en wildsbokke in die lang gras tussen doringbome. Die jong man gaan staan in die middel van die verhoog. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Mogale Rehabilitation Centre. My name is Donnie Branca, and I’ll be your guide this morning.”
Hy kyk na ons en hy sê: “Vultures.” Vir ’n ongemaklike oomblik dink ek hy praat van sy gehoor.
“They’re not cuddly, they’re not cute. As a matter of fact, we think of them as disgusting beasts – squabbling and squawking at a stinking carcass, fighting over decomposing meat. Carrion eaters with beady little eyes, scrawny necks and hooked beaks, often covered in blood and gore and guts up to their eyeballs. Pretty revolting. So most people don’t care much for vultures. Well, let me tell you, here at Mogale, we not only care for them – we love them. With a passion.”
Daar is iets aan die trant en toonhoogte van Donnie Branca se woorde wat vir my vaagweg bekend klink. Hy praat glad en gemaklik, geoefen en geolie, met oortuiging en geesdrif.
Hy sê aasvoëls is die grootwild van die geveerde wêreld, ’n onontbeerlike skakel tussen soogdiere en voëls in die breë spektrum van die natuur. Hulle is ekologies noodsaaklik, die skoonmakers van die veld wat verrottende karkasse van hoek tot kant verorber voor daar siektes kan uitbroei wat op en af teen die voedselketting onheil saai. Aasvoëls is deel van ’n balans, sê hy, ’n perfekte, delikate balans wat vir honderde duisende jare in Afrika die siklusse van lewe bepaal het.
“Until we humans disturbed the balance.”
Branca laat dit insink voor hy verder gaan: Die probleem met aasvoëls is dat nasionale en private wildparke se heinings hulle nie inhou nie. Baie van hulle patrolleer ’n gebied wat vier, vyf keer groter is as die Krugerwildtuin. En dit is waar die probleem begin. Hulle maak nes in berge en klowe, in bome en bosse waar hul voorvaders vir duisende jare al broei, maar die mens het dié gebiede oorgeneem. Daar’s die wanpersepsie dat aasvoëls boere se kleinvee en pluimvee vang. Daarom word hulle geskiet.
“And then there’s the belief amongst the local people that vultures have magic powers. They believe that vultures have supernatural eyes, which are not only able to find food over huge distances, but with which they can actually see tomorrow. In other words, see into the future. Since we started a national lottery in South Africa, witch doctors, or sangomas, as they prefer to be called, have been selling vulture heads to eager gamblers for a small fortune, because people believe it will be their lucky charm to see into the future, their talisman to predict the numbers.”
Langs my luister Emma met groot konsentrasie.
“The market for vulture parts has sky-rocketed in the past few years. And take a guess what a vulture head is now selling for. Five hundred rand? A thousand bucks? Let me tell you, up to ten thousand rand. But the sangomas buy the dead vultures from poachers for maybe two or three hundred rand a piece. And how do the poachers capture the vultures? They poison them. They set out a carcass laced with deadly poison and they kill a hundred or two hundred birds at once. But they are on foot and they can only carry off ten or twenty, so the others are just left there to rot.”
Die gehoor prewel hul misnoeë, maar Donnie Branca is nog lank nie klaar nie. Hy begin syfers aanhaal van verliese, elke spesie ’n geleerde rympie in Engels, Afrikaans en Latyn: Die manjifieke Bearded Vulture/lammergier/Gypaetus Barbatus wat in die verlede in die Lesothoberge gebroei het, is in daardie land heeltemal uitgewis. “Completely annihilated. Nothing left, not one, not a single bird.” Aan die Suid-Afrikaanse kant is net nege broeipare oor. “Nine, ladies and gentlemen. Nine.”
Ek besef waaraan die man my herinner. Daar was ’n lekeprediker in die tronk, ’n gewapende rower van die Kaapse Vlakte met die naam van Job Tieties wat saans, as wedergeborene, vir homself en ’n handjievol beamende broeders kerk gehou het, Bybel in die hand. Sy stem het deur die selle gedra met dieselfde dringende, evangelistiese stemtoon.
