Threatened migrating herds need Wildlife Corridors more than ever

By Richard Knocker







When Tarangire National Park was gazetted, back in 1970, few foresaw the looming population explosion, or the farms that would spring up in what were then, important wet-season dispersal areas for migrating herbivores.

That has now come to pass. Populations of migrants such as wildebeest and zebra have crashed, largely cut off from their ancestral calving grounds.

AWF (African Wildlife Foundation) recognised the need to protect important game corridors outside National Parks, in order to keep the old migration routes open. An important (if controversial) move was the purchase of Manyara Ranch, a 44,000-acre chunk of land occupying a central position in the vital Kwakuchinja Corridor, connecting Tarangire to the nearby Lake Manyara National Park.
http://www.awf.org/content/solution/detail/3505/

This is an attempt to achieve that holy grail of wildlife management – involving the local community in a sustainable conservation model, to the benefit of both people and wildlife. I wish them well. National Parks in Tanzania are, on the whole, in pretty good shape. Sure, there are inevitable issues, such as poaching. But I think most people are reasonably confident that, in 50 years or so, the parks will still be wildlife havens, providing enormous enjoyment to many visitors – and vital dollars to the national coffers. The future for wildlife outside the protected areas is much less certain.

There are similar projects afoot elsewhere in the region: north of the border, in Kenya, the Northern Rangelands Trust works closely with local communities, helping them to set up conservancies with fancy lodges so they can benefit from their wildlife resources. So far, NRT is involved in projects involving 15 communities, thereby helping to conserve hundreds of thousands of hectares of land in northern Kenya.
http://nrt-kenya.org/home.html

Here in Tanzania, high flying hedge fund manager and hunter / conservationist Paul Tudor Jones has been investing heavily in the Grumeti Game Reserve and Ikorongo Game Control Area, two degraded hunting blocks, lying just outside the western boundary of Serengeti National Park. The project has had its ups and downs but the proof of the pudding is in the eating: a few years ago, you would have been hard pushed to find much game in this area, so bad was the poaching. Now, it offers first-class viewing, with plenty of important species such as cats and elephant as well as hordes of plains game. Importantly, it now serves as an excellent buffer for the western Serengeti, which has historically suffered from massive poaching and wood cutting. And their conservation arm is leading the charge in the planned re-introduction of black rhino into the Serengeti ecosystem, to bolster the existing population.
http://www.lexdon.com/article/Grumeti_Reserves_and_Paul_Tudor/49004.html

What these projects have in common is the recognition that, outside the parks, successful conservation requires involving local communities and relies on the profit motive: I will protect that which benefits me. In other words, enlightened self-interest.

Contrast this with the situation elsewhere, in areas beyond park boundaries and lacking free spending conservation-minded billionaires: wildlife numbers are plummeting; the mechanisms and methods employed by wildlife authorities are, on the whole, outdated and simply not up to the task of conservation in the modern era. A lot of stick and not much carrot. And did I mention leaden bureaucracy?

Official policy has it that wildlife is a tremendous resource, a precious source of revenue, something to be cherished and nurtured – a blessing. The reality on the ground is somewhat messier: wild animals eat your crops and livestock; they are a threat to kids on their way to school, or women collecting firewood; and it is virtually impossible to make money from this ‘resource’, thanks to the convoluted and expensive bureaucratic procedures mentioned above. A neat example: a friend running a local NGO recently told me that the cost of creating a WMA (Wildlife Management Area) which is the legal process for Villages to regain control over their natural resources and develop commercial community toursim projects, could run up to a quarter of a million US dollars. Villages in rural Tanzania don’t HAVE that kind of money, which means that conservation can only happen in conjunction with large NGO’s with deep pockets.

Which means, once again, dependence on foreign aid…
What it really means is that wild animals are only really of any value dead, cut up into pieces and sold off to townies as bush meat.

So bring on the new private initiatives: if the game is to survive outside the parks, we will need this kind of approach.

The Spices of Life.

By Jules Knocker
Photos by India Howell and Annie Birch

You know what it is like: if you live in a country, you never actually travel around to see what is sitting on your own doorstep. It is so easy to put it off to another day. Exciting and exotic foreign climes seduce with their Siren calls and the days and years go by.

A couple of months ago, we were on Zanzibar with a group of friends and we decided to try out the Spice Tour, fully expecting a mildly entertaining morning, and feeling virtuous by taking an exercise break from chilled dawas and that extra plate of garlic tiger prawns and tender calamari rings that we could not resist the night before, around the pool.

