Big, Brave, Bold and Bad

There are a number of dangerous animals living in the wild in Africa. Do you have any idea which animal is responsible for more human deaths per annum than any other?

It’s not the Nile crocodile, whose cunning and intellect, combined with those fearsome teeth and tough scaly hide make it a formidable predator. Could it be the lion, the so-called “King of the Beasts”? The answer to both is neither. Man is far more likely to wear or use the crocodile’s skin as a fashion accessory than find himself inside the creature’s stomach. And the lion is probably at this moment relaxing under an acacia tree somewhere on the grassy African plains while his harem of lionesses roams the veld in search of the next meal.

The animal in question is actually none other than the hippopotamus amphibious – aka hippopotamus or hippo. The name is derived from the Greek, and means “river horse”. And no, I’m not sure what similarity the Ancient Greeks saw between the hippopotamus and the horse. Hippos are widespread over sub-Saharan Africa, living in pods of up to 40 animals. During the day hippos submerge themselves in water and mud, emerging at sunset to graze through the night on grass.

Hippopotami are resident in zoos all over the world, and are among the most popular animals visited. They are rather comical in appearance, with enormous barrel shaped hairless bodies supported by four short, sturdy legs. At one end of the body a massive head features two round, beady eyes and tiny twitching ears, contradicted at the opposite end by a tiny, stubby tail covered with sparse wiry hair. They are massive creatures, with a shoulder height of up to 1,5 metres (5 foot) and a length of around 3,5 metres (11 foot). A female hippo may reach a weight of around 1,500 kgs (3,300 lb), while males can weigh up to 3,200 kgs (7,000 lb).

Hollywood and some fiction writers have used the hippo’s appearance to create the myth of a docile, kindly and considerate creature. The reality couldn’t be more different. Hippopotami are extremely territorial, especially in water. Bulls are fiercely protective of their pod and their section of water, and fights between rivals can last for up to three days. Canoeing safaris on the Zambezi, one of Africa’s most legendary rivers, have reported incidents of hippos attacking canoes that drift a little too close for the pod’s liking, particularly when there are new-born hippo babies to consider. I personally know a safari operator whose guide lost his arm when a hippo attacked his canoe.

While hippos are not territorial on land they’re still not an animal you want to meet during an evening stroll through the bush. After the elephant the hippo is earth’s largest land mammal, but a hippo’s size is irrelevant to its speed. A hippo can run faster than a human being. It can average between 30 km/hour (18 mile per hour) to 40 km/hour (25 miles per hour), with a top speed of 48 m/hour – that’s 30 miles per hour. The good news is that it can only maintain this speed for a few hundred meters/yards. The bad news is a human being probably hasn’t much chance when being chased by something weighing a couple of tonnes.

My husband Ivan has had three very close encounters with hippo in his life. When he was 16 years old he was hunting crocodiles in the Sabi River in the Lowveld area of Zimbabwe. He was with an African friend named Silubi. At the time there was a drought, so the Sabi was a series of shallow pools, and Ivan and Silubi were manually pulling the boat through the pools. Ivan walked ahead to assess the depth of the next pool and as he turned back to Silubi and the boat he saw a hippo charging towards them. Ivan shouted a warning to Silubi and rushed off in the direction of the bank. Before he got there he was hit hard from behind and lost consciousness for a few seconds. He opened his eyes and sat up, expecting to see the hippo returning for another charge. But the hippo wasn’t there. It was standing watching them near the boat. It had mock charged them, and Ivan had been hit. Not by the hippo, but by Silubi, who’d screamed and rushed straight into Ivan in his panic to escape.

The years passed, and Ivan’s love of fishing saw him representing Zimbabwe in international bass fishing competitions. He never lost his fear of hippo, choosing to treat them with great respect and giving them a wide berth whenever they appeared in the vicinity of his boat. In 1997 he was fishing in the Champion of Champions tournament. Alone in the boat on a crisp October African morning Ivan steered the boat up a creek at Lake Mtilikwe in central Zimbabwe. He cast the line into the water, nodding to the two African fishermen seated side by side on the rocks at the water’s edge.

The sound of a hippo snorting in the water cut through the silence, giving momentary cause for concern. Ivan estimated the pod was not close to the boat, so there was not too much cause for concern. He cast into the water on the right of the boat as another snort cut through the air. Glancing left towards the pod on the opposite side of the creek he saw a stream of bubbles moving steadily towards the boat in the deeper water. He decided it was time to move, and took a step towards the cockpit of the boat.

