Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary, by Deborah Charles
Most people come to Uganda to see primates in the mist or to search for the source of the Nile. Men, I’m here to see one of the six surviving species of odd-toed ungulates: the rhinoceros. Well, actually I am here to make a film about Kampala, but have crammed in a rhino safari at the Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary, which is in Nakitoma a 100 miles north of the city.
The Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary is in Masindi, 100 miles north of the capital, so I’m spending a few days at the Sheraton, a bizarre blend of faded 1960s glamour and Newcastle nightclub, populated by acronymed uniforms: UNHCR, UPDF, WHO. The security checks are stringent, and incessant: I have to get out of the car to go through x-ray at the hotel gates before driving ten yards to the hotel entrance where I’m re-investigated. Stupidly, I think it’s my mobile pharmacy – malaria tablets, diarrhoea pills, Co-codamol and antihistamines – that is of interest. Instead, it’s the padded pouch of my camera that needs internal inspection.
Uganda has the highest number of road fatalities in the world, so I hire a driver to help me get around the city. Walking would be quicker. This town consists of one big traffic jam made up of NGOs and local taxi vans. Infrastructure is chaotic here. Roads. Electricity. Internet. And yet, “Hello, how are you?” is offered everywhere with a sincere smile. Unless they suspect you’re gay. Then you’re really up the Nile. Or maybe at the bottom of Lake Victoria. Uganda’s history of human rights atrocities are numerous – it’s no wonder people come to look at the wildlife; if you look elsewhere it gets a little ominous: Rayban-adorned soldiers seem a little too fond of their uniforms and bureaucrats too keen on their authority. As we approach yet another check point for entry into a shopping mall I neck two Co-codamol and an accidental diarrhoea tablet to dampen my irritation. My film is all about the future of Kampala, and I feel that’s the way Ugandan’s have to look – forward – but they will have to take off their shades first.
The romance evaporates somewhat on sight of a large spider near my bed. I check with the night ranger it’s not deadly, but he assures me the only thing I need worry about is the leopard
Even in late autumn Uganda is hot, with textured skies and lovely sunsets. Actually, it’s like this all year round. I can’t quite comprehend such a constant. I also can’t get my head around the currency exchange: 4,000 shilling sounds a lot. Apparently it’s not, but I’m still unsure what to tip, if at all. My driver fills me in: “A twenty buys a pizza. From Domino’s or The Sheraton. Well… half a pizza. Ten buys a beer in the hotel, or downtown, three beers.” I settle for the latter as a decent average. I’ve been downtown – lasting there for three beers is commendable.
Apparently the local bus is the simplest way to get to the starting post of my rhino safari. “Just keep your bag on your lap,” Angie the host tells me. “And don’t speak.”
“Don’t speak?”
“Don’t sleep!” she shouts back, over the mobile phone network whose patchiness reminds me of early 1990s Nokia reception at around midnight on New Year’s Eve. Four hours later, I am dropped off at the side of a road. I watch the bus disappear. It takes a good ten minutes. I am in the middle of nowhere. The road stretches for miles, in both directions. I feel like Roger Thornhill in North by Northwest, and search the sky for an ominous bi-plane. Fortunately, the only thing heading my way is a chunky 4×4. I bundle into the back and we set off into the sanctuary’s 17,000 acres. It’s a bumpy ride – “African massage!” shouts my driver back to me, as my fillings rattle loose.
Rhino cuteness
Amuka Lodge is a fabulous hideaway. There may be numerous other lodges nearby, but each is equally hidden – you really feel the beauty of seclusion. The retreats are large and lovely, although apparently still under construction. Bathrooms are open plan, made of natural stone and mahogany. The Egyptian cotton and duvets haven’t arrived yet, but when they finally do, this will be quite the luxury cottage. Dinner involves an open bar and a three course meal cooked on an open stove by Alex, a highly skilled local chef. My favourite dish is a simple one of bananas and chocolate. (Afters in Uganda is not so common.)
I sit in the shade of my porch to sop up the sounds of safari: birds calling, trees rustling and the noisy rattle of some weird creature I’m happy I can’t identify. Wildlife aside, it’s so peaceful at the Amuka Lodge in low season, especially when you’re the only guest in residence. As, indeed, I appear to be. The romance evaporates somewhat on sight of a large spider near my bed. I check with the night ranger it’s not deadly, but he assures me the only thing I need worry about is the leopard.
The best time to witness rhinoceros is early evening or early morning, so I book both tracking options. The park ranger picks me up on his motorbike – it’s like a first date – and we set off at a steady pace along sandy tracks full of potholes and pits. And suddenly, there they are: three huge white rhinoceros, wallowing in a tiny mud puddle. It’s like the Szechenyi Spa on a hot Sunday in Budapest. These ginormous creatures, though they stand over 1.5m tall and weigh over three tons, don’t look at all like the formidable, incredibly dangerous beasts they are.
It is a stirring feeling to stand just a few feet from these animals, and even more stirring to remember that these are three of the only rhinos in this country. The illegal animal trade of the 1970s totally wiped out Uganda’s rhinoceros population, so the family of 13 animals that lives in the Ziwa sanctuary now has been bred, in just under five years, from six rhinos, of which two were donated. The rhinos vary in age and size, and the ranger knows them all. My favorite is Obama, the first born in the sanctuary, whereas Bella is the favourite of all the males, apparently – rangers and rhinos alike.
Rhinoceros horn is still worth as much as gold, so there is an armed guard allocated to every rhino, looking after them day and night. The security on site is a serious business, because poachers aren’t laymen: they’re veterinaries and ex-military specialists. (Perhaps they should have a word with the Sheraton).
I am concerned that my second viewing of the rhinoceros, next morning, will be less impressive. I am wrong. My ranger bumps the motorbike over tufts of open terrain to find two family groups grazing. It’s amazing how something so phenomenal and gigantic can appear so camouflaged: they seem to disappear whilst you’re looking right at them, and the encounter feels like a real privilege. I stand and watch them, utterly content.
My ranger returns me to the North by Northwest post, and helps me flag a local bus back to Kampala. On the way out, at the onset of the journey, the conductor said a short unifying prayer. On the way back, it’s pretty obvious that each and every passenger is in touch with their own god. Despite the roads turning from tarmac to buckshot surface, our driver never slows for a moment, passing boda-boda motorbikes, pedestrians and every battered vehicle imaginable at clip-inch proximity. We even overtake the Kampala Express luxury coach. On arriving safely at the bus depot I tip him 30,000 shilling. I’m sure this is a man that can handle that his beer, even downtown. C