Die Cape Vulture/kransaasvoël/Gyps Coprotheres, eens so volop in Afrika, het heeltemal uitgesterf in Swaziland, is op die kritieke gevaarlys in Namibië en daar is net tweeduisend broeipare in die wêreld oor. “Two thousand. Imagine just two thousand people left in the whole world. Just try and imagine that. A century ago, there were one hundred thousand Cape Vultures in South Africa. This incredible bird with a wingspan of two and a half metres that can spend the whole day gliding on the thermals over the African veld, effortlessly covering seven hundred and fifty kilometres, that’s the distance between Bloemfontein and Cape Town, as the crow flies. Just two thousand breeding pairs left. A travesty, a tragedy, a disaster. Why? Why should we be concerned that they are disappearing, these disgusting, ugly, dirty birds?”
Want die natuur is ’n fyn stukkie ingenieurswerk, sê hy. Dit is God se horlosie, waar elke ratjie, elke veertjie van kardinale belang is om ekologies perfek tyd te hou. Laat hy verduidelik: Elke aasvoël het sy plek, sy funksie, sy rol. Verskillende aasvoëls eet verskillende dele van ’n karkas – elkeen se snawel en lyf is aangepas vir iets spesifieks. Die Hooded Vulture/monnikaasvoël/NecrosyrtesMonachus is die eerste wat begin vreet. Sy skerper, kleiner bek kan die dooie dier se vel oopskeur, ’n haastige proses vir ’n paar repies vleis voor die groter, dominerende aasspesies aankom. Maar dis onontbeerlik, daarsonder kan die binnevreters nie hul ding doen nie.
Die kransaasvoël is die gepeupel van die karkas. Al swewende hoog bo die Afrika-veld soek hy na tekens, na leeus en hiënas, kraaie, rawe en jakkalse, wat ’n karkas sal uitwys en dan kom hulle in, swerms wat in groot sirkels afdaal en naby die eetplek rumoerig sal vergader om seker te maak dit is veilig. En dan begin die losgemaal, die groot gestoei om in die karkas in te kom. Sy kaal nek maak van hom ’n binnevreter. Die tamaai bek en die sterk tong, soos ’n troffel gevorm, sal groot stukke vleis losskeur – binne drie minute kan dit een kilogram vleis verorber.
“But the king of the carcass is the Lappet-faced Vulture/ swart-aasvoël/AegypiusTracheliotos. It stands a metre high,” wys hy met sy hand van die grond af. “It has a wingspan of almost three incredible metres, just about twice the size of any other vulture, and it doesn’t take shinola from any of them. Lappets can travel up to one thousand one hundred kilometres through the sky, invariably arrive late at the carcass, and then they dominate. But here’s the interesting thing: Despite their size and their attitude, they don’t compete for food with other species, because they are specifically adapted to eat the skin and ligaments – and they are the only ones to do so. Now isn’t that neat?”
Koppe knik verwonderd om ons. Ek moet dit toegee: Hy’s goed.
Die natuur mors niks, sê Branca. Daar’s selfs ’n aasvoël wat die beendere opruim: die lammergier. Hy sal dikwels eerste by ’n karkas wees, maar senuagtig eenkant wag tot daar bene beskikbaar is. Kleiner stukkies been word heel ingesluk. “It’s sometimes comical to see the bone go down sideways in the throat.” Die lammergier sal groter bene die lug in neem en dit van ’n groot hoogte laat stukkend val op klippe, net om dit weer te gaan optel en afsluk.
“If we poison them, or if Escom’s power cables kill them when they dive down, or if the farmers shoot them or take away their breeding grounds, the ticking of God’s clock will stop. Not only for them, ladies and gentlemen, but for all of nature. Rotting carcasses breed blowflies … and disease, which spreads to mammals, reptiles and other birds. Often to human beings as well. Food chains get broken, the delicate balance is disturbed, and the whole system comes crashing down. That’s why we care for vultures at Mogale, that’s why we love them. That’s why we sit with poisoned birds through many nights, nursing them back to health. That’s why we detoxify them, mend their wings, feed them with great patience and release them back into the wild. You can’t breed them in captivity, but you can heal them, save the injured and the sick. You can go out and educate farmers and sangomas, talk to them, plead with them, explain to them that nature is a finite resource, a delicate, fragile instrument. But it takes facilities and manpower, training, food,
