Against All Odds: Tandeka's Story

The Sun beamed and I could feel the hard heat on the back of my neck. The grass shuffled, and we all stood there, quite still, quite petrified, before a beast we knew could tear our heads off in a matter of seconds. It isn’t easy to explain how, as I stood there knowing how deadly her fangs piercing on my skin would be, I felt no impulse to run as fast as I could. All I wanted was to stand there, looking at her for as long as I could, and take in the beauty of her mere existence. As I knelt before her, I felt alone. In my head, the others disappeared, and I felt her gaze upon me.

There were six of us: 2 journalists, 3 photographers, and Les Slabbert, the ranger who took us up here, to the top of a mountain so far from any village or human presence that if one of us were to scream, no one would hear it. No one would come to our rescue. Our lives were in the hands of the ranger, and potentially in the fangs of the cheetah that stood before us, guarding three fierce looking miniatures of herself.

Her name is Tandeka, but here she goes by ‘the survivor’, and for good reason. At the age of 3, she was rescued and released here, into Mount Camdeboo’s natural reserve. In just a couple of years, Tandeka gave birth to three cubs and seemed to be adjusting magnificently to her new environment. This newfound happy life at the reserve, however, came to a halt in 2015 when, after weeks searching, she was found lying behind a rock, gravely injured.

After over an hour of driving around the reserve, Les hit the breaks at the foot of a steep hill as he retold Tandeka’s survival story to us. “Cheetahs, even here at the reserve, flee from people.” He said as he gestured us to leave the car. “…but when she saw me, when I finally found her…” His voice broke, and he paused, regaining his composure. “She used the last of her energies to drag herself towards me, injured, unprotected…”. That moment, he told us, he realised the trust Tandeka had put on him. Tandeka had realised, at that very moment, that her life was in his hands.

The bones in her left hinder leg were shattered. What followed was, to Les and the other rangers at Cambdeboo, a nightmare they thought would never end. Tandeka’s injuries were profound, and her odds of survival slim. “We were on the verge of losing all hope,” he says, “but I refused to give up on her.”

Dr. Macfarlane, a local wildlife veterinarian and a dear friend to Les, was also unwilling to give up. Together with Dr. Caldwell, a well-known Cheetah specialist vet, they agreed to give Tandeka her best chance and pursue the operation to regenerate her bones. Even if the operation was successful, however, they knew there was a fair chance that Tandeka wouldn’t be able to hunt or run like she used to, ever again. Tandeka endured and survived, against all odds, a 10-hour trip to Pretoria and subsequently, a 6-hour operation. Forging through all the limitations, she then went through 8 months of rehabilitation and regained most of her strength. Her old life was back.

“Tandeka… She’s the living portrayal of hope.” said Les as he looked up to the mountain before us. “…and there she is.” He pointed to a far away bush. None of us could see anything. Unanimously, we lifted the 300mm lenses attached to our DSLRs and zoomed in. And there she was. Just behind the farthest bush, she was looking straight at us, straight at Les.

“Let’s go.”

As we started towards the mountain, Les gave us constant indications and warnings as we grew closer to where Tandeka was. We had to form a line, and step exactly where he stepped. Les had to be in front of us and he had to be the first one Tandeka saw at all times. “What would happen if she lost sight of you and one of us was in front of the line?” asked one of the photographers. Les was silent for a moment and then chuckled a bit before replying “Well let’s just say you wouldn’t be at the front of the line – or anywhere in the line – for very long.”

As we grew nearer, I could feel my heart pounding harder and faster. I constantly looked at the ground to make sure I stepped exactly where Les did as I was the one right behind him. Every now and then, I looked up, just to check that the cheetah was still there, and not somewhere unexpected like right behind us. We were still about 20 metres away from the bush, but she hadn’t moved. She sat by the bush majestically. I stayed close behind Les, who started walking more slowly the closer we got to the bush. Suddenly, Les turned around.

“Well guys, this is it.” he whispered. “Enjoy this magical moment, and you know – don’t get eaten. Stay behind me. If you move, move slowly, and remember, whatever you do, don’t scream, don’t make any sudden, harsh, spontaneous movements, or you’ll be the first to regret it.” Following orders, the photographers slowly moved to the sides, staying behind as instructed. Gasps and ‘oh-my-god’s followed. Les turned to face Tandeka again and slowly knelt down. All we could hear was the shuffling of the grass, and after a couple of seconds, the fast camera-clicking noise of the 3 photographers all at once. I stood there, paralysed, knowing I should be taking as many photos as them. But something came over me. I realised then, that second, why I had come to South Africa. I realised then that this was something I wouldn’t experience again for a very long time.

As hard as I try it is impossible to explain what it feels like, to be standing in the middle of nowhere, just a couple of metres from one of our planet’s fastest, most deadly creatures. It is impossible to explain, to those who have never experienced it, the connection you feel in a moment like this, not just with the creature before you – which could potentially rip off your limbs in a matter of seconds – but also to the world around you, the natural world, that immense part of this world we seem to be increasingly losing touch with every passing day. For a brief moment, I remembered my life back in Europe: the constant hammering screams of passing cars, the pointless preoccupations of everyday life like when you’ll get your next coffee, the laundry you need to do when you get back home, all the stuff you need to buy as soon as you get your next paycheck… Stuff. Money. Everything seemed so pointless from here. Every doubt on the money I had spent to be able to be here, to be able to stand before the magnificent creature, suddenly dissipated.

Tandeka’s gaze switched from Les, to the photographers, to me and the other journalist, and back to Les. She was tense, but Les’s presence seemed to soothe the tension. She started crouching down until she was lying down before Les. She looked back at the bush, and from behind emerged three baby cheetahs. However adorable they seemed, there was no doubt that they wouldn’t doubt a second in piercing their tiny, sharp fangs in your skin if prompted. One of them approached Les, and Tandeka was tense again. One of the photographers took a step towards the baby to get a close shot. Tandeka lifted her head, growled and showed her fangs at him. The photographer took a step back. Les laughed. “Protective mother, this one.” The other two cubs hid behind their mother most of the time, and it was clear that the third one was the brave misfit in the family. When his mother showed her fangs, he proceeded to imitate her. Everyone laughed, and I couldn’t stop watching Tandeka. Everything she survived, everything she went through, and still she stood there. Despite everything, Les had told us, Tandeka became pregnant only a couple of months after returning to Cambdeboo after the rehabilitation. And now, at the age of 12, she had had 3 more cubs. If there ever was need of proof for the strength and survival of wildlife, Tandeka was it.

The life Tandeka has led is a success story of South African wildlife conservation. Her survival, the unquivering hope of her carers, and the life she created thereafter, are a direct contribution to the endangered state of her species. According to the AWF (African Wildlife Foundation), Cheetah populations have declined 30% in the last 18 years, and it doesn’t seem to be stopping. NGS (National Geographic Society) provides similar numbers, claiming that 91% of cheetahs’ historical habitat areas in Africa have been modified or eliminated. Although one of the prime challenges to Cheetahs, as to most endangered species, is the loss of habitat, there is a growing preoccupation with Cheetah confrontations with farmers. Due to the lack of natural prey – again, caused by loss of habitat – cheetahs are forced to seek food in the livestock of farms, causing them to be shot by farmers on many occasions. And this is where the dilemma comes. This is why conserving certain wildlife species is not a unanimous agreement, especially in rural communities in Africa.

What do you do when the choice is not simply whether to save an endangered species from the claws of climate change, pesticides, urbanization and a long etcetera of human-made challenges? What if a species represents a challenge to our own survival? Many communities still oppose the saving of wild cats because they represent a significant loss of their livestock and agricultural production, which in many families in South Africa is the main source of income. In such communities, it is common that the mainstream way of dealing with this problem is to shoot every wild thing with fangs that comes close to a farm.

But there’s another way. There’s the way that has made us into the civilization we are today, and not a group of brutal, consciousless murderers: Education. Support. Adequate protection to farms in wild areas. Creating sustainable solutions has never been more important. Teaching these communities, not only of the importance of conserving wild cats, but also of the reasons behind cheetah attacks on livestock. What would you do if you ran out of honourable ways of obtaining food to feed your family?

As I stood before Tandeka and watched her fiercely show us her fangs the moment one of her cubs came into close proximity of what, to her, was a dangerous creature, I realised what it is that the world needs to understand. Separating the animal kingdom from ourselves in terms of intelligence, empathy and ethics is a mistake, and in many cases, it is the prime cause of the endangered state of many species today. We need to stop this separation, and we need to stop placing ourselves above these species, which, like us, are part of an extensive food chain, an extensive web of natural life. We need to start seeing that what moves us to survive – feeding, protecting and being with our loved ones – is the same thing that moves them to survive, and it is something we put in danger every day. There are so many species – wild cats, penguins, reptiles, birds – that put their lives in danger every day, just to be able to make it back home with enough food to feed their young ones. We’ve never had it easier on ourselves. We’ve created a culture, and several generations of children who have not known or had to experience the horrors of shortage of food. The West hasn’t seen a war in long enough to think it couldn’t happen again. We have remote controls that allow us to literally tune out of every harsh reality in other parts of the world we would rather not know of. Revolutions in South America. Mafia wars in Eastern Africa. Terrorism in the Middle East, and now, closer to home, too. Conservation is one more to the list. We have turned a blind eye for too long.

As we moved back away from the reserve of Mount Camdeboo, everyone was quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was among the few lucky ones to have experienced the natural world this up close. This should be compulsory, I thought. This would change us. If everyone felt this, it would save them.

I realised that day how important it is that we keep going. We need to make every community understand that it is in our best interest to find sustainable solutions that will enable us to survive, solutions that will enable us all to survive. Education has never been easier. Reaching out has never been easier. It’s about time we find the same hope that saved Tandeka, and survive, against all odds.