How to make a One-Ton Rhinoceros Eat Humble Pie

By Jill Brackstone, Bermuda

White Rhino

It can be done. I saw it with my own eyes very late one night at a waterhole in the Etosha National Park in Namibia.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Namibia, an independent nation and one of Africa’s few democracies, is one of that continent’s best-kept secrets. It has remained, since its independence from South Africa in 1990, an attractive backwater, where violence and crime are the exception rather than the rule. Part of the reason is its size – at 318,000 square miles it’s as big as California, Oregon and Washington State combined – and it’s small population: only 1.7 million people.

Etosha National Park in Northern Namibia is not the easiest place to get to, but is worth every uncomfortable, bumpy minute for those who want to see a huge variety of game, and birds of every size and hue, from the ground. Alternatively, there are air-safaris. These are more expensive, but have the advantage of comfort, and the ability to view some spectacular desert scenery from the air and see places that would be prohibited from visits on the ground (the famous – or infamous – Skeleton Coast, the graveyard of hundreds of ships, comes to mind).

Fly into the capital, Windhoek, and hopefully you will have signed up with one of the tour operators who specialize in tours to Etosha and its surroundings. I was fortunate to go with a tour company called African Extravaganza, and our tour guide, John Vigar, was everything one would wish for in a guide to take you into the African bush. He even looked like the quintessential safari guide with his sun-weathered face, broad-rimmed hat, graceful saunter and eyes that didn’t miss a thing.

Northern Namibia

We spent several wonderful days learning about the country, its colorful  tribes and its cultures before getting to Etosha. Namibia’s story from the time when it was German Southwest Africa, through its administration by South Africa, to its independence as a sovereign nation in 1990, helped to while away the hours of driving through this vast land. Eventually we arrived at one of the three camps in the Etosha National Park, which covers 8,600 square miles. This one had the impossible name of Okaukuejo (pronounced o-kaa-QUE-o)

As camps go it was large and ugly, but functional, and provided the necessities for a short stay.

Its main attraction was a vast waterhole. There was access for game from three sides, while the fourth had a built-up dam like structure, from the top of which people could stand for safe game viewing. It was also conservatively flood lit for nighttime observations. There were more than a few individuals, like myself, who were prepared to spend the entire night at the waterhole and allow not only the spectacle of all the many and varied species arriving and departing, but also watch the private interaction and communication among them.

Thus, returning to the opening scene…

One muddy-looking waterhole with many game trails leading to it. Some palms, a few acacia trees and lots of “scrub,” and even the occasional flower appearing in an area it has no business occupying. The red and yellow-billed hornbills are strutting their evening stuff.

The sun is going down, and the granddaddy of all bull elephants has taken up his customary position at the waterhole. He’s been there, at the same time, in the same place, for years. The Directorate of Nature Conservation could not have ordered a more perfect scene.

Black Rhino

Slowly, as the sun dips below the horizon, the number and variety of animals increases: several black rhinos, a few more elephants, zebras and a wide variety of antelope – both large and small. All is tranquil, and there is clearly some communication is going on between the animals of the same and different species. A grunt or a bray from a zebra is answered by a raised head or the deliberate flick of the tail from a kudu. The canines – fox, jackal or hyena – seem the most accomplished in the communications department.

An hour or so later this tranquil scene is rudely interrupted by a very large, very bad-tempered rhino who has a reputation as the neighborhood grouch. The frenzied scattering that accompanies his arrival surely indicates so! Some of the elephants and a few zebra remain at the waterhole, while Mr. Bad Temper snorts and stamps around, letting all the other animals know they are not welcome. Soon they all leave, except the large bull elephant who has been there all evening. He tries to stand his ground, but he is old. He finally gives up when he receives a short, sharp jab in the ribs from Mr. Bad Temper’s vicious-looking horn.

The rhino proceeds to drink and munch on some nearby bushes, blissfully alone for about an hour.

Enter a black-backed jackal – about the same size as medium sized dog. He, too, needs a drink at the end of the day. Mr. Bad Temper tries to chase him off, but the jackal is too quick and too agile for the rhino to have a chance to use his horn on this plucky animal.

The sparring continues for an hour or more, until a most amazing thing happens: The jackal trots to within six feet of the rhino – wisely out of range from the horn – sits down, looking like any domestic mutt, and does not move. The rhino huffs and puffs some more, but makes no attempt to chase the jackal away. Soon Mr. Bad Temper’s grousing dies down, and slowly, very slowly, this huge beast walks down to where the jackal is sitting, ever so gently lifts a hoof and scratches the jackal’s back, then turns and ambles off into the bush. The jackal has another drink, then he, too, disappears into the night.

I left the camp the next day, so I’ll never know if the interaction between that grumpy rhino and feisty jackal was a one-time event or an elaborate ritual that those two had worked out over time. But I do know that that jackal’s patience and cleverness, attributes we admire in humans, were enough to make a one-ton rhinoceros realize what a blowhard he was. I think fondly of that jackal every time I encounter a “difficult” person.