Insufferably smug, we set off early to avoid the heat of the day – sunglasses and hats to the ready. After all, we live here... we know a thing or two or four!

How wrong we were! It turns out we knew almost nothing about many of the spices that infuse and seduce the dishes that we eat.

Fresh cloves and their flowers

Spices have, for well over a century, been a staple revenue earner for the island yet they are not indigenous. The Omani Sultan's Chief Envoy brought the plants over with him in the mid 19th century to try and provide some income and develop an economy for the poverty stricken isle. It took off and Zanzibar was soon known as the Spice Island. Jute bags of cloves, dried vanilla pods and nutmeg would line the shores to be loaded onto the wooden trading dhows and off they would sail, with the monsoon winds, to be delivered all over the world, leaving just a hint of exotic smells behind on the shore. I remember visiting Zanzibar in 1994 and coming across a small, wooden sailing jahazi on the beach. The captain was making repairs to the old planks and caulking the inevitable holes. Leaning into the empty skiff to watch his tradecraft, we were rewarded with a delicious aroma of wood, sea mist and cloves. The spice had left its mark long after departing those shores.

Back to the Spice Tour. The guide took his job seriously and we had to work hard for him. We had to guess what each plant was – he was not going to help. ‘Ginger’ we cried triumphant, as we spotted the telltale long leaves wrapped around a thick stem, only to be shown quite clearly that this was actually turmeric or one of two different types of cardamom. All the same family but such a variety of colours and tastes. Cardamom is the seed from the flower stalks but turmeric is the root, just like ginger.

Cardamon flowers

Vanilla orchids wove along branches and posts. Each flower has to be individually pollinated by hand every morning. The blooms are only pollinated in the wild by a tiny bee, the Melipone, which cannot survive outside its native Mexico. So never let your plant grow wild or you will have to shin up into the heights of the tree canopy to get at the flowers.

Vanilla pods

The piece-de-resistance was undoubtedly an unassuming greengage-type fruit. We could not even begin to guess that one. The guide cut it carefully open to reveal a veritable jewel: a beautiful, shiny, chestnut-coloured nutmeg covered in an intricate lattice work of deep-red mace. A glittering treasure in plain wrapping.

Nutmeg and Mace

The seed pods that produce the red dye used in chicken tikka, the blooms on the stumpy trees that end up as cloves, the bark that transforms into cinnamon sticks, the lemon grass tufts - it is all there waiting to be discovered.

The tikka dye on my fourth finger and the stain from tumeric on my middle finger

And at the end of it all, cups of tea flavoured with the different fruits, leaves, pods and barks that were, finally, familiar to us.

And the dawas? Crush 2-3 juicy limes and pop the juice in a wide glass, add a generous desert spoon of honey (more if limes are too tart) and mix. Add in the lime skins and fill with crushed ice then pour over a generous tot of cane spirit or vodka. Stir well and sip contentedly as the ice melts......

Repeat repeatedly.

All of a twitter...........

By Jules Knocker





The cacophony of bird song in dry country areas is spectacular. If you live in mainly green surrounds, you forget the sheer volume and variety of the various calls from these noisy creatures that are your constant companions from before daybreak to after night fall. Twitcher or not, these birds demand your attention and there is no escape.

It starts pretty early, especially if there is a full moon, with the squeaky bed-spring bird that has decided that the patch just by your tent is the perfect place to let rip. Koki koki koki, getting faster and faster as the Coqui Francolin gets into its stride. Any thoughts of a lie-in are swiftly dismissed, as you awake with a start. Who needs a morning wake up at 6.15 am when these birds will happily do it at 5.30? It seems pretty ironic that this incredibly loud sound emits from such a skulking, shy creature.

Not surprisingly, the tuneless alarm, with no snooze button, gets the others going and soon you are surrounded by Red-eyed Doves (I AM the red-eyed dove), Mourning Doves (wu HOOO wu, wu HOOO wu krrrrrroaw) and all their numerous relatives and friends, full of morning vim and vigour as you stagger to your vehicle, clutching binoculars and peering owlishly through your specs at the scene that greets you: that wonderful, crisp, clear morning air before the African sun has started warming the earth.

In the bush around your car, the Red-billed Buffalo Weavers and the Masked Weavers have got going and are hopping around the trees and the ground below, being very, very busy indeed.

The Red-billed Hornbill sits on a termite mound, peeping gently to the inhabitants within. WuckWuckWuckWuckaWucka. Soon, a brown, furry head pops up out of the hole, scratches itself and heads back to wake the rest of the dwarf mongoose pack. Since, by this stage, you have been awake for more than two hours, you are definitely envious that these smart creatures have such a civilised introduction to the day.
By breakfast time, more of the avifauna are ruffling their feathers, preening and setting out for yet another successful forage. The helmeted guinea fowl chuckle softly, moving onto an alarmed kakakakakakakaaarrrrrrr, fluffing up their billowing, spotted skirts, as they run this way and that, worried at intrusions and eventually settling down to a determined peck.

You are just about to tuck into your bacon and egg sandwich when a loud Screeeeech gives you pause for thought and a brilliant flash of green and orange whistles past into the dense foliage of a nearby baobab. The Orange-bellied Parrot. Much more soothing, but no less dramatic, are the mini-screeches from the small flocks of Yellow-collared Lovebirds, as they flit to and fro, from ground to tree, a spectacularly colourful display of emerald green and sunflower yellow.

No dry season would be complete without the large flocks of Red-billed Quelea. Thousands move as one, flowing in waves, twisting and turning with the leaders. Catch them in the heat of midday coming into drink at the river and the sight is spectacular. The noise from thousands upon thousands of continuous, small chatterings can be almost deafening.

The soft boom of the Southern Ground Hornbill or the squawk of the Violet-backed Starlings; the Babblers and Barbets, Brown-hooded Kingfishers, European Bee-eaters, Nubian Woodpeckers; the tink tink tink of the Blacksmith Plover and the kreekree kreeip of the Crowned Plover. The list is endless, the sounds distinctive and the action ubiquitous. There is never a dull moment in a dry season park, as there is always some interesting, feathered friend hopping about and chirping brightly.

Not all the birds are as noisy and active. Early morning will see the large birds of prey sitting gloomily on the top of a tree, waiting for the sun to give them enough thermal lift. You feel they share some of your horror at the early morning wake up, as they get mobbed by screeching Shrikes and Starlings if they are discovered too close to some nest or territory.

As night falls, the birds all head to their roosts and silence slowly descends as they fall asleep, exhausted from the day’s exertions. Not long after, you do the same. But just as you start floating off, the Pearl-spotted Owlet with its rising peep gets going or the prrrrrp-prrrrrrp of the Scops Owl seeps into your tent along with the wikwikwikuwik of the Slender-tailed Nightjar on the move, gently reminding you that this is their time. Luckily, they have more respect for the sanctity of the night and the gentle hoots will lull you to sleep.

Yet this time, your sleep will be a satisfying one and the extra early wake-up, a pleasure. The best thing about all of this avi-torture is that you soon become an instant bird expert, picking out the loud Haaa Haaa Haaa of the Go-away Bird with the ease of a professional. The calls are so distinctive and individual, that the names will just trip off your tongue, as you point, with knowing smugness, in the direction of the third branch from the top of the small acacia bush on the right, where a Diederik Cuckoo is perched. deedeedeeDEEderick

Waiting to Cross

    By Chediel Mnzava

For more than twenty years, my clients had been hoping not only to see the Migration, but also to see the wildebeest crossing the Mara River in the northern Serengeti. On 5th Sept 2010, I met them at Lake Manyara airstrip but it was not until four days later that we got to the northern Serengeti, as we spent two days exploring Ngorongoro Crater and the Highlands and another two days exploring central Serengeti.

We finally got to northern Serengeti on the fifth day. With our fingers firmly crossed, hoping to catch a crossing, we set out for the Mara River to see if anything was happening there.

We found a big herd of wildebeest gathered by the river, with more coming from the plains behind to join them. The pressure from the collective herd was growing and they wanted to cross but were undecided if this was the best time or place. So they kept following the river downstream and we kept following them, from a distance, so as not to panic them. After some time, they started to pick up speed. I raised my binoculars to my eyes to see what was going on. "They are crossing" I said briefly, so as not to waste time talking. We rushed to the crossing point and there it was, a perfect crossing. The herd was huge; the river bank high; the river deep and the current strong, but their instint was definitely stronger than all of that and they kept running down to the crossing point from all directions and they kept crossing.

We watched this drama going on for rmore than 40 minutes non-stop. We could not have asked for more. The clients felt their dream had come true.  "I have been involved in several animal counts in southern Africa but never in my life have I seen so many animals as I have seen here, and on this entire trip. Anyone who wants to see game should come to Tanzania, you have a great country."

An average safari stay......or is it?

By Halifa Suleiman

The first day from the airstrip to the camp is as good a start to a safari as you could possibly hope for: a herd of elephants cross in front of our vehicle, a hyena rests in the mud wallow and there are always the giraffe to look at.

During our stay at the mobile camp, we had good sightings of the wildebeest crossing the Mara River The crossing lasted for about 30 minutes but only after a long wait. A lioness was teaching her cub how to hunt. She brought down a wildebeest calf but left it only half-dead and then let the cub do the rest. Amazingly, on our way back to camp, a black rhino emerged from the bush. There are so few of these endangered animals left in the wild that any sighting is truly special.

Next was a visit to the village school and the BBQ of goat roasted by the Maasai.

The crocodile enjoy a free meal of some weak wildebeest that had drowned and the hippo are chilled out, sunbathing and watching the mass of wildebeest and zebra being pushed down by the water and current then struggling to reach the other side of this monster river.

The three cheetah brothers chase a yearling wildebeest and bring it down, tucking in from the rear, eating as fast as they can. Within a few minutes, the vultures arrive and wait around to take their turn.

Did I forget to mention the oribi, jackal and all the other game we saw?

Savour the moment - a close encounter with an elephant in Tarangire

              By Jules Knocker

We sat and waited in complete silence as the solitary male elephant ambled along between the acacia trees in our direction. Early morning and no other cars around to stress him nor to rob us of the exquisite moment. He was happy to take his time, as he followed a meandering game trail towards the track. We were happy to wait and accept whatever he offered us.

The elephant wandered out and stopped, inches in front of the car, then turned his head calmly, to consider us. His drooping eyes opened wide for a brief moment and the rising sun caught the full beauty of that ruby chestnut colour, usually hidden behind long lashes. He slowly brought up his trunk and reached over to the windscreen. We savoured the moment, almost feeling the rough and the smooth, as he whiffled the end of his trunk over us for a few seconds, before losing interest and slowly scrunching away in the sand – looking for that tasty acacia seedpod or an early morning tipple in the river.

We were all transfixed with the sheer majesty of the moment, to be so close to an elephant that was at peace with itself and its surrounds. To be accepted as part of the landscape and to be included, in such a natural way, in his perambulations was a moment to savour for always.

......And we never got a photograph. Despite the fact that we were holding the cameras all ready, it never crossed our minds to raise them and record the moment. If we had, I suspect we would not have been touched so fundamentally by that brief, magical moment of sharing. While the camera will keep your memories safe for the future, and your memories fade over time, the sad fact is the lens, between your eye and your experience, keeps you at one stage removed from whatever you are photographing at all times.

Sometimes, it is better just to sit and enjoy.





Our Tarangire elephant - the only shot we took, when he was about 40 yards away

Home on the plains - Katavi National Park

                                                         By Squack Evans

So, after a very long time away from my favorite park in Tanzania, I got to go back, guiding a great couple for 5 days. It was a bit like coming home, as I was the Manager of this camp for a couple of years, although there were lots of differences as well. Chada camp was as I remember it, with a few, small, cosmetic changes and some major reorganisation to the stores and kitchen and back of house. I believe though that major upgrades are scheduled for the camp soon, so we can expect a completely revamped camp in the not-too-distant future.

The park was a lot wetter than the years I spent there and, as a result, the river still had a lot of water; it must have only stopped flowing a few weeks before. Hippo were spread out along the length of the river, as were the crocs. It seemed like the egg-laying had just completed, with rather a lot of crocs guarding nests on the river bank. The storks and pelicans were enjoying plentiful bounty with the catfish and the fish eagles were enjoying a bit of piracy, robbing the hard-working storks of their catch. We saw one congregation of 11 Saddle-bill Storks in one small pool, along with hundreds of Yellow-billed, Marabou and Openbills along the remaining water.

There are some regular pachyderm visitors to the camp and we even had one stroppy, young bull give us a head shake as he took a few steps toward us, when we left the dining tent. They were enjoying the Tamarind fruit falling from the trees in camp and also appeared to enjoy using the tents as rubbing posts!

A pride of 7 lions kept us awake on our second night, as they caused a commotion by murdering one large member of the 800+ strong buffalo herd just outside of camp. Between the hyaena, the buffalo and the lion, there was quite a furore! It did provide us with some fantastic viewing over the next few days, though, with lots of interaction between the lions and other scavengers waiting in the wings (or in the case of the vultures… on the wing!).

The last day found the pride snoozing up in trees on the edge of the floodplain; who says you have to go to Lake Manyara to see tree climbing lions?!