By Bob Lehner PhD, BVMS, CertVR, MRCVS
Bob reports on his experiences volunteering with Maun Animal Welfare Society
MAWS is supported by the UK charity Worldwide Veterinary Services (WVS) which sends teams of vets and nurses to Maun on a regular basis and for whom I recently made my second trip to Botswana as a volunteer vet. Most of the work to date has been based in Maun itself, but now veterinary teams are being sent out to more distant villages in the wildlife areas. This however is not quite as straight forward as it may seem as some of these villages are in remote locations, only accessible by ‘roads’ open to four wheel drive vehicles.
The Okavango delta is a remarkable feature, being the world’s largest inland river delta. The River Okavango arises some 1,000 miles away in the Angolan highlands and every year a huge surge of flood water empties itself into the delta which covers several thousand square miles of the Kalahari desert. This transforms the arid desert into a vast swamp, which is a magnet for wildlife (and tourists). This year the flood was the highest in living memory and followed unusually heavy rainfall earlier in the year, so there was plenty of water about and many roads were impassable.
On my arrival at MAWS headquarters in Maun I found two other vets in post – Desmond, a South African who had quit his private practice to work for various charities in South Africa and his partner Andrea , a German who seemed to have spent her entire career travelling the world and working in inhospitable areas for charities and disaster relief organisations. These two turned out to be to be entertaining, if somewhat eccentric professional colleagues !
The first day was spent doing routine dog spays in the clinic. Desmond proved to be the world’s fastest dog-spayer. He would make a one centimetre incision behind the umbilicus, insert a spay hook, locate the uterus with unerring accuracy, whip it out, tie everything off and suture the tiny wound, all in less than ten minutes. He thought nothing of performing 25 spays in a day, whilst Andrea was not far behind. Having seen this, I quickly elected to be anaesthetist, not wanting my more traditional surgical methods to prove to be embarrassingly slow.
The following day my new colleagues announced that they had planned ’a little trip out into the bush’ to give second vaccines to some dogs and spay any others they could lay their hands on. The charity’s somewhat decrepit Nissan flat-back truck was loaded with all our drugs and equipment, including a mobile operating theatre (which basically consisted of a garden gazebo and a couple of folding tables). I was glad to see that a considerable quantity of food and water was also on board. The night before setting off we had a meal with some locals who gave us dire warnings of the state of the roads, but strangely and somewhat alarmingly there was little agreement as to which ones might actually be passable.
The next morning we set off bright and early and made good progress to our first destination, the small village of Mababe, some 80 km north of Maun. The road was in an excellent state and foolishly I began to wonder whether the stories we had heard were perhaps exaggerated.
I learnt that on arriving at a village it was necessary to find the local chief in order to get permission to do our work. The chief’s house was generally easily identified as being of a far superior quality to the others and the man himself was often to be found sitting in state under a tree, awaiting for his people to visit with various requests or disputes for him to settle. The Batswana (as the inhabitants of Botswana are known ) are a courteous race, who take life at a steady pace as anyone who has read the currently popular ‘Number 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency’ novels will be aware. The chief must be greeted with due deference and various courtesies expressed before getting down to the matter in hand. We explained that we had come to re-vaccinate a number of village dogs and would like to neuter any new ones. The chief agreed that this would be quite acceptable, but rather sorrowfully told us that recent lion activity in the area had resulted in a marked reduction in the local dog population. We set out into the village and it rapidly became evident that over half the dogs which had been vaccinated a month ago had been consumed by lions and as such were not available for their second shots. As excuses go for not presenting a dog for its booster this was a new one on me – not something one often encounters in rural Hertfordshire !
Fortunately there were a few candidates for spaying and so we set up our gazebo and tables under a tree and were soon ready to operate. Collecting the unwilling candidates for surgery was another matter however. This involved visiting in turn each household compound and after exchanging the usual courtesies enquiring as to whether they might have any dogs which they would like to have sterilised.
The occupants of each house usually consisted of a matriarchal ‘granny’ figure and possibly some younger women and then a gaggle of children of varying ages,. Men were conspicuously absent. Having agreed that the dog or dogs belonging to the household should be sterilised, the next problem was to capture them. The village dogs, although notionally owned by a family are not at all what we would consider to be ‘pets‘. They live a semi-feral existence, fending for themselves to a large degree and survive by hunting small prey in the bush and scavenging for scraps from the household. Attempts to scavenge food are usually countered with a sharp expletive and swift application of a foot in the dog’s general direction . As such the animals are often extremely wary of humans and attempts to get too close can be hazardous. Strangely enough the young children were often able to approach even very nervous dogs quite easily and I found that it was standard practice to encourage a tiny tot to go up to a dog and slip a rope over its head. One shudders to think what would happen if one asked a small child to catch a dangerous dog for veterinary attention in this country – a swift visit to the disciplinary committee in Belgravia House at the very least !
