David Quammen’s latest book is The Tangled Tree:
A Radical New History of Life. Brent Stirton covered
women anti-poaching rangers in Zimbabwe for
the June 2019 issue of National Geographic.and civil order. This year the big day began
warm and clear. We assembled at the parade
ground in late morning, and as dignitaries and
visitors took seats beneath a marquee tent, as a
hundred rangers held their positions at ease in
midfield, Anguezi stood before us all, six-foot-
five and commandingly crisp in his uniform and
green beret, with a wireless microphone at his
left cheek and a ceremonial sword in his right
hand. He would be emcee today.
At 11:25 Anguezi called the troops to attention.
In marched a color guard of Congolese army
soldiers—their berets orange, distinguishing
them from the rangers—with the DRC flag. Then
came a small band, blaring out an anthem with
four trumpets, a tuba, cymbals, and two drums.
An army general reviewed the rangers, with
Anguezi at his side. By now it was hot enough
that we were grateful for the electric fans sweep-
ing back and forth across the gallery. Then the
speeches began.
John Barrett, the general manager of Garamba,
spoke briefly in French, setting a tone of appre-
ciation for the troops, present and otherwise:
“Nineteen rangers have died in action here. We
mourn them today.”
John Scanlon, AP’s special envoy, a sort of
global ambassador for the organization, touched
on sustainable development for neighboring
communities, and also (with the WWF allega-
tions fresh in everyone’s mind) the need for
anti-poaching ardor to be tempered with scru-
pulous respect for human rights. ICCN Director
General Balongelwa, who had come all the way
from the capital Kinshasa for this event, talked
about the partnership between his agency and
AP, and after half an hour of his remarks, a ranger
in formation fainted from the heat and was car-
ried off. Eventually the parade resumed, directed
by Anguezi’s sharp commands: ranger units in
drill step, then four female rangers, then five
elderly ranger veterans, then 200 schoolchildren
in blue-and-white uniforms, and then again the
band, tireless and doughty. The final event of the
day was a series of spirited tug-o’-war heats, pit-
ting rangers against regular DRC army, rangers
against rangers, eight men on a side, dragging
one another across the dusty infield at opposite
ends of a thick rope. Elliott, the British adviser,
officiated cheerily in the midst of it.
By this time it had started to sprinkle. The
dignitaries departed before things really got
wet. The tug-o’-wars continued. The sprinkle
turned into a downpour. The dust became mud,
slippery as axle grease. The rangers, sliding,
falling, and getting up to tug more, fought their
hardest for inches of rope. Elliott, soaked and
dirty, grinned with pride as he lined them up
for another go. “If it ain’t rainin’, it ain’t trainin’,”
said Naftali Honig.Then he and others, includ-
ing myself, climbed into our Land Cruisers and
headed to lunch.
As we left, the rangers remained, struggling
gamely in difficult conditions, which is always
the way it is. jSAVING AFRICA’S PARKS 133