cattle rustlers

It was a sunny day in the lowveld. After lunch I was catching up on mails, when K announced he was going to Hoedspruit to buy molasses for the wildlife. He planned to put two feeding spots near the house so we could see the kudu, and eland etc coming to slurp the syrupy substance – sweet relief from the parched veldt.

On the way to Hoedspruit, his friend H phoned, or his son actually. They had some cattle stolen off their farm near Gravelotte. Another farmer had tracked them through the cut fences and found the cattle, but he wanted us to go and see if any were his, and if so how many. H had left his farm at Gravelotte only the day before, because there were reports of poaching on his game farm near Witbank – four hours drive away.

So we quickly finished our shopping and raced over the Gravelotte. There followed several hours driving around the area, visiting farms, and trying to track down the missing cattle. Stories varied – it was hard to know how many exactly, and even harder to find out at which farm they were now being held.

We bumped into a farm manager, J, who was on the same mission having lost 36 cattle already this month to cattle rustlers. We swapped cell phone numbers with J, only to find our cell phone was running out of power and we had no charger with us. We made a vow to always carry torches, phone chargers, first aid kits and tools, for such emergencies but it didn’t help us then as we had none of the above with us.

We went to visit the farmer who had alerted H to the problem initially. Driving into his farm we passed sleepy cattle, their soft looking hides falling in folds around their necks. Then we crossed a cattle grid that separated the game section. Young giraffe blocked the road, and had to be encouraged to move. Further on huge herds of dainty impala trekked to feeding spots across dusty ground. At the house a massive flock of wild guinea fowl competed with free range chickens for grain. Two brown dogs came bounding out of the garden, tongues flapping in the wind, to throw themselves enthusiastically at the visitors. One received a hearty slap for his troubles, and then was much more manageable. The farmer was out, but his maid came to the gate and the tri-lingual discussion began to try and establish some basis to the missing cattle story.

Collecting H’s cattleman, Wellington, an old fellow in ragged red overalls, we followed vague leads over to the Makutsi region. The sun set, darkness settled faster. We feared the worst, as the rustlers were bound to return to collect ‘their’ cattle that same night. We searched the sand road for signs, until we reached the main tar road to Tzaneen. Returning empty handed and dispirited, we bumped into J, who had spoken to the Police and had confirmation of the whereabouts of the herd. Bakkies raced back and forth in the inky darkness raising clouds of red dust. Another farm manager, name of C, led us to the kraal where the cattle were, but it appeared they had been released again and taken to a far corner of the farm – allegedly by the rustlers who had probably slept the day in the bush nearby.

We sat by a waterhole while C and J searched the farm, spotlight beams slicing the night. A clear Milky Way stretched unhindered over our heads. Fireflies winked over the water, mimicking the stars, and frogs croaked the onset of summer.

Leaving Wellington to herd the cattle to the gate again, having borrowed a torch from C, we drove to Lourene lodge to use their phone to call H and give him an update. There the owners were happy to tell us that they could have stopped the whole thing if their staff had told them sooner. They expanded on the problems of stock theft, and fears that a syndicate is controlling it. Over 400 head of cattle have been stolen in the area recently. That is big business for someone. Many of the farms have absentee owners, or are so large that it is easy to work one section without being seen.

H arrived, having driven from Witbank. We returned to find Wellington already on the road with nine cows slowly walking along. We followed at a snails pace. K and I in two vehicles were using our lights to show them the way. H and Wellington were walking with the cattle. H’s long spare form slipped easily into a pace of walking that told of a lifetime of walking with cattle. The long horns of the two Afrikaner cows illuminated in the headlights, with the younger calves trotting alongside.

It was slow traveling. The cattle already tired from the last 24 hours antics, having walked some 100kms from their home farm to the place where they were held. Eventually we reached Lourene’s horse camp, and ushered them in there for the night, thankfully driving on home. Drove into our gates at 1am. After a cup of tea, I went to bed and left the men to see in the dawn over a few bottles of wine.
This morning they have gone to finish the great cattle trek and bring the poor creatures’ home to Gravelotte.