Blog Mar Priscilla

Blog 46 – Mar '18 – Priscilla Queen of the Kafue

In a bit of a time warp, I thought I’d go back to a story from about a year ago. The story got somewhat overshadowed by me changing jobs in the same month, which required a move to a new country and also overshadowed by all the travels that followed, but it marked an interesting time in my camp in Kafue National Park. I came back to camp one day, after a day in the office tent, and immediately our camp staff came running to me asking for my help. Why? Because in the middle of our camp was a young puku (a mid-sized antelope, quite common in Kafue). Not all that strange, but what made it odd was that it had been in camp for quite some time, not near any adult pukus, and was quite relaxed around people. The staff weren’t too keen to get too close in case it panicked and kicked them. Smart move really. But not my move. It seemed strange, and as the biggest animal lover in camp*, I decided to investigate.

* While I was working for a conservation organisation, I also happened to be the only one with an animal-related background. Everyone was there with a passion to conserve wildlife, but came from police, cooking, cleaning related fields. So, I was the go-to soft-touch / animal expert.

The cute little puku who greeted me on my return from work.

I slowly approached the puku, one slow step at a time, until I was an arm’s distance away from it. That it was still standing there was quite a concern. The more time I spent with it, the more obvious it became that it was unwell, but surprisingly there were no signs of injury – no bite marks, no limp, no blood and no swelling to be seen. After a quick call to the vet that worked for our organisation, I was still none the wiser. It was clear I had a young puku who was unwell but I had no idea why. And by now you’ve probably noted I keep referring to the puku as an it… I also had no idea whether it was a male or female. While adult pukus are pretty easy to determine the genders of – males have horns, while females don’t – this one was borderline on age, so I wasn’t sure if it was a male too young to develop horns, or a female who never would. The puku was likely old enough to have started to get horns, so I am leaning to calling it a her. But, while she seemed pretty relaxed, there was still no way I was getting into any position to check other ‘distinguishing’ features – a hoof to the head wasn’t on my agenda. So, a ‘she’ she is.

Priorities being in check, my first move was to give it a name. While this was just my thought process (not some long-debated topic, involving others), it was still quite important… at least to me! I am Australian, and a sucker for a good Australian movie. So, my little possibly male, possibly female, puku became Priscilla (Queen of the Kafue). I am also a fan of alliteration. So, so Priscilla the Puku was a win-win really! It would have been a much better received name if I wasn’t surrounded by Dutch, English and Zambian people who just thought I was insane and was making up the weirdest movie plot ever. Explaining drag queens to Zambians was not the simplest task, but was quite possibly the weirdest conversation I had with them, thanks in part to their extremely confused expressions. My take-away was that Priscilla Queen of the Desert needs to be introduced to Zambia to ‘educate’ the public.

The second, and far more important, step was to protect Priscilla. Although, whatever she was suffering from was likely not human inflicted (and if I saw her anywhere else, I would let nature take her course), she was in the middle of our camp. This meant that protecting her was not just to protect the insanely cute, and pet-like puku, it was also important, so as to not attract predators into our camp which would put us and the local community in danger. And so, I set about turning one of our outdoor (no roof, but canvas sides) toilet/shower areas into a puku safe-room, complete with a grass bed, water bowl and fresh grass to eat – hand-picked, naturally. By the time I herded her into her safe room**, night was falling, so after a quick inspection, I let her be. She was in very bad shape and her breathing was laboured – I didn’t think she’d last the night, but I wanted to at least make her comfortable. Despite no visible evidence of it, she seemed blind – with little to no response to my movements. She also acted strangely enough that I was concerned that she had suffered something that took a toll on her neurological state. The two combined, unfortunately, led us to the conclusion that she had possibly met with to a spitting cobra. Spitting cobras aim for their prey’s eyes and their venom causes neuro-toxicity.

** The herding process was probably as hilarious as the visual you’re conjuring up in your head (especially if you personally know me). If it were to be videoed and accompanied by the Benny Hill theme song I would be a YouTube sensation right now – or at least a YouTube laughing stock. Both have the potential to make me money, so I am a little sad that it wasn’t videotaped.

L: Beautiful little Priscilla the Puku in our camp, C: Priscilla in her makeshift safe-room that was once our bathroom and R: Surely everyone has had a “Do not enter – Sick puku inside” sign on their bathroom at one time or another, right!?

The next morning, my waking thought was of Priscilla. I raced to check on her (only second in my morning’s activities to getting dressed - running around barefoot in summery PJs would not be appropriate for a boss, surrounded by a camp full of her staff). Priscilla seemed better, but my presence in her enclosure (A.K.A. our toilet…) was seeming to stress her, and her breathing, while laboured, raced. So, I left her alone after replenishing her untouched, but dried out, grass. By lunchtime her breathing was worse, and her food and drink were still untouched. So, with a heavy heart, I left her alone to leave this world in peace. My afternoon was less productive than normal, with my mind often returning to poor Priscilla who was, for one day, Queen of the Kafue.

That evening, I found her, succumbed to the likely snake encounter, in her comfy grass bed. I called the rangers and had them remove her from camp so as to not attract predators. While unfortunately Priscilla had a young and sad end, it was a natural death. And natural deaths are not afforded to many in the Kafue. Kafue National Park suffers high levels of poaching – for bush meat, for furs and for ivory, among other reasons. And this is the reason that I couldn’t personally remove her from camp – handling a dead animal could get me in trouble for poaching and wasn’t worth the risk. I asked one of the commanders who I worked with a lot to do it. I knew he would treat her with respect. While this story has a sad end, for many animals in Kafue, the Department of National Parks and Wildlife rangers are saviours thanks to their efforts to reduce poaching. These rangers risk their own lives every day to stop poaching, to ensure a future for Kafue’s animals. And if the thought of the thousands of animals saved by these brave rangers isn’t enough to lighten your mood, just imagine me (unathletic and with no prior experience) trying to herd a blind puku, called Priscilla Queen of the Kafue, into a toilet block. Or watch Priscilla Queen of the Desert, that always lightens my mood.