For The Giraffe Of Sabiepark One Needs To Have A Special Measure Of Sympathy, Learn Why!

If they are unduly unconcerned, it is quite understandable. Sabiepark should be a haven of safety. Threats are few. It is place where a giraffe feels comfortable to fold his long stilts under him at any time during the day or night. The he sinks to earth in phases; quite a difficult and tiring performance, which I saw the first time in Sabiepark, and duly photographed.

Poor comrades of the bush. One feels sad and guilty when predators from outside, who have no business in Sabiepark, infiltrate their “secure” domain to catch and kill among them – as in July/August of 1999. “I hope our little giraffe did not become lion-feed,” I faxed to Handa Zeller from Melkbos, shortly before our winter holiday. In front of me was a striking photo which Tokkie took a few weeks before of the cute little knob-knee chappy (with a thin umbilical string still dangling underneath). I knew the lions were still in the park, and that they were feasting on the soft targets of “tame” game. Friends kept me informed of developments. My worry was not unwarranted. “It is always the young, weaker animals that are attacked first,” Handa let us know. “I’m afraid the little giraffe was one of the victims.”

Two young giraffe devoured in one month!

The news depressed me. That one kudu, six wildebeest, two zebra foals (one with soft brown down on its haunches, killed even before the film on which Tokkie photographed it was developed) and countless impala were also lion victims was also awful. Each one’s fate, however, did not have equal impact. The other were part of the large mass. Largely without identity. But the little giraffe we virtually knew by name (Since coming to Sabiepark in 2005 the present manager, Gerard van Niekerk, actually did introduce a new culture of “baptising” the young “ponies”: Agie (Paul Pry), Tiny, Spike, etc.)

This familiarity is the reason why every visit starts with a fixed ritual. We drive up and down in Sabiepark until we see the new generation of giraffe. If we don’t find them soon, we are tense with worry. If we do spot them, we excitedly do some calculations on their growth since we last saw them. Usually they have flourished like bean-stalks.

We have an enlarged photo of our unfortunate little giraffe. It has a place of honour on the wall of our bush home and the title Lion feed is prominently displayed in large black letters.

When we bought Ukuthula, we soon discovered the best way of enjoying the park to the full. On foot! A surprise here, and then another, a few steps further on. Giraffe, especially, provide moments of grateful wonderment. At that stage, the giraffe population was three times the present dozen or so. On any hike, no matter in what direction, one could depend on seeing a few princely heads popping up among the trees. To see as many as eleven at one go was not uncommon. Visitors could not believe their eyes. One afternoon a Capetonian stopped to ask the way. Tokkie and I stood surrounded by giraffe. “Are these your pets?” he smilingly enquired.

Due to the inherent curiosity of these “pets”, and their tolerance of two-legged nuisances, many situations arise where one really becomes part of their physical world. And how extremely photogenic they are, with their slender, long necks and squarish patterns on the skin. Check the cheeky little ones. They know the art of swaying their bodies like precocious teenagers. Their cocky stance would steal the heart of any photographer. And a more popular motif to commemorate a visit to Sabiepark is difficult to find. I would like to know how many photo albums of friends boast photos of one or more of Sabiepark’s giraffe, peeping strategically over their shoulders.

Fortunately, Tokkie had her “aim-and-press” Pentax in her “bush-bag” when one afternoon she encountered a baby giraffe near the picnic spot. In the first photoa the young lady posed like a Miss Ponytail next to a red aloe. Later on the baby legs became tired. It is hard work to be a model! She then folded her legs underneath her body and sat down beside the same aloe. It must be the most photographed aloe in Sabiepark!

MOTIF number one. Ben van Rensburg’s souvenir of Sabiepark. A giraffe towers above the visitor.

Sometimes giraffe are too damn inquisitive. One Nosy Parker gave Tom van Wijk (erf 43 in Maroela Avenue), a new owner and diligent photographer, the “fright of his life”, according to his wife. She relates “We were ecstatic when during a weekend visit, we encountered two giraffe next to our house. Tom immediately went for his camera. He wanted to come as close to them as possible for a good photo.

