Photo by Benjamin Ackerman

WILDLIFE JOURNAL Singita Kruger National Park For the month of April, Two Thousand and Twenty

Temperature Rainfall Recorded Sunrise & Sunset Average minimum: 16 ˚C (60 ˚F) For the month: 18 mm Sunrise: 06h16 Minimum recorded: 13˚C (55˚F) For the year to date: 70 mm Sunset: 17h21 Average maximum: 28 ˚C (82˚F) Maximum recorded: 36˚C (97˚F)

Autumn is slowly starting to creep in and the bushwillow leaves are gradually starting to turn a golden yellow. Late rains ensured that there is still sufficient grass cover, and in some areas, the grass is still green. This is attracting large herds of elephants into the area.

The impala rutting season has also started, and the roar of the rams are filling the skies as they proclaim their presence to would-be competitors and potential suitors alike. It’s always comical to watch the rams as they corral the females - they chase after them with their white fluffy tails flared out, whilst they emit a loud guttural roar. (To a bush novice it will be easy to assume it’s lions that have been vocalising, as the sound is rather loud and deep.)

With COVID-19 affecting tourism and travel no guests will unfortunately be able to witness the sounds and smells of the bush. With that being said, the Singita Kruger National Park guiding team has decided to share in some of their thoughts and feelings that we are experiencing at this point. Some felt like sharing stories of previous sightings experienced with guests prior to this outbreak, others would like to share about the cultural aspects of the local Shangaan tribe that lives in this part of South , and others have composed poems to share their feelings.

May these words and photos transport you back to Africa, albeit for a short while, until our paths cross again at the Place of Miracles.

Battle of the heavyweights Article by Mike Kirby and photos by Margaux le Roux

The wet season is from October to April here, and the beginning of it is an extremely difficult time for some. The ever-rising daily temperatures, the diminishing water and growing distances between water and good grazing means largely nomadic species like buffalo are constantly on the move.

The guests and I stood sipping coffee, watching the sunrise together, as it crept slowly over Granophyre Ridge of the Lebombo mountains. The early morning rays kissed our cheeks and the day promised to warm up quickly, as it does at this time of the year in the Lowveld. We were discussing the target species for the morning’s drive with anticipation. A species we hadn’t seen and something that hadn’t frequented the concession for a few days was buffalo, large herds of Cape Buffalo.

We set out along the Nwanetsi River, knowing the buffalo would need to come in to drink, they had to, it had been too long now. We sat watching a pair of fish eagles, breaking up the quiet of the African dawn with their cries. Bingo! One of the guides radioed to say he had found buffalo, lots of buffalo, heading in our direction. We moved further along the river, where this herd had been drinking regularly, and there we saw an enormous cloud of dust to the west. We watched this huge herd as they approached us in their almost trance-like state, and while doing so noticed a few giraffes curiously looking in the direction the herd had just come from... lions!

The Shishangaan Pride numbered around 17 lions at this time, and they were in hot pursuit. One of the older females darted around the herd and we decided to follow her. She ended up at the Nwantesi River, sneaking through the croton thickets, flanking the arrowhead of the herd. She patiently waited for some to start drinking and then she rushed the buffalo. She headed towards the middle of the column, splitting them in two and causing pandemonium in the process. She started to run, causing the buffalo to splinter further and she quickly deciding to pursue a small group of cows that were heading straight towards the rest of the pride.

As we managed to catch up behind the dust of the buffalo and the charging lioness, we found two young male lions awkwardly climbing onto the cow’s back, sinking their front claws into her flanks and jumping with their back legs to try get further up towards her face and neck, all the while dodging her furious swinging head and sharp horns. Two of the other lionesses hit her at full pace, causing the cow to fall to her knees and then to the side. I could not believe what I was witnessing, my entire guiding career I had dreamed of witnessing the battle of the heavyweights, and now here it had happened. The cow was now engulfed with lions, snarling and trying to restrain this 600 kg bovine. What my inexperience swiftly taught me, is that it’s not like watching a documentary at all. You are a part of it, you can feel it. Your body is pulsing with excitement and adrenaline, the noise is overwhelming, the smell; like hot iron and stomach content. Then the feeling of sympathy, as one lion gets jealous of his feeding siblings and releases his grip on her throat to join the feeding. The cow bellowing almost louder than the lions were growling before another lioness took over the throttling. We repositioned and got closer as the buffalo emitted her last cry and the lions settled down encircling the carcass and started to feed.