Having successfully got a rope round the reluctant patient’s neck it was then a matter of one of us making a swift grab for its scruff, whilst a colleague quickly injected xylazine and ketamine into the struggling rear end. Unconsciousness soon ensued and the limp body could then be loaded onto our truck and taken to the ‘operating theatre’. Surgery was soon underway, watched by a lively crowd of children, who were clearly fascinated by the antics of the mad white doctors.
By the end of the day we had sterilised all the available candidates and wearily made our way to a nearby hunting camp where we had been offered accommodation for the night. We were warmly welcomed by the South African couple who ran the camp and passed a quiet and uneventful night, despite dire warning about the marauding hyenas which were frequent visitors and would consume anything such as boots left outside one’s tent.
The following morning we set off on the next stage of our journey. We were heading towards a small hamlet on the River Khwai (no relation to the well known film) on the edge of the Moremi Game Reserve. We had been advised that there were two ways to reach our destination. One involved a long journey of 150 km, but on good roads. The other was a mere 30 km (as the vulture flies), the snag being was that there was no proper road, just a dirt track through the virgin bush and the likelihood of meeting a lot of water. We listened to a number of opinions and the consensus view was that the latter route was not to be recommended . However my two adventurous veterinary companions decided that they were not going to waste time taking the longer route and that the direct route was to be the preferred option. As the ‘new boy’ I hesitated to offer an opinion.
The first problem was to find where our track left the main road through the village. A number of views were expressed by locals, but eventually we found a boy who assured us he knew exactly where it was. He agreed to accompany us on the first part of the journey to ensure we were on the right route. We slowly drove down the main road for a couple of kilometres until he suddenly thrust his arm out and directed us to the right, down what appeared to be no more than some faint tyre tracks leading into the bush. It did not seem a very promising start, but he assured us this was the correct way. We dropped him off back at the village and then off again alone into the unknown.
We met our first hazard after just a few hundred metres. Someone had laid a rudimentary bridge, consisting of a few poles, across the fast flowing stream which barred our way. We inspected this precarious structure and decided to reinforce it with some stones, before gingerly setting off across it. It soon became evident that although Desmond was South African and had completed his army training in that country, off-road driving was clearly not his forte and did not match his dog-spaying skills. Andrea however, despite having little experience in the African bush, was full of confidence and urged him on with shrill Teutonic cries of encouragement. Our vehicle, although equipped with four wheel drive and a low ratio gearbox was not what one would call a serious off-roader in African terms, where the Toyota Land Cruiser and Land Rover Defender are considered the only vehicles worthy of the name.
We teetered across the precarious ‘bridge’ and felt a boost of confidence on reaching the other side in one piece. We continued on our way, following the faint and twisting tracks left by earlier vehicles. We soon hit the next water hazard. In true African style our predecessors had decided this was not one to cross and had taken off in a new direction to try and by-pass the obstruction. African bush tracks tend to do this – branching repeatedly in an attempt to find a viable way around obstacles. One very quickly loses any sense as to which was the original route and all sense of direction. The country we were droving through was thick scrub, heavily populated with wild life and within a short time we had seen both buffalo and elephant.
My companions were however supremely confident that they knew in which direction we should be heading (based on I know not what , as we had no compass or other navigational aids). Inevitably we soon ran out of options and were faced with the unenviable prospect of crossing a swampy patch of ground into which our track lead, with no sign of an alternative route.
Andrea decided to assess the problem by removing her boots and wading into the swamp, regardless of crocodiles, hippos, schistosomiasis or other hazards. If she could get across without the water reaching above mid-thigh level and without her sinking too deeply into the glutinous mud she judged that the vehicle could make it too. Having reached the other side she imperiously urged the hapless Desmond to attempt the crossing. With cries of ‘Ya, ya, das is gut – vee vill be fine – just follow ze tracks’ ringing in our ears we set off tentatively into the mire. ’For God’s sake keep going ’ I urged him, knowing full well that in these conditions forward motion was essential. The water rose ominously higher to bonnet level, but the trusty Nissan ploughed through and safely emerged at the far side. We heaved a huge sigh of relief and felt our confidence rising again.
The journey continued in like vein for a few more kilometres and we successfully crossed a number of lagoons. I began to think that maybe we might reach our destination after all – something I had questioned earlier in the day. It was then that we rounded a bend in the track to encounter yet another patch of swamp, in which we found two Land Rovers firmly embedded. It transpired that this was a group of Dutch tourists (fortunately accompanied by three safari guides) who had set off from Khwai river that morning and were heading in the opposite direction to us. Their vehicles were well and truly stuck in the mud. When this happens the wheels spin and the vehicle digs itself into an ever deeper hole until it has sunk to axle depth. The only solution is then to jack up the entire side of the vehicle using a formidable piece of kit called a ladder-jack, which is as tall as a man. Branches are then cut and placed under the wheels to give purchase and with a bit of luck one can then drive out of the hole – usually only to become embedded again in short order. Extracting a vehicle from the swamp can therefore be an exceeding laborious process.
