The suicide curtain was the final barrier at the entrance to the truck. It was aptly named. Situated at the narrowest point of the boma, the animals would stampede past just feet away from the curtain operator (or ‘runner’, as they are known) before being tightly confined once their escape route had been sealed off behind them. If they moved straight onto the truck then the danger to this person was minimal but if they stalled and started circling or turning back on themselves then the situation would be entirely different. The procedure required the runner’s conviction that the curtain would hold firm and the animals would just see a barrier, making a charge unlikely – but being confined in a small space with a panicked herd of wild animals, a sheet of tarpaulin providing the only protection, would test the courage of even the bravest.
‘Sure, I’d do that,’ I casually replied to Bjorn, fuelled by the adrenalin surge of the morning’s activities so far and trusting his professional judgement. If he felt confident having me on the suicide curtain then I felt confident I could do the job.
As Gerry took to the air again, I remained with the ground crew, each of us dispersing to our new stations. Fifty yards from the truck there was a slight slacking in the tarpaulin that provided a shortcut into the boma, allowing us to avoid the hike back to the main entrance or having to go through the truck. Ducking between the steel poles that anchored the sheets in place, I entered the boma and headed back towards the suicide curtain while the rest of the team moved along from the outside of the enclosure to their various posts.
My curtain was closed but not sealed, abandoned after the previous capture when the wildebeest were chased straight through and up the ramp into the track; the ideal scenario. As I reached the curtain I wondered if I would have the same luck, but nevertheless rehearsed what I needed to do to secure it shut and then drew it open again, checking it ran smoothly on its runners. Although I knew the funnelling system was designed to ensure the wildebeest would only make it back as far as the penultimate curtain if I didn’t seal mine in time, I was nevertheless nervous.
Happy all my equipment was functioning, I concealed myself behind the crumpled tarpaulin. I had a vivid flashback to childhood days playing hide and seek at my grandparents’ house. Just as then, I knew I had to keep quiet and wait. Gerry had already been gone about five minutes and although I was confident in his ability to gather another group quickly from those we had left at the watering hole, my lack of communication with either him or Bjorn meant my first indication of their arrival would be the siren – and there was no knowing whether that would be in ten minutes or two hours.
The waiting allowed my mind to wander, imagining all the potential hazards that surrounded us. That was the downside, but it had its benefits too; it was a rare opportunity to stop and appreciate the nature we were immersed in. As I waited now, I watched a glossy starling dipping into the boma before quickly flying away, finding nothing to scavenge. A small army of ants busied themselves in the dirt, retrieving leaf fragments or twigs ten times their size. A dung beetle, just feet away from me, crawled past, making for one of the piles of droppings left by the previous group.
Still I waited. I tested the smooth-running of the curtain again in a vain attempt to distract myself. I could see a couple of people poised at the next one, not daring to move, expecting the animals’ arrival at any moment. Then, with its piercing blast, the siren sounded and the beasts were nearly here! I pressed myself against the tarpaulin wall, huddling behind my curtain, gripping it tightly as I readied myself for the imminent stampede. The siren sounded again and then, moments later, for a third time; the animals were close. My heart raced. I felt the ground start to vibrate and peered out from my cover to see the approaching dust cloud. The siren sounded for a fourth time and the animals galloped past, just feet away from me, the noise deafening, the dirt engulfing. The blurring of tails and heads as the beasts thundered by made it impossible to count their number, but I could see a growing mass of horns as they gathered between the truck and the suicide curtain.
The first few wildebeest had abruptly halted at the truck’s ramp; they weren’t going to load themselves without encouragement and in a few moments they would start turning back. I needed to close the curtain to contain them, but I had to wait until the last one had passed me. I tentatively peered out from my hiding place; the last few animals were just feet away from crossing the threshold into my zone but had been slowed to a trot by the obstruction ahead of them; my window of opportunity was rapidly closing.
Luckily, the last animal crossed over before the message to retreat had filtered through to the rest of the herd. Seizing my chance I sprinted, pulling the curtain across the enclosure to seal the escape route. Reaching the far side, I secured the canvas with heavy-duty pins. The wildebeest were contained so I had achieved my objective, but turning around to survey the scene there was little comfort to be gained from my triumph; the herd too were aware of the situation. Moving away from the truck towards their path into the enclosure, they were confronted with yet another barrier: me. Sensing a threat, some scraped the ground with their forefeet as though to charge, in the same menacing way they would ward off an attack from a predator. I was suddenly grateful to be facing wildebeest and not buffalo, which would attack without hesitation. Nevertheless, the situation was intimidating. I tried to conceal myself against the canvas, hoping not to alarm them further.
Although giving me a wide birth, as the animals became increasingly agitated by their confinement and desperate to escape, they brushed up against the tarpaulin enclosure walls; if we didn’t load them soon then undoubtedly destruction and escape would ensue. I was helpless on my own, but all I could do was wait for backup and in the meantime hope that the intermittent ground-pawing didn’t turn into a charge by one of the more confident bulls.
It seemed an eternity before I heard the approach of Bjorn and Sydney at my curtain, though in reality it was only minutes.
‘Jono, you there?’ Bjorn whispered. ‘Have any of them loaded?’
‘No, they’re just circling, suspicious of the ramp and truck,’ I replied.
‘I thought as much. Let us in; we’ve got a tarpaulin we can try to herd them with.’
I felt a huge burden lifted; I was no longer on my own. Tentatively, I unpinned the curtain, careful not to reveal a glimpse of freedom to the wildebeest. Bjorn and Sydney slipped through the narrow gap and moments later had unfurled a large sheet that they spread across the width of the enclosure. The animals reacted with a mixture of fear and aggression, some bunching even closer together, others half-heartedly charging the sheet, catching it with their horns and retreating at the resultant rustling sound.
Bjorn and Sydney took up position at either end of the tarpaulin while I supported it in the middle. Meanwhile, Derek and Dumison had arrived and were now clambering onto either side of the boma wall where it was reinforced. Slowly, with their encouragement, Bjorn, Sydney and I drove the animals forward with the tarpaulin, persuading them onto the truck. It was a huge relief a few minutes later to seal the vehicle doors, finally securing the herd. Job done!
I sat gazing out of the window as we journeyed home. We passed fields of sugar cane, orange groves and banana plantations, fence lines separating them from grazing antelope and zebras, and a small congress of baboons crossing the empty road ahead.
It had been an exhilarating day in the African bush – just another in a fun and varied career to date, and a long way from the dreams of an ambitious six-year-old. It was pretty hard to believe. What adventures lay ahead? With that thought I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.