This, to me, is when the “bigger picture” sinks in, once the emotion of the buffalo has passed, and the realisation of the necessity to complete the natural circle of life. Through the emotional eye this seems a barbaric act. You are witnessing the utmost ferocity of Mother Nature.

We sat watching each lion feed and once satisfied, waddling into the shade one by one. As the morning heat started to increase and we thought the action had subsided, we saw dust… Lots of dust! The herd that had splintered and run from the lions initially had banded up and returned… They were heading in full force straight towards us and the feeding lions. The lions, realising what was about to happen stood behind the carcass and growled. It was sensational, like a Harley Davidson Bike Rally all revving their engines at once, and even above the deafening noise each buffalo still trotted in a menacing black line towards us.

My heart was in my throat, it felt like we were part of the pride. A few large bulls approached the snarling lions and stood in a line, shaking their heads and massive horns while snorting and taunting the lion. The huge tawny cats that had taken down the buffalo almost effortlessly now stood cowering and dodging the enraged, charging buffalo. Lions ran in every direction possible to escape the surprisingly nimble giant grazers, one even taking refuge under another Singita safari vehicle to escape the horns from all angles. All the while the majority of the young buffalo and their mothers had taken a wide berth around this encounter, to get away from the danger.

When the buffalo were satisfied with the lions distance from the dead member of their herd, they horned, smelled and touched the dead female, and while not trying to put too many human emotions onto animals, there was clear distress among these animals. Fearing the lions and being as uncomfortable as they were, yet they still nervously moved forward to smell the dead cow.

Eventually the buffalo moved off and the lions resumed feeding, and so did we after being in the same spot for well over 3 hours. This was a once in a lifetime encounter that I shared with the guests and colleagues who were there, and we were so privileged to have witnessed it. Video Link ——> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TndOlCN6zZk Natural healing Article by Wessel Booysen

When I was asked to share a story, or add an experience of mine from my guiding career, a flurry of spine- chilling and goosebump moments rushed from deep within my memory banks. A detailed array of mixed emotions from seeing my first successful hunt where 21 lions took down three Cape buffalo within 50 feet from each other; being the first to see and spend an hour with brand new leopard cubs as the mother carried them one by one to a new and better den-site; watching a buffalo cow give birth; finding an eight-week-old cheetah cub lying motionless in some short grass after it had been killed by a zebra stallion… these are only a few moments that came rushing to the forefront of my many experiences as a professional nature guide in the beautiful South African wilderness.

The story I would like to share with you in more detail however has a much deeper meaning and spiritual significance not just in my guiding career, but rather on my life thus far on this big blue planet. For as long as I live, I will never forget this morning and the experience I had along with my tracker and guests. I had just joined Singita in May 2017 and found myself in the centre of the Kruger National Park on 15 000 ha of pristine and untouched wilderness and working alongside the best in the business. Excitement was an understatement! I was like a kid in a candy store and there was no limit on how much of the candy I was allowed to devour or take home! Within this incredible opportunity and to no fault of where and with whom I was, I have to admit that doubt crept in regarding my decision a few weeks later. While settling down for the night and I started to wonder whether I had made the right decision in moving up to the lowveld and further away from home? Was I out of my depth working alongside legends within the guiding industry? Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Was I good enough? Fortunately for me my doubts were laid to rest and all my questions were substantially answered the very next morning…

With some coffee in the system and a snack to go, my guests and I headed out on safari. The sun had not yet broken the horizon and the cold, sharp winter air was softly stinging any exposed skin as the Land Rover bumbled across the N’wanetsi River and along the western base of the Lebombo mountains. Small water droplets formed at the tips of my eyelashes as the beautiful yet slightly eerie mist got heavier between the ridges. Our route for the morning was in hope of finding any signs of elephants, and the mist was not making our search any easier as we could barely see past the front of the vehicle. My dear friend and tracker, Rodgers, assured me that we were thankfully still on the road and on the right track as he had (by some miraculous ability) seen some freshly broken branches where the elephants had been feeding in the early hours of the morning. The search was on! Our suspicions were soon confirmed as we could smell the unmistakable scent of fresh elephant dung… hot and steamy! We knew they were close but the mist was still not letting up. I stopped the vehicle and explained to my guests, who were at this time still wrapped up in layers of clothing and actively peering through small slits between beanies and scarves, that we were going to be as quiet as possible as we slowly drove along in order to give our sense of hearing the best chance to discover where the elephants could be. The sun had now broken out from behind the horizon and it scattered these magical rays of light through the mist and across the sky above our heads.

