In the southeastern Zimbabwean village of Chiredzi, Tembanechako Mastick and a group of men searched the bushes for the den of hyenas that had recently attacked their livestock. Goat bones scattered around suggested the hyenas’ presence, and Mastick cautiously peered into a deep hole in the ground.
“They’re probably gone, but not far,” Mastick said. “They see plenty of food in this area.” Some of his companions proposed sealing the hole, while others suggested burning any animals inside.
In the past, Mastick, 47, might have agreed. Growing up in a community that valued hunting, he transitioned to farming and livestock rearing. However, recurring droughts made farming less viable, leading him to poach. Late last year, Mastick’s luck ran out when he was caught poaching small game in the nearby Save Valley Conservancy, one of Africa’s largest private game reserves. He spent nearly three months in jail, where a program designed to transform poachers into conservationists profoundly changed his perspective.
At the hyena den, Mastick urged the others to avoid killing animals for meat or revenge. This is a message he’s been advocating since his release, encouraging his fellow villagers to depend on crops and livestock for food and income instead of poaching.
“I began to realize that animals benefit the entire community, so poaching is a selfish act,” Mastick explained. “I can kill a zebra today and either eat it or sell the meat for my own gain. But if tourists come to see that same zebra, the entire community benefits from the income.”
Spreading this message is challenging in a country where human-wildlife conflicts are escalating due to habitat loss caused by repeated droughts, illegal hunting, tree-cutting, and the conversion of forests into farmland.
Elephants have been raiding and grazing on gardens watered from scarce wells. Lions, hyenas, wild dogs, and jackals target cattle and goats, which are crucial for protecting against hunger and poverty, especially after an El Nino-induced drought decimated corn and sorghum crops. Even donkeys used for labor and public transport aren’t safe from attacks.
Livestock fencing is often rudimentary, made from tree branches or thorny bushes. Villagers try to ward off animals by banging pots, beating drums, or burning old tires and a foul-smelling mixture made from dried cow dung, ground chiles, and used oil.
The country’s parks agency has reported between 3,000 and 4,000 distress calls from communities dealing with nuisance animals over the past three years, a significant increase from 900 calls in 2018. Tinashe Farawo, spokesman for the Zimbabwe National Parks and Wildlife Management Authority, warned that these conflicts are likely to intensify as the country approaches drier months.
Mastick reminisces about better times when bountiful harvests of corn, millet, and cotton provided financial stability, and wild animals stayed in the forests.
“We only encountered animals when we hunted for meat,” he recalled, holding the skull of a donkey left by hyenas. The problems began with a haphazard land reform program in 2000, which led people to settle in wildlife territories and set up farms inside the conservancy. As a result, Save Valley Conservancy lost over 30 percent of its 750,000-acre (303,514-hectare) wildlife habitat.
“Before, we rarely had altercations with lions,” Mastick said. “But due to famine, lions began targeting our livestock, and elephants and hyenas followed.”
Grazing land became scarce, and people from neighboring villages began crossing the shallow bed of the Save River with donkey-drawn carts carrying illegally logged wood from the conservancy, further depleting wildlife habitats.
Dingani Masuku, community liaison manager for Save Valley Conservancy, noted, “There’s a link with climate change. All resources are scarce, and we have to compete with animals for survival.”
In Chiredzi, about 500 kilometers from Harare, Mastick frequently calms villagers angered by losing livestock. Once having 45 goats, he now has only 10, the rest taken by wild animals. His surviving animals bear scars from attacks. Mastick himself bears scars from a leopard attack during an illegal hunt.
“Without crop harvests, we rely on livestock for school fees, food, and other necessities,” Mastick said. “People have a right to be angry, but I help them understand that killing animals isn’t the solution.”
Mastick’s time in jail taught him new skills, including carpentry. At his workshop, he uses tree branches and palm leaves to craft furniture popular with tourists and locals. The workshop is a bustling place where men learn carpentry to make a living. Mastick uses this platform to promote conservation awareness and speaks at village gatherings.
While there is no hard data on local poaching, Mastick believes his advocacy has reduced its incidence in his village.
Masuku highlighted Mastick’s credibility due to his past involvement in poaching. “People trust him because he’s been through it,” Masuku said. “His work as a carpenter also inspires others to find alternatives to poaching.”
As the sun rises behind a baobab tree in Save Valley Conservancy, Mastick remains determined to protect both his community and the wildlife they coexist with.