Shuffle by shuffle, he progressed up to more or less three metres from the bull. While he was adjusting his camera, he had a huge fright when the animal suddenly bent down – its head almost touching the lens. Although he was caught completely off guard, the took a few close-up shots. We are still trying to decide: was the giraffe only inquisitive or was an element of playfulness involved?” My guess is that the latter is not improbable.

Regularly, Tokkie arrives home with a load of giraffe photos on her camera. Film was not saved when one afternoon she wanted to show “Ouma Marietjie” (Grandma) what the stork had delivered to a number of bushfolk. While mother and daughter were admiring a downy-headed zebra baby, Tokkie saw in her rear-view mirror two giraffe bulls approaching. They walked close to one another, like two playful boys showing off their strength by nudging one another away. The two just kept on coming, and had almost reached the car. With less than two metres to go, Tokkie pulled away. How could she know whether they had seen the car and would stop in time? Probably they were so involved with one another that they did not look down.

When the engine suddenly roared, they were visibly shaken. They stepped out of the road, then really started pushing haunches. The long legs seemed to be making intricate steps. Strictly come dancing! Then a neck battle ensued. One hit a branch of a tree which crashed to the ground. Tokkie and “Ouma” watched the spectacle for ten minutes. Whether it was a game – something like competitive “necking” – or a long, slow waltz as a result of a love triangle, they did not know. We had heard of “play-fights” among young bulls in Sabiepark. Full-blooded fights, however, were rare. The hierarchy is usually sorted out in “friendly fights” before a young bull became a serious contender for supremacy.

True conflict does, however, occur from time to time

On the evidence of two incidents, only two weeks apart, this observer has little doubt that true conflict does, however, occur from time to time. During two different hikes Tokkie and I saw giraffe bulls engaged in a “neck-fight”. It all happened in slow motion, or so it seemed. Number 1 gave his opponent a terrific blow. For a second nothing happened. Then it was the turn of number 2.

My turn, your turn, my turn… Chivalrous! And no sign of defensive action.

The whole battle (?) takes place in ghostly silence. Just do not think that giraffe are mute, like so many uninformed people do. No sir, although they don’t utter a sound while fighting one of their own kith and kin, they can sound a loud alarm when a lion attack threatens. Crisis! The giraffe react with a quite challenging modus operandi. It looks directly at the attacker – eye to eye – with neck erect. Then it breathes deeply, which causes a kind of blowing sound. Several bleats can also be heard. Lions know what that bleats mean: that it’s not going to be a walk-over. Listen carefully next time you run into a few longnecks.

My impression was not that these two giraffe were on friendly terms at all. Both encounters lasted too long. Both were too intense. The powerful head and neck blows were were too hard and purposeful. And the contestants simply went on and on. Their stamina was extraordinary. When they became tired, they just remained in their fighting stance – waiting. As soon as energy levels improved, they started all over again.

A serious fight can cause great damage. Those thick necks have tremendous power. A hard blow can cause unconsciousness. A vertebra can be splintered, with inevitable consequences. Fatal fight are rare. But they do occur. Fortunately, not one of our pals was felled while we were watching.

NECK AND NECK. Two bull giraffe in a serious ”neck-fight” in Sabiepark.

On our way to the river one afternoon, a giraffe’s predicament – or what looked like a predicament – caused us alarm. On the property of our neighbour, Hennie van Tonder (erf 153, on the corner of Wildevy and Apiesdoring Avenues), we met a darkly-coloured bull – obviously a senior citizen – shaking and wildly contorting his neck. A whitish object was hanging from his mouth. Maybe a snake? Maybe a stick that became stuck in his teeth? We became more and more convinced that the beast was in trouble – a case for the vet. The giraffe suddenly spat out the strange thing, and then picked it up again in his teeth. It was only a white impala skull, horns intact, that he was chewing. A good calcium source for his own bone structure!