Secrets About The Sabiepark Warthog and Their Characteristics To "Help"

Royal Family

Meet the Terrible Twins, or Pumba and Timone, or Mo and Flo. These two warthog pals were, in their day, the darlings of Sabiepark. Everyone had nicknames for them, and was highly pleased when the two characters responded by doing regular rounds, knowing that they would be spoilt a little.

Another illustrious group of warthogs was a family named disrespectfully after members of the British Royal family. The parents had the abbreviated names of Flip and Liesbet (not so elegant Afrikaans versions of Philip and Elizabeth). Younger ones were named Charles and Di, Andrew and Fergie. There were also Beatrix and Sarah, and even Camilla.

By a quirk of fate Di, the warthog, died in a road accident as did her namesake, the British icon Princess Diana, a few years earlier in Paris. Outside Sabiepark, on the road to the Kruger Gate, poor Di the warthog ran in front of a speeding car. One of the Terrible Twins died in a similar collision, while a large, prize boar met his death when he was run over on one of Sabiepark’s winding dirt roads.

Annalien Steyn, a guest of Piet and Verity Möhr of Netreg, used her poetic skills to immortalise these Sabiepark favourites in a verse (roughly translated by George Holloway):

Although many warthogs in mud baths did slip,

They always present you with a stiff upper lip.

Poor old Camilla, not young any more

Tries to stay close to old Charlie, the boar.

Di, pretty Di, hog sow of the park

Died on the road, long before dark.

One of the twins had a similar fate

They never learn: hogs have to wait.

Question: should the deceased warthogs be blamed, or were human road-hogs responsible for these tragic losses? It is a matter for debate, but I know where my sympathy lies!

Warthogs… the people of Tarlehoet lovingly call them “long tooth men”. A warthog (not one of our own) supplied the “long tooth” that became the smart handle of a walking stick, which I treasure. And the remarkable curved tusks of several of past and present visitors to Tarlehoet, did make a lasting impression.

But impressive tusks or not, they certainly are not lookers by any stretch of the imagination. One has to admit it: their coarse skins and one-by-one tufts of beard do not enhance their appearance. Their long snouts, unsightly warts, tearful eyes, grey side-whiskers and flat faces are not adornments of the bush. Their robust appearance, in fact, totally disqualifies them from ever winning beauty contests. Poor buggers.

Yet, its a fact that these “unpretty” specimens qualify for the most endearing nicknames – an honour bestowed on not many of the animals in the bush, not even the larger species. There is an element of contradiction in this that is not easy to explain.

The firm bond between human and warthog probably has another origin

The ugly face of a “bull-dog” is quite a pretty sight, however. And the term “beautifully ugly” fits the phacochoerus aethiopicus like a glove. As it becomes more familiar, one tends to ignore and look past the rough exterior, to discover a warm heart. And when a warthog appears so sad, when its rheumy eyes don’t stop weeping, one can’t help feeling sorry for it. I have extensive experience of this. Yes, Tokkie, I’m talking of you.

When love for animals was dealt out, my wife was ahead in the line. One day, while she was cleaning the swimming pool (she is so good at it!), I was busy in the lapa. A warthog was making a nuisance of itself. “Blighter, if you upset my Weber, I’ll really be fed up,” I admonished, not very hospitable. “No, please Hennie,” Tokkie immediately joined in on the visitor’s behalf, “just see how she’s crying, her cheeks are wet with tears. She only wanted to help!”

To want to help. It is one of the characteristics of all warthogs. You’ve hardly arrived, before they know all about it. They come closer and keep trotting between the car and the front door. One has to be careful not to stumble over a member of the welcoming committee, while carrying in your tins and boxes and bottles.

They seem fascinated by a paintbrush. Why, is anyone’s guess. When Tokkie varnished a piece of pine furniture on the stoep, the “inspector” would not leave her in peace for one moment. She had to take care that the tin of varnish was not up-ended. Naughty Kapous Mouton, of Vreklekker, could, under similar circumstances, not suppress his natural instincts. When one of them again inspected his tin of paint, he gave it a white swipe across the flat face. “I now mark you as my warthog,” he solemnly declared. For days afterwards, “Kapous’s warthog boasted these distinguishing features – like Cain in the days of old.