National Geographic

In a country where guns are diicult to acquirelegally, the herders turn to the weapons at hand:poison or spears. “At night it’s mayhem,” Thom-sett says, evoking a part of the wildlife experiencetourists don’t see.Recognizing that ending the mayhem, or atleast containing it, will rely on the cooperationof local people, nongovernmental organizationshave tested a new approach—community-basedconservation—to try to reduce retaliatory poi-sonings, poaching, and other kinds of violencetoward Kenya’s wildlife.The most notable of the organizations usesimilar strategies. They include patrolling forhomemade wire snares—a cheap and efectivemethod for disabling zebras and similar animalsfor bush meat—compensating livestock own-ers for lost cattle and goats (with governmentand private money), and providing sturdierbomas, the often flimsy stick-and-branch cor-rals where animals are kept at night. Since 2010the Anne Kent Taylor Fund has fortified nearly800 bomas in the Mara region, and in almostevery case livestock predation has decreased,which means the main motive for retaliatoryand protective poisoning was eliminated.One of the groups’ most promising strategieshas been to hire area residents as rangers, con-flict mediators, and conservationists. “Wildlifemanagement is people management,” says Rich-ard Bonham, co-founder of Big Life and its Africadirector of operations, referring to the problem ofhuman-wildlife conflict around Amboseli.IT WOULD BE EASY to hold the Kenya WildlifeService primarily responsible for the failureto stop wildlife poisoning, and some peopledo. The agency’s ambitious vision—“to savethe last great species and places on Earth forhumanity”— seems to exceed its capacity.Everywhere I traveled, I heard accounts ofincompetence: samples from poisoned animalsnot taken, samples lost, samples misidentified,samples not being tested, and results nevercoming back from the lab. There also were com-plaints about improper treatment of injured butrecoverable animals that led to needless deaths,poorly executed crime-scene investigations,and a lack of consistent, comprehensive dataon which to base policies and procedures.But KWS is at the mercy of larger forces, andchief among them is inadequate funding, saysBrian Heath, head of the Mara Conservancy,which manages the Mara Triangle—the westernand most ecologically robust section of MasaiMara. “At the national level, conservation is not ahigh priority,” he says. Heath, also a former KWStrustee, points out that the government givesconsiderably more money to the tourism boardthan to KWS, even though the tourism industry,the second largest sector of Kenya’s economy,would collapse without the great species andplaces KWS is charged with protecting.The country’s national parks are understafed,and many staf members are undertrained. Vet-erinarians often are overworked because they’rerequired by law to treat every human-inflictedinjury to wildlife, even minor snare wounds,which can delay them from responding to a poi-soning incident with multiple animal deaths. “It’svery frustrating,” says KWS’s Francis Gakuya.Everywhere basic resources are insuicient, fromtoo few vehicles to not enough fuel.Another overlooked piece of the nationalpuzzle is the role of police and judges. MaraConservancy rangers caught two of the sus-pects in the Marsh Pride poisoning. But theirMaasai neighbors raised bail, and the men werereleased. That was the end of it—no follow- up,no trial, no one held responsible. Prosecutionsfor poisoning wildlife in Kenya have increasedrecently, but most ofenders go unpunished.“The most important thing to do is to startarresting people,” says ornithologist Odino,echoing the lament of everyone who believesthe gravity of animal-poisoning crimes is stillnot appreciated.And so the poisonings continue. Carbo furanremains popular, but anything handy and lethalwill do. Some 40 vultures died in a single inci-dent in Masai Mara this year, almost certainlythe collateral damage of retaliation against lions.Traditional concoctions are still used, especiallyamong elephant poachers in Tsavo East, whereat least half the elephants killed are felled by poi-soned arrows— possibly as many as 15 last year.It’s easy to smuggle strychnine from Tanzania ona motorbike, and any employee of a flower farmcan divert a new insecticide to the local blackmarket. Even cement has been used to poisonwildlife, a perverse irony in a country boomingwith construction. Near Nairobi I saw a billboardadvertising Simba Cement, which is made inKenya. The sign depicted the face of a male lionover which the following words were superim-posed: “King of the Concrete Jungle.” If nothing100 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC