The Last Rhinos: My Battle to Save One of the World's Greatest Creatures
Lawrence Anthony, Graham Spence
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The inspiring true story of "the Indiana Jones of conservation." ―The Guardian (UK)
When Lawrence Anthony, author of The Elephant Whisperer, cared for not only elephants but other types of wildlife, including rhinos, on his nature reserve. So when he learned that there were only a handful of northern white rhinos left in the wild, living in an area of the Congo controlled by the infamous Lord's Resistance Army, he was determined to save them from extinction. If the world lost this subspecies of rhinoceros, it would be the largest land mammal since the woolly mammoth to go extinct, a tragedy for those who care about the world's endangered species.
What followed was an extraordinary adventure, as Anthony headed into the jungle to ask the rebels to help protect the rhino. Sometimes funny, sometimes moving, and always exciting, The Last Rhinos tells the story of his fight to save these remarkable creatures.
applies to the wilful destruction of the environment, such as I witnessed in Iraq during the zoo rescue, when Saddam Hussein set fire to the oil wells and the pollution reached Europe on the jet streams. But the bottom line was that we had lost the fight to save the northern white rhino in the wild. I sometimes try to console myself with the obvious thought that we did the best we could and it was the intransigence of others that was to blame, but that would be a cop out. It is instead an
every inch of the baby’s body, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. She then pushed Nana away and stood over the baby, who immediately found a teat and started suckling. The rest of the herd arrived and the older females also started touching and smelling the little one, wrapping it in a warm cloak of affection. It was beautiful to watch. The rangers broke out into a loud cheer. Nana then did something unusual. She slowly turned towards the Land Rover and stood unmoving, staring
and took the bag from him and pulled out three or four sticks of mosquito repellent, told them what it was and handed it over, showing them how to apply it. Their eyes lit up. ‘This is good. Malaria is bad, I have had it ten times,’ one man said, holding up all his fingers. ‘But now not sick, now only headaches.’ I got out of the tub, dried off and dressed, then took out a stick of roll-on deodorant and applied it under my arms. ‘Mosquito bite you here?’ he said, pointing to his underarm.
when I return,’ I replied. ‘They have also said they are willing for me to act as your direct contact with the UN in the Congo. This can help eliminate confusion and mistakes. Do I have your authority to do so?’ ‘You do,’ replied Otti after a brief conversation with some of the generals. ‘This will be good.’ ‘Museveni wants to attack and he will blame us for starting it,’ said another delegate to a murmur of assent. ‘If this happens, it will finish the Juba peace talks. Why did the talks not go
you’d better not be here when I get back,’ I shouted back at him as we jumped into the Land Rover, and sped back to Thula Thula to start the borehole pump. Then it was a race back to the ranger’s house, and we watched with boiling anger as desperate zebra and wildebeest, now fearless of humans, jostled all around us to get to the liquid trickling agonizingly slowly into the trough. Sadly some were too weak to find the strength to get there. We scooped up water in whatever containers we could find