42 APRIL 2020
community conservancies now cover more land
than Kenya’s national parks.
Most conservancies aren’t fenced, though,
and animals can easily move beyond them.
“They come back with injuries,” says Mijele,
the vet—if they come back at all. Each conser-
vancy is still a fragment, but some are starting
to connect, creating large, continuous refuges.
The famous Maasai Mara National Reserve is
now surrounded by community conservan-
cies in the northern areas that cover almost as
much ground as the reserve itself. The North-
ern Rangelands Trust is an especially successful
umbrella group of 39 conservancies that cover
more than 10 million acres. Slowly, the land is
being defragmented.
The collaring team hopes that its data can
help. By showing where giraffes go, the team can
help conservation groups prioritize areas that
need the most protection. Jenna Stacy-Dawes,
a research coordinator from San Diego Zoo
Global, shows me a map of the privately owned
area where the team has tagged giraffes. Squig-
gly colored lines snake across its borders, each
representing a tracked giraffe. Most eventu ally
roam outward, into community-owned lands.
One yellow line heads north and abruptly ends.
The giraffe’s tracker stopped transmitting in
June 2017, just a few weeks after it was attached.
The giraffe guards went up to investi-
gate, and discovered that the giraffe had been
poached for food near a primary school in
Morijo. The team responded by organizing
education days focused on giraffe conservation,
starting wildlife clubs, and donating desks and
textbooks— the school’s first educational mate-
rials. “People there are now some of the biggest
supporters of giraffes,” Stacy-Dawes says. “And
they’re seeing that giraffes are providing for
their families in other ways.” The story of the
giraffe’s decline is not one of villainous poach-
ers and murdered animals. It is a story of two
species dealing with the same crowded, rapidly
changing world. Only through coexistence will
the tale have a happy ending.
T
oward the end of the collaring
expedition, I ride with Steve Len-
guro, a vet from the Kenya Wildlife
Service. He points out a giraffe, but
all I see is a tree. Then the tree turns
to look at us.
Over three days, the team fixes tracking
units to seven giraffes. Every collaring is chal-
lenging in its own way. On one occasion, the
tranquilizer dart doesn’t fully penetrate its tar-
get, and Mijele is forced to pick a second. The
darts fall off both animals, and they run into
a grove of trees that are tall enough to obscure
even their lofty profiles. The jeeps lose track of
them, and the convoy is forced to drive through
thick bush. Finally, one of the animals breaks
into the distinctive etorphine-induced run,
and vaults a ditch that the trucks can’t pass.
We get out and run again, in sweltering mid-
morning heat and through thick grass. David
O’Connor twists his ankle. The rangers get the
giraffe down, and Fennessy yells for someone
to inject the reversal drug, but it’s in a jeep that
became separated from the main group.
Fennessy is visibly and audibly annoyed
about how long it takes for the drug to arrive.
He’s not pleased that some of the rangers are
kneeling on the animal’s neck instead of sitting
on it—a position that he says places less pressure
on joints and blood vessels. The Kenyan team,
meanwhile, finds Fennessy’s attitude patron-
izing. “We’ve done this hundreds of times
before,” Lenguro tells me. After some tense
debriefings, egos deflate, and the team settles
into a groove. It doesn’t lose a single animal.
The seventh and final giraffe—a young
male—doesn’t even run. It takes the dart,
walks 100 yards, and slumps against a tree.
It looks preposterous, its body slack but sup-
ported, its neck stuck in the branches. The
long thorns can’t pierce its thick skin, but
they probably aren’t pleasant either. The etor-
phine is still coursing through his body, and
clearly having a stronger effect than anyone
anticipated. Working urgently, the team
wraps a rope around the body and, with at
least six people pulling, drags the giraffe to the
ground. The drug is reversed, the hood goes
on, and everything proceeds as planned.
Imagine what a shock it would be to be
that giraffe, to come to in a posture that you
haven’t experienced since you dropped out of
your mother and first got to your feet. What-
ever was fogging your senses has cleared, but
your eyes are still covered. You lash out with a
hoof, connecting with nothing but air. A loud
drilling noise rumbles through your skull, and
you lash out again. Your vision returns. You lift
your head, snake your neck upward, and rise
to your proper place—upright, aloft, above
all things.Ed Yong is a staff writer at The Atlantic.THE STORY
OF THE
GIRAFFE’S
DECLINE
IS NOT
ONE OF
VILLAINOUS
POACHERS
AND
MURDERED
ANIMALS.
IT IS A
STORY
OF TWO
SPECIES
DEALING
WITH THE
SAME
CROWDED,
RAPIDLY
CHANGING
WORLD.