As the Dutch party seemed to be in control of the situation we continued on our way, by-passing their particular bit of mire and following our tortuous track through the bush. Within another few kilometres we were again faced with the inevitability of driving through a stretch of water. Andrea did her usual recce and we set off, following her imperious commands. Half way across the vehicle lurched sideways and the wheels began to spin ominously, at the same time sinking rapidly into the mud. Water rose over the door sills and it was soon clear that our journey had come to an end. I half expected to hear Andrea saying ‘For you Tommy, ze war is over’. We sat in silence for a few moments weighing up our prospects, which did not seem good. We were in the back of beyond, with no form of communication and not a soul in the world knew where we were.
The obvious solution of course was to try and jack up the vehicle in the aforementioned manner. It was at this point that we discovered the Nissan’s jack was a very feeble conventional model, far removed from the heroically man-sized piece of kit carried by proper off-roaders. It was completely useless in the present situation. After half an hour of scrabbling round up to our thighs in the stinking mud we abandoned it.
We then decided that the best course of action was to head back towards the Dutch party, hoping they were still there and ask them to radio for someone to come out from Khwai to rescue us. Desmond and I therefore set off in what we hoped was their general direction. It did cross my mind that this was not without risk in view of the healthy population of buffalo and elephant we had seen in the area. Where there are buffalo, lion are usually also in attendance. Fortunately we found the other party without difficulty just as they had extracted their vehicles from the mire and they promised to radio for help.
We returned to our vehicle and sat for the next two hours forlornly contemplating our situation. Fortunately we had plenty of food and water so there was no immediate problem – we could survive for several days if necessary. However by 4 p.m. there was no sign of any rescue and Desmond and Andrea impatiently decided that they would set off on foot towards our destination to seek help. I was not wholly convinced that this was a good idea and bravely elected to stay with the vehicle in case any rescuers should reach us. My two intrepid colleagues set off, whilst I stretched out on the back seat for a snooze. Dusk fell rapidly as it does in the tropics and some hippos nearby started their evening chorus of grunts. Clouds of mosquitoes rose from the swamp, so I battened down the hatches and settled down for the night.
An hour later I was woken by oncoming headlights and I found my two trusty companions in a Toyota Land Cruiser together with a couple of game guides from the reserve. They had walked for some considerable distance, having a slight altercation with some female elephants and their calves (exceedingly dangerous), before luckily being picked up by a passing vehicle.
One of the guides waded into the swamp to attach a tow rope to the Nissan, only to find it was too short. The Toyota was then backed into the water to bring it within reach and of course the inevitable happened. The familiar sound of spinning wheels heralded a second embedded vehicle. A radio call summoned another rescue vehicle, which arrived an hour later. Within a few minutes it too was up to its axle and well and truly stuck. Another radio call and a third rescue vehicle arrived ! After considerable effort, accompanied by a great deal of shouting and cursing the first Toyota was repeatedly jacked up and eventually driven out of the swamp. To my utter disbelief the driver immediately turned round and drove back in, only to get stuck again. It was like a scene from a comedy film.
Three hours later and after some 11 hours of incarceration all the vehicles were freed by a combination of jacking and towing and we made our way to the rather luxurious camp where we had arranged to spend the night. Never has a shower been more welcome.
During the whole rescue operation Andrea had been unusually quiet. I thought perhaps this was because she felt some remorse or embarrassment that her guidance had lead to us getting stuck in the first place. However it soon transpired that she was seriously ill with a high fever and abdominal pains. The next day she had to be air-lifted to Maun , later ending up in Namibia for emergency surgery.
The following morning Desmond and I drove to the village where we were meant to be working. This village was also short of dogs as a result of lion activity and the villagers would not agree to have any more neutered as they wanted to build up their numbers . We managed to round up the few remaining dogs, which we duly vaccinated and then decided to head for home. I reflected that it had been quite an eventful trip just to vaccinate a few wretched village dogs.
To my considerable relief this time my companion agreed that the longer route on good roads was the preferred option. Within four hours we are safely back at our base in Maun !
Next time a Mrs. Pomfrey summons me to vaccinate her Tricky-Woo at home I shan’t even grumble.
- A bridge too far!
- Hard at work
- Roadside Hazard!
- Stuck in the swamp
- The post-op ward
- Village operating theatre
