This month marks my first as a research assistant in the RECaP Laboratory. I am extremely excited about the work that I will doing. As a research assistant I will have two primary responsibilities; 1) studying aspects of lion ecology and 2) contributing to our community-based conservation initiatives (Snares to Wares). In this capacity, I hope to develop solutions to stop the indiscriminant snaring of Uganda’s wildlife. In Murchison Falls National Park, where my current research is based, I am working with Professor Robert Montgomery and Ph.D. student Tutilo Mudumba. We are seeking to understand the proportion of the lion population that has been snared at some time in their life. We believe this number to be surprisingly high, as it is a frequent sight to see a lion with a scar around its neck, a lion that is missing a part of its tail, or even worse, missing a limb. The most famous lion in Murchison named Butcherman was a three-legged lion that somehow managed to maintain his position as alpha male of the Delta Pride for three years after his left hind leg at the knee was taken by a snare. Though Butcherman has now disappeared, the image of his courage and will to survive persists. This animal holds a very special place in my heart.
I am passionate about wildlife conservation, in large part, because of the place where I come from. I was born and raised inside Queen Elizabeth National Park in South West Uganda. Growing up inside the national park taught me the value of wildlife conservation and the types of conflict that can develop from human-wildlife interaction. There was perhaps no more valuable lesson in these principles than that which my father exposed me to when I was a young girl. My father was a conservationist ahead of his time. He worked as a small-scale agro-pastoralist and kept (as we still do today) a good size herd of cattle. One day when I was just a little girl, my father came home with a Cape buffalo (Syncerus caffer) calf. As the story goes, my father was walking home when he heard the miserable cry of this young calf. The animal’s mother had been poached and my father couldn’t bear to see the young animal suffer. So he rescued the calf and brought it home to be raised among our cattle. The calf grew up thinking that it was a cow, but when it matured, it began to wander. I was devastated when news came that someone had poached our semi-tame buffalo.
I am passionate about wildlife conservation, in large part, because of the place where I come from. I was born and raised inside Queen Elizabeth National Park in South West Uganda. Growing up inside the national park taught me the value of wildlife conservation and the types of conflict that can develop from human-wildlife interaction. There was perhaps no more valuable lesson in these principles than that which my father exposed me to when I was a young girl. My father was a conservationist ahead of his time. He worked as a small-scale agro-pastoralist and kept (as we still do today) a good size herd of cattle. One day when I was just a little girl, my father came home with a Cape buffalo (Syncerus caffer) calf. As the story goes, my father was walking home when he heard the miserable cry of this young calf. The animal’s mother had been poached and my father couldn’t bear to see the young animal suffer. So he rescued the calf and brought it home to be raised among our cattle. The calf grew up thinking that it was a cow, but when it matured, it began to wander. I was devastated when news came that someone had poached our semi-tame buffalo.
The herd of cattle that my family still keeps in Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda.
Whether rescuing this calf after its mother was killed was the right thing to do, can be debated. “Just let nature take its course” would be a logical counterpoint to the decision that my father made to intervene. But it was the hand of man that killed the animal’s mother, so perhaps it was the hand of man that also needed to intervene to help the calf. Regardless, my father was not capable of walking away from that crying buffalo calf. I learned a great deal from this time in my life. I learned that wildlife conservation can be a brutal business where people are forced to make difficult decisions under short and intense timelines. And I learned the depth of compassion that my father felt for wildlife and wild places. Several years ago my father passed away, but this compassion was the greatest gift that he provided me. I do not intend to walk away from wildlife that need help.
After receiving the news that I would be hired as a research assistant by RECaP I travelled home to my village (KatweKabatoro) to celebrate the news of my research assistantship with my mother. I travelled by bus from Kampala to Kasese town, which took me 7 hours. Then from Kasese town to Katwe Trading Centre, which took me a further 45 minutes, and then I was home. My mother, along with my siblings, still manage the cattle herd that my father started. A new batch of calves had just been born, one of my favorite times of year. My excitement turned into sorrow however, when my mum told me that one of the calves was knocked over by a speeding vehicle as it was resting close to the road which severed his left hind leg at the knee (just like Butcherman). Despite this tragedy, my family was devoted to nursing this little male back to health. Cows graze 5 to 7 kilometres away from home on communal land each day. To maintain their schedule they must set off to graze by 8am. And the cows don’t get back home until 7pm. My mother has decided to keep him close to home and buys him banana peels, among other things, from the local restaurants so that he can survive.
After receiving the news that I would be hired as a research assistant by RECaP I travelled home to my village (KatweKabatoro) to celebrate the news of my research assistantship with my mother. I travelled by bus from Kampala to Kasese town, which took me 7 hours. Then from Kasese town to Katwe Trading Centre, which took me a further 45 minutes, and then I was home. My mother, along with my siblings, still manage the cattle herd that my father started. A new batch of calves had just been born, one of my favorite times of year. My excitement turned into sorrow however, when my mum told me that one of the calves was knocked over by a speeding vehicle as it was resting close to the road which severed his left hind leg at the knee (just like Butcherman). Despite this tragedy, my family was devoted to nursing this little male back to health. Cows graze 5 to 7 kilometres away from home on communal land each day. To maintain their schedule they must set off to graze by 8am. And the cows don’t get back home until 7pm. My mother has decided to keep him close to home and buys him banana peels, among other things, from the local restaurants so that he can survive.
Me assessing the severity of the injury suffered by the little calf.
Seeing the situation and knowing the importance of helping, I quickly pitched in. I went to the restaurants and carried peels home for the calf. I monitored his movement and health. For now walking is fair because he is 4 months old and I am hoping that in a years time he will confidently be able to walk on his own. This little calf represents the two-halves of my life; that which was informed by my father taking in the orphaned buffalo calf, and that which I have experienced trying to save lions from snares. We have named this little calf Butcherman in the hopes that he too can find a way to survive and inspire all around him with his courage – with a little help from the Jingo family.
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