I’ve been dreading this day for a long time. No matter how much you prepare for it because you know its coming, its still tough. Regardless of your efforts to stay emotionally uninvolved, some species will just naturally create a bond or attachment to you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Chief among these are primates & felines. Bob Blue, our beloved baby baboon that we raised from just 3 weeks old, is leaving today. We have been looking for a new proper home for her where she can be integrated into a troop of other baboons with her age. We found a sanctuary in South Africa who specializes in baboons but we had a problem with the permits. Getting the export permit in Botswana was not a problem. Getting the import permit to SA is big problem. The movement of wildlife across borders here is a big deal, with lots of hysteria surrounding possible disease transmission and/or illegal trade. So we did what all self-righteous conservationists (or arms dealers) would do: we smuggled her across the border.
We put her in a box with her favorite blue bowl and lifted it into the bed of Kyle’s truck. We drove to the SA/Bots border and arrived when it opened at 7am, hoping to catch an immigration official before his morning coffee. Just 30 miles before the border crossing, we stopped the truck, injected her with Ketamine and waited for her to fall asleep. Then we ditched the box, wrapped her in several blankets, and put her on the floor behind the driver seat, along with lots of other luggage. If we were exposed, our plan was to tell the officer that we just found an injured baboon on the road just 5 miles back and decided to try to save it by taking it to the nearest vet in SA. The only problem with that plan is that Kyle’s license says DVM, indicating she is a vet doctor. Our crappy plan hinged on the hope that the officer wouldn’t know what DVM means. As we approached the immigration checkpoint, I heard Blue stirring and looked back in panic to see her eyes opening. A man in a starchy official looking uniform strapped with an impressive firearm stopped us and asked for Kyle’s driver license. She fumbled through her purse and finally presented it to Mr. Man. He took it and began circling the vehicle while looking in all the windows. When he came round to me side, I said: “Is the South African National rugby team playing any games soon? I’d like to go watch them. I heard they are excellent.”
“This is the off-season”, he replied dryly.
“I see, well, do you know where I can buy a jersey or any team merchandise?”
“Well, sure. In Pretoria, just go to Drifters downtown. That shop carries everything.”
“Wonderful, thanks and have a fantastic day, sir.”
That load of b.s. gave Kyle enough time to pull the blanket over Blue’s head to cover her more fully. Ask any man about his country’s national sports team, and you have an immediate friend and the perfect distraction.
As agreed upon, we met the director of the sanctuary in the parking lot of a restaurant just on the other side of the border. She was there waiting for us. We gave Blue some more drugs, transferred her into the woman’s car, and I said my tearless goodbye’s to her. Most of my anguish is grieved privately and the tears leaked later.
I knew she was in good hands and ultimately we did what is best for her. Once she becomes a member of an artificial troop and the bonds are developed, they will be released into the wild as a troop.
We flipped a bitch and headed back to Botswana. As we drove through, I could see some game in the distance. I asked Kyle if it was free-roaming or if it belonged to someone. She said it most definitely was owned by someone. All of South Africa is privately fenced ranches (used for either game farming or canned hunting safari). There is a very small percentage of actual photographic safari game farms. There are some large national parks for wealthy tourists but most of South Africa is devoted to consumptive utilization of wildlife. This is the canned hunting capital of the world where the rich and ignorant come to shoot big game. It gives me the creeps to be in this racist country and I’d like to spend as little time here as possible. The atrocities that go on behind closed gates go beyond an animal rights issue. When such unjust cruelty is committed against an animal, it’s a crime of humanity.
(More later on the big business of game farming, trophy hunting, and the contentious issue of whether hunting has a proper place in conservation).
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