As if planned and perfectly rehearsed by Mother Nature herself, our patience was rewarded with a scene that took my breath away. To our right and on top of the ridge stood an elephant - its silhouette casting a shadow that stretched across the sky. A few moments later a second elephant appeared… then a third… and within a minute or two the whole herd had made their way up to this spot on the ridge. Each elephant with their own shadow across the sky. The mist started to lift slightly and we could see the detailed outline of each individual elephant. I can recall one adult female in the group had a hole the size of a bottle cap in her one ear that allowed the light to pass right through.

For most of the morning we simply watched as they fed and interacted within the family group. Some lifted their trunks in the air, almost as if they were greeting us or welcoming us into the new day. Deep, low and gentle grumbles resonated from within these giant beasts as they “chatted” with each other. Two younger elephants took a break from their strenuous feeding regime to rather play and push each other around. Apart from our excitement during the discovery, there was no need for explanation… no need to discuss… no need for interruption… The moment took over and we simply just watched. We observed not only with our eyes, but with all our senses and, in the end, it touched all of us deep down in our souls.

It was no ordinary elephant sighting for me and still I battle to put what I felt that morning into words: It put my soul at ease. It set my mind straight. It removed all doubt and answered all my questions. I was where I was meant to be…

The Shangaan people Article by Bernard Stiglingh

Who are the Shangaan people? If you’ve worked at or have visited Singita’s southern African lodges, the vast majority of the staff members would have been part of this group of people. There is a lot of confusion with regards to the difference between Shangaan and .

The Shangaan are a small group of the larger and collective Vatsonga people who consist of various independent clans and are to be found in eastern Limpopo - and and northern KwaZulu-Natal in , south-eastern , south and central and in small pockets in .

The Shangaan people came to be when Zwide kaLanga of the people was defeated by Zulu at the battle of the Mhlatuzi river in Kwa-Zulu Natal in the early 19th century. One of his generals, Manukuzi Nxumalo (or uSoshangane), fled into southern Mozambique with some followers.

There they found various Vatsonga clans, many of whom were easily defeated in battle and then assimilated into the ranks of the amaNdwandwe invaders. This new empire of usurped Vatsonga land and clans - which stretched from the river down to the border with modern day KwaZulu-Natal - was named Gaza, after Manukuzi’s grandfather. This empire lasted up until 1895 when the Portuguese finally caught the renegade Shangaan general Magigwana Khosa at a place called Mapulangweni, no less than a few kilometres from Singita Kruger National Park. In fact, many battles against the Portuguese were fought in the euphorbia covered ridges of the Lebombo mountains. Here they executed Magigwana by cutting off his head. Before and after his capture, many of his followers and also the Gaza royal family fled to the Transvaal where they bought land later to be known as Bushbuckridge.

The word Shangaan therefore should only be used to described the people who were historically conquered and assimilated by the Gaza empire. All Shangaan are Vatsonga but not all Vatsonga are Shangaan.

As an inhabitant of a rainbow nation I find the different and diverse pasts of my colleagues fascinating, and have great respect for all cultures. Rise

Like the sun at the break of dawn, we will rise Like the dung beetle navigating, we will trust the skies

Like the African Fish Eagle we will soar Like the king of the savannah we will once again roar

Like a pushed over tree we will grow When the darkness fades it will show

And when it is safe to roam We will again be ready to welcome you home.

By Tovhi Mudau

Missing all these things

Stuck in this world, unsure of what’s going on The virus has hit and I cannot go home We’re all in this together Must work as a team to all come out free

Sitting in Cape Town Beautiful blue sky outside It couldn’t get better, except I have one thing one my mind:

I miss the bush. From the lions to the bees The smallest of mice to the biggest of trees My heart is yearning to go back

To those wide-open spaces those big sky places The shimmer of the heat haze And the call of the birds

It’s all calling to me Come back, come back To where your soul is set free Come back, come back

This is where you are meant to be.

By Benjamin Ackerman

April Gallery

There is a language going on out there – the language of the wild. Roars, snorts, trumpets, squeals, whoops and chirps have meaning derived over eons of expression… We have yet to become fluent in the language – and music – of the wild. Boyd Norton

Africa changes you forever, like nowhere on earth. Once you have been there, you will never be the same. But how do you begin to describe its magic to someone who has never felt it? How can you explain the fascination of this vast, dusty continent, whose oldest roads are elephant paths? Could it be because Africa is the place of all our beginnings, the cradle of mankind, where our species stood upright on the savannahs of long ago? Brian Jackson

Photos by Benjamin Ackerman, Sean Bisset and Margaux le Roux