Suddenly the peace of the morning air was shattered by an explosion like the sound of a gun being fired. The boat deck tipped violently, and Ivan was thrown into the air. He looked down at the boat and saw an enormous dark shining head below him; its crinkled skin covered with lumps and bumps. It was a hippo. It had attacked and bitten through the deck and the side of the boat. As he plunged into the icy, muddy water he felt the hippo’s body move with the sensation of a current moving against a huge rock. Visibility was nil. Ivan’s father had passed away four months earlier, and he started thinking about his father, and wondering where the hippo was and what it was going to do. He was terrified to move in case he attracted its attention.

Ivan lifted his head to draw a breath. His back was against the brush he’d been casting into before the attack. The boat was about 5 metres away. Not wanting to attract the hippo he trod water as slowly and silently as possible. After what seemed like forever – in truth about 1 minute - he carefully moved over to the boat. He managed to get back into the boat, and moved to a submerged tree near the bank. He used the electric motor, mindful he hadn’t seen the hippo leave.

There were two holes in the side of the boat – eight inches apart and two inches wide. One was six inches long, the other eight inches. Both holes were above the waterline, and were through into the carpeted rod box. This meant the boat might take on some water, but wouldn’t sink. The hand rail was also quite badly damaged. The African fishermen came over to see if he was alright, unsure if it a hippo or a crocodile had attacked the boat.

Ivan fished for the rest of the day, and weighed in a number of fish that evening. Back at the lodge the incident was the source of much deliberation, humour and banter that evening. The damaged carpet was removed, and the holes repaired using duct tape. It was a brilliant repair job – Ivan was able to fish the remaining two days of the tournament and managed to qualify for the team to travel to the States the following year.

Fast forward five years to February 2003. Same lake, different position. Different boat, different tournament. This specific tournament was an international competition against South Africa. There were two fishermen on each boat, one from each country. At 1 pm Ivan and his partner, Gary, were fishing in three metres of water around a shallow island surrounded by anthills. Ivan was standing on the left of the boat, Gary on the right. Gary had just cast out and Ivan had just reeled in. The familiar exploding noise broke the calm of the day… again a hippo attacked and bit through the boat.

Ivan flew into the air again, this time with his rod in his hands. He hit the water hard, and as he went under he was pleased to have the rod, thinking: “at least if he bites me this time he’ll get a mouthful of graphite.” He couldn’t believe it was happening again – once in a lifetime is bad enough, but TWICE? He surfaced slowly, treading water gently and saw the boat drifting away in a strong breeze. Gary hadn’t fallen in the water – he’d been knocked over into the boat. He was in a terrible state – he was frightened, and trying to start the boat. His terror made this task impossible. Ivan shouted to him several times before he understood how to start the boat, and Gary was able to drive over and pick Ivan up: “pulled me out of the water by the scruff of my neck – Gary’s a very big, strong fellow.”

Poor Gary was shaking so hard he couldn’t light his cigarette, which he desperately needed after the experience. Ivan lit it for him. Gary wanted to get away from there as fast as possible, but Ivan warned him they didn’t know where the hippo was, so they should wait a few minutes before leaving. Gary bemoaned the loss of his brand new rod and Shimano reel, which he dropped in the water when the hippo bit the boat. Luck was on his side – Ivan went to pull in the electric motor and found fishing line tangled around the propeller. He pulled it into the boat, and Gary’s rod and reel followed. When Ivan handed it to him Gary was overcome with emotion.

They went back to the lodge and had a couple of vodkas. The damage was similar to the first time, and again duct tape did the job – Ivan reckons everyone should travel with a roll of duct tape because it is so useful. And he did really well in the tournament despite the second hippo attack – he was the only fisherman to win against his partner each day, and Zimbabwe won the tournament! The following year another member of the Zimbabwe fishing team had his boat attacked – in exactly the same place as Ivan’s second attack on Lake Mtilikwe! He also survived the attack.

It is very unusual for one person to experience three encounters with hippopotami, and he’s very lucky the only injury he suffered on each occasion was to his ego. These stories confirm how aggressive a hippo can be, and why they are the most dangerous animal in Africa. Despite this reputation the hippopotamus is under threat from humans. This large animal competes with humans for land in Africa, and poachers hunt it for its ivory teeth and meat. My husband recently encountered a group of hunters on the Zambezi River. They were from Zambia, and had used their tiny wooden dugouts to surround a hippo who’d been separated from its pod. They managed to drive the unfortunate creature onto the Zambian side of the river bank, and on his way back to the camp later in the day Ivