Our guide smiles as he gives us directions, the Americans and South Africans who wish to trek with white rhinos. I am an impatient CPA and bad at following directions; however, my life may depend on them on this trip.

He tells us, “Stay a safe distance from the rhinos.” but he neglects to define safe, which is his first mistake. The guide is short, attractive with rich ebony skin, straight white teeth, fit-looking, in a dull grey military-style uniform. A badge on his sleeve matches the badge worn by the few other staff in the shop and registration booth. His black boots appear worn, well broken-in. He is attractive with kind eyes.

“Whatever you do, don’t run,” he says. I nod obediently. Of course, I won’t run. I’ve had two hip replacements.

Strolling through a rhino preserve has never been on my bucket list; however, the endeavor sounds exciting. How dangerous can it be if our tour company scheduled this jaunt on the third day of our tour “trekking with Gorillas” in Uganda? There are twelve of us, some of whom I knew from previous travels.

“Have you ever been charged by a rhino?” I ask. I am curious, or rather concerned about the degree of danger, something I should have considered before entering the white rhino preserve. The guide smiles at me and shakes his head, no. I think he’s lying, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the sly smile he gives me.

“I am good at reading their body language,” he says; “I will tell you when to back up.” I nod along with the others as I listen to the instructions. How did he learn to detect when rhinos are pissed?

We are gathered around him, soaking in his instructions. Most of us wear the standard REI long pants with multiple pockets, tucked into heavy shoes to protect from red ants, one of the many dangers in Africa. Our colors are muted, except for one of the travelers. Five of us are business owners and members or former members of WPO, Women Presidents’ Organization, so bad-assed women along with a few husbands. My husband, maybe wisely, opted not to go. The owner of the tour company, Tara Turkington, snaps photos of the group with her jumbo lens attached to an expensive camera which she takes everywhere. Tara is a smart easy-going woman whose sense of humor and exciting travel planning keeps me coming back to her vacations of action-packed fun and adventure. Although this adventure may not be one she wants to relive or repeat.

Planning for travel takes time, but trekking with gorillas and other primates, our primary reason for being in Uganda, takes on a whole new meaning of planning. We received instructions on what to wear, how much to pack, and how to behave. Trekking with Gorillas, a dangerous endeavor, is not for wimpy people. With only 200,000 gorillas left in the wild, many in Uganda, Rwanda or the Congo, and at 6,000 feet or higher, we had to be a determined, adventure seeking group of travelers. One of our group ignored most of the instructions, which could have gotten a few of us killed a number of times on this excursion. I made it a point to keep my distance from her.

“I want to emphasize that if you get charged by a rhino, don’t run. Try to hide behind a tree.” I nod again. Of course. I looked out over the expanse of land which constitutes the 30-acre rhino sanctuary. Not a lot of trees. Sparse grass, shrubs, and a few thin trees dot the enclosure.

The sun beats down on us. The equator is a few miles away. I feel the heaviness of the heat. The rhino preserve consists of a few utilitarian looking buildings for an office, souvenirs, a restaurant, and flat land. No water in sight. There are no other tourists. Maybe a sign. I consider waiting at the restaurant for the rest of the gang to return but dismiss my common sense and follow the guide with the rest of the group to an open field. Sitting ducks, which sets into my brain, is not a term used in Uganda, but I think it, nonetheless. After a fifteen-minute walk, we enter an area of heavier grass framed by thicker shrubs in between tall thin trees and encounter a mama rhino with a baby. The mother rhino is the size of a small SUV and appears oblivious of us as she sleeps in the shade. A baby rhino nestles against her side. She doesn’t wake, but her baby shifts its large body and grunts. Their shade looks inviting as the heat makes me yearn for a glass or a gallon of water.

“Good, nap time,” I comment to the hiker beside me, who smiles in nervous agreement. We are excited and unusually quiet as we walk past this beast who could kill us if we annoy her. Her lack of interest in us tamps my danger meter down a notch or two. We continue past Mama. The shrubs and trees create a pathway to more dense thickets. A deep grunt to our left makes it clear how well the rhinos blend into the vegetation despite their tank-sized bodies. The guide tells us a male rhino stands in the brush, barely visible, only 50 feet to our left. I see the male rhino’s head move as he nibbles on a leaf.

To our right, we hear what sounds like a baby whining. The guide tells us it is an infant with its mom. The two sound close by but are hidden deep in a grove of shrubs. Trees overhead cover their hiding place and offer the two the comfort of shade. The guide walks us around to the opening of the grove, where we see them more clearly. The mom rests on her tummy as her infant pushes against her side, whining. She grunts at the not-so-little infant as if annoyed by its persistence.

I make it a point to keep my distance from the woman who did not pay attention to the directions touted in multiple places, “Do not wear bright clothing.” These instructions, designed to save your life, were in the travel brochure from the tour company, on the Uganda website. We also discussed what we should wear during our planning calls. This set of rules made sense. Rhinos don’t see well. The woman, who cannot follow directions, walks ahead of me in a bright orange blouse, a walking ray of sunshine, or death, not sure.

The guide proudly shows off the Mama and infant rhino, partially hidden by the grove. We all stand at what we think is a safe distance from the mouth of the grove to take photos of the incredible beast. My fellow travelers have the best cameras, and my iPhone can’t compete, so I hang back and take pictures of our group. The ray of sunshine steps in, close to the grove entrance, and crouches to snap photos as if she’d been hired by National Geographic. Mama snorts as if saying she sees us. The bright orange blouse creeps closer and is now only ten feet from the mouth of the grove. I watch from a safe distance, thinking she’s too close. As if the orange was not enough, her long blonde hair falls forward as she leans in. How close do you want to get? Mama rhino must have decided the same thing.

In a hurried voice, the guide says, “Back up now.” But his warning comes too late. Mama is mad, and with amazing speed for a beast her size, she is on her feet, grunting and charging toward the mouth of the grove and the bright orange blouse.

I hear stomping, grunting, and a flurry of movement. I’d forgotten the instructions, “Don’t run.” My hip replacements were forgotten. I bolt through a thicket of shrubs with thorns the size of my thumb and ignore the pain from the thorns that dig into my arms. Another traveler, John, ends up next to me on the other side of the shrubs, as if the plant life and thorns would stop a running tank. We look at each other, not sure if we are out of danger. Do we have to continue running? Oh yeah, don’t run. I look around for a tree and don’t see one wide enough to stop a rhino. I am relieved we don’t hear screaming. I’m terrified at what I will see, expecting bloody bodies on the ground, trampled from the rhino’s rampage. I struggle to catch my breath. My heart is thrumming wildly.

What can stop an angry rhino? We turn to see the mother rhino standing at the mouth of the grove, grunting and stomping, clearly agitated. I stand and wait to see if it is safe to move. John does the same. The rest of the group is on the other side of the thicket, one hundred feet away from the mouth of the grove and the angry rhino. They huddle together at what must be that “safe distance.” I stay put for a few minutes, not trusting her to change her mind and charge after us. She does not move out of the protection of the shade. The guide stands in front of her, our savior from certain death. I thanked God for the guide and the brutal sun, which may have encouraged the mama rhino to hold back and stay in the shade of the trees.

John and I join the rest of the group, with nervous giggles and sheepish looks. I learned our guide stepped in front of the rhino, waved his arms, and kicked up dirt with his feet, a true hero for saving us from the sharp horn of the irritated mama rhino. We walked back and huddled close to a second guide who’d come up behind us with a gun. The gun was not to shoot a rhino but to scare them or anything else we came across. If it had not been for the quick action of our main guide, the second man with the gun would not have had time to save us. My heart did not calm until we returned to the safety of the main building, truly a safe distance from the mama rhino.

 

Marla J Noel, published in Orange Coast Magazine (two essays) and the anthology Writing in Place, studied writing over ten years in a workshop with Barbara DeMarco-Barrett. Marla, an executive coach, previously spent two decades running a cemetery mortuary business, giving her a unique lens on life and storytelling.