Conita Walker - A Rhino in my Garden

T HIS BOOK HAS BEEN A collaboration between myself and Sally Smith, a long time visitor to the bush camps of Lapalala Wilderness and to the rhino and hippo orphanage at my homes at Doornleegte and Melkrivier. Over the ensuing years we became firm friends with Sally and her husband Ashley, who today reside in McGregor in the Western Cape. My diaries, notes and early manuscript became the basis for this story and I am grateful to my husband Clive who helped Sally steer the final edit with facts and dates. Sallys contribution has brought this story to life.

I am further extremely grateful to so many people whom it has been my privilege to know and work with and if I have omitted anyone please accept my sincere apologies. No one ever achieves anything entirely alone and I am no different, for my journey was never alone.

My late, loving parents were an inspiration to me and my siblings at a time in history that should never be repeated again, the Second World War (WWII). It was during my flying years as a flight attendant, which enabled me to travel the world with so many wonderful flight crews, that I met my husband-to-be Clive, which was to change my conventional way of life forever and brought me and later our two boys, Renning and Anton, into a world of wild country and wild animals. We have shared this journey for more than 50 years and this story is as much theirs as it is mine.

My late mother-in-law, Enid Walker who was living in our home when I was bitten by a venomous snake and the uproar that created was a singular inspiration in her own right.

The following, in no sense of order, deserve my grateful thanks for so much that has enriched my life and helped Clive and me in all our endeavours through the years. Words are inadequate to fully express my feelings.

Val Ford, Ma Zeller, Rose Smith, Cherylee Pretorius and Heather Cowie who manned our Johannesburg office; the field guides and educators of Educational Wildlife Expeditions and the Wilderness Trust; the board of Trustees of the Lapalala Wilderness School (19852003): David Beattie, Val Ford, John Young, Jane Zimmermann, Rob Schneider, Harry Boots and Richard Burton; the Ladies Committee of the Endangered Wildlife Trust: Wendy Farrant, Joy Cowan, Anne Deane, Val Whyte, Jill Morrison and Jane Zimmermann; and Petra Mengel of the permanent staff of the Endangered Wildlife Trust.

Dale and Elizabeth Parker provided the opportunity in 1981 to establish what was to become the magnificent game reserve where much of my story takes place, home to the bush school we created at Lapalala Wilderness and then the orphanage for rhino and hippo. Clive and I shared the next 20 years with Dale, who made our home his and Elizabeths bushveld home until his passing in 2001. This story is also central to his memory.

His son Duncan, who took up his fathers mantle together with Mike Gregor, took Lapalala to new heights of excellence in conservation.

We moved permanently to Lapalala Wilderness in 1993 and were supported by all our staff, Clive and Nikki Ravenhill, Glynis Brown, David Bradfield head of field rangers my son Anton, who managed Lapalala East, and his wife Ren Walker, field rangers and labour force. A special word of appreciation to Rosina and Fred Baloyi, Titus and Lazarus Mamashela, who were an indispensable element in the raising of the orphans in my care. Its one thing to keep an eye on cattle but a very different matter with a full-grown hippo who doesnt like men (except Fred and Titus), and a one-and-a-half tonne black rhino both animals that are amazingly fleet of foot. For their heart-warming welcome to us, from as far back as 1981, we are grateful to Shelly and Arthur Zeederberg, Colin and Joan Baber, Charles and Nina Baber, and Peter and Janet Farrant.

Karen Trendler deserves special mention for her dedication in raising rhino calves and especially the black rhino bull, Bwana. Many thanks also to veterinarians Dr Peter Rodgers, the late Dr Walter Eschenburg, Dr Andr Uys, Dr Richard Burroughs and Dr Pierre Bester, and Daphne Sheldrick of Kenya, an internationally recognised rehabilitator of orphan rhino and elephant calves, for her advice on milk formula.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, my gratitude goes to all conservationists from veterans like Clive and myself to the very youngest ones who may only just be starting out in this most important of careers. Your passion for protecting and healing the natural world has been my greatest inspiration, and will remain my most enduring hope.

M Y DEAREST C ONITA , I came close to losing my life to a wounded lion today

He was a game ranger in Bechuanalands Tuli Block. On my map Bechuanaland Protectorate (now Botswana) was where South Africa ended and the Real Africa began. Id never been there I had no idea what kind of a block the Tuli was. Id never before met any rangers. Id heard stories though, full of daring and danger, always something life-threatening. Bush planes crashed, wild animals attacked, floods, fires, poachers; safari adventurers got into trouble and faced certain demise but for a last-minute rescue by one of those heroic rangers. Big and bearded, I assumed; a sunburnt, sweaty man who didnt talk much, but having saved the day, might down his whisky, shoulder his heavy-calibre rifle and stride off into the sunset. John Wayne, only younger, more handsome and not so American.

I lived in a bachelor flat in Hillbrow, Johannesburg. My bravest adventure to date had been to change careers from teacher to flight attendant. I wore makeup, perfume and a dressy little uniform. If I hunted anything at all it was a bargain in the great cities of Europe and the Far East. The only thing I knew about elephant, rhino and lion or anyone tangling with them was that they were best avoided.

The fates conspired. A friend of mine was to be married and she invited me to be her bridesmaid. The bridegroom invited a friend, a fellow student pilot, to be his best man. Clive Walker, I was told. Youll like him. Everyone does.

At the engagement party he turned up with unkempt hair and a sunburnt face, a fund of improbable stories and a determination to mark his rare emergence from the bush in as festive a manner as he could contrive with his host of friends. A helpful sort, he offered to take me to the airport two days later when I had to leave for Japan. A 3am pick-up. His promise to be on time, like his wild tales, did not convince me. I made back-up arrangements. At 3:15 I was happy to have been proven right.