small hole in the fence, a footprint – anything can be a clue.” She points to a tree up ahead where, many years prior, she’d located and removed a dozen snares, thankfully with no indication that they’d harmed any animals. “Now, I can’t remember the last time I found a snare,” Cute shares. “When I started, I’d come home with 300 from one patrol.”
Diana Jarvis for Intrepid Travel