He once poached the wild animals of Zimbabwe. Now he preaches against it

CHIREDZI,
Zimbabwe
(AP)
—
Tembanechako
Mastick
and
a
group
of
men
scanned
bushes
near
their
village
in
southeast
Zimbabwe,
on
the
hunt
for
the
den
of
hyenas
that
had
recently
attacked
livestock.
Scattered
fragments
of
goat
bones
showed
the
way,
and
Mastick
peeped
cautiously
into
a
deep
hole
in
the
earth.

“They
are
probably
gone
from
here,
but
not
far
because
they
see
plenty
of
food
in
this
area,”
Mastick
said.
Some
of
his
companions
suggested
sealing
the
hole,
while
others
argued
for
trying
to
burn
out
any
animals
inside.

In
the
past,
Mastick,
47,
might
have
been
willing.
He
grew
up
hunting
in
his
community’s
tradition,
and
though
he
grew
crops
and
raised
livestock
in
later
years,
turned
to
poaching
when
recurring
droughts
made
farming
less
viable.
But
then
he
was
caught
late
last
year
taking
small
game
in
the
nearby
Save
Valley
Conservancy,
one
of
the
largest
private
game
reserves
in
Africa,
and
spent
nearly
three
months
in
jail,
where
he
said
a
program
aimed
at
turning
poachers
into
conservationists
changed
his
outlook.

At
the
hyena
den,
Mastick
warned
the
others
against
killing
animals,
whether
for
meat
or
revenge.
It’s
a
message
he’s
been
giving
since
he
was
freed,
urging
his
fellow
villagers
to
rely
on
crops
and
livestock
instead
for
food
and
income.

“I
began
to
realize
that
animals
are
for
the
benefit
of
the
entire
community,
so
poaching
is
a
selfish
act,”
Mastick
said
in
an
interview.
“I
can
kill
a
zebra
today
and
eat
it
or
sell
the
meat,
but
I
am
the
only
one
who
benefits.
But
if
tourists
come
to
view
that
same
zebra,
it
is
the
entire
community
that
benefits
from
the
income.”

It’s
not
an
easy
message
to
give.
Across
the
southern
African
country, conflicts
between
humans
and
animals
are
increasing as
wildlife
habitat
gets
squeezed
by repeated
droughts,
illegal
hunting
and
tree-cutting,
and
conversion
of
forested
areas
into
farmland.

In
response,
elephants
raid
and
graze
vegetable
gardens
irrigated
from
scarce
well
water.
Lions,
hyenas,
wild
dogs
and
jackals
target
cattle
and
goats
—
people’s
only
safeguard
against
hunger
and
extreme
poverty
after
an
El
Nino-induced
drought
that
withered
corn
and
sorghum
crops.
Donkeys
that
are
crucial
for
labor
and
public
transport
aren’t
safe
from
attacks,
either.

Fencing
for
livestock
is
rudimentary,
typically
made
from
tree
branches
or
sometimes
thorny
bushes.
Villagers
try
to
ward
off
animals
by
banging
pots,
beating
drums
or
burning
old
tires
or
a
foul-smelling
“cake”
made
from
dried
cow
dung,
ground
chiles
and
used
oil.

The
country’s
parks
agency
said
it
has
gotten
between
3,000
and
4,000
distress
calls
from
communities
battling
nuisance
animals
in
the
past
three
years,
which
works
out
to
an
annual
average
that’s
up
from
900
calls
in
2018.
The
conflicts
are
likely
to
intensify
as
the
country
heads
toward
drier
months
ahead,
said
Tinashe
Farawo,
a
spokesman
for
the
Zimbabwe
National
Parks
and
Wildlife
Management
Authority.

It
hasn’t
always
been
like
this.

Mastick
recalls
good
times
—
bountiful
harvests
of
corn,
millet
and
cotton
putting
money
in
the
pocket.
Wild
animals
stayed
in
the
forests.

“The
only
animals
we
encountered
were
the
ones
we
hunted
for
meat.
I
grew
up
a
hunter,
I
would
set
up
a
snare
and
in
no
time
I
would
be
collecting,”
he
recalled,
holding
the
skull
of
a
donkey
in
his
hand,
the
only
body
part
hyenas
left
behind
after
eating
the
animal.

He
said
problems
started
when
the
country
embarked
on
a
haphazard
land
reform
program
in
2000
that
saw
people
settling
in
wildlife
territory,
including
setting
up
farming
plots
inside
the
conservancy.
Save
Valley
Conservancy,
named
for
the
river
it
borders,
says
it
has
lost
more
than
30
percent
of
the
wildlife
habitat
on
its
750,000
acres
(303,514
hectares).
Meanwhile,
droughts
devastated
the
grasslands
and
forests
around
Mastick’s
village.

“Before
that
we
barely
had
altercations
with
lions.
It
was
taboo
because
wildlife
was
abundant.
But
due
to
the
famine,
lions
began
targeting
our
livestock.
Elephants
also
became
a
problem,
hyenas
too,”
he
said.

Grazing
land
for
livestock
became
inadequate.
People
from
neighboring
villages
now
routinely
cross
the
shallow
and
largely
sandy
bed
of
the
once-roaring
Save
River
with
donkey-drawn
carts
carrying
wood
illegally
logged
from
the
conservancy,
further
depleting
wildlife
habitat.

Dingani
Masuku,
the
community
liaison
manager
for
Save
Valley
Conservancy
said
“there
is
a
link”
with climate
change,
noting
that
the
area
is
one
of
the
country’s
driest
and
hardest-hit
regions.

“All
resources
are
scarce.
So
we
have
to
compete
(with
animals)
for
those
resources.
We
are
competing
for
everything
actually,”
he
said.
“The
resources
are
getting
leaner
and
leaner
…
the
animals
have
to
get
where
there
are
people
and
they
look
for
survival
in
there.”

In
Chiredzi,
a
semi-arid
area
about
500
kilometers
from
the
capital
of
Harare,
Mastick
often
has
to
calm
infuriated
villagers.

Mastick
understands
the
pain
of
losing
livestock.
He
starts
each
day
by
counting
his
own
cattle,
goats
and
donkeys.
He
once
had
45
goats;
now
he
has
only
10,
the
rest
eaten
by
wild
animals.
Some
of
his
surviving
animals
bear
the
marks
of
attacks.
Mastick
does,
too
—
his
body
is
riddled
with
animal
bites,
including
lacerations
from
a
leopard
attack
he
encountered
while
on
an
illegal
hunt.

“Without
crop
harvests
we
have
to
turn
to
livestock
to
raise
money
for
school
fees,
food
and
other
necessities
so
people
are
justified
to
be
angry,”
he
said
at
his
homestead
–
a
few
mud
houses
whose
grass
thatching
is
falling
off.
“But
I
help
them
understand
that
killing
the
animals
is
not
a
solution.”

Part
of
his
message
is
that
jail
is
difficult.
Mastick
said
his
family
suffered
greatly
while
he
was
behind
bars
since
he
was
the
only
breadwinner;
some
of
his
20
children
stopped
going
to
school.

But
he
learned
new
skills
while
in
jail,
including
carpentry,
which
now
provides
his
living.
At
his
workshop,
he
uses
tree
branches
and
dry
palm
tree
leaves
to
make
chairs
and
tables
that
are
a
hit
with
tourists
and
locals.
The
workshop
is
often
a
hive
of
activity
with
men
milling
around,
some
learning
the
trade
so
they
can
try
to
eke
out
their
own
living.
Mastick
uses
the
platform
to
spread
awareness.
He
also
speaks
at
village
gatherings
such
as
funerals
and
community
meetings.

There’s
no
hard
data
on
poaching
in
the
region,
but
Mastick
said
the
number
of
men
poaching
from
his
village
has
fallen
since
he
began
his
efforts.

Masuku
said
Mastick’s
past
gives
him
credibility.

“People
know
that
he
has
been
through
it,
he
has
been
there
and
that
poaching
does
not
pay
and
that
is
why
he
is
reforming,”
Masuku
said.
“His
new
line
of
work
as
a
carpenter
is
also
helping
inspire
others
that
they
can
lean
on
something
other
than
poaching
to
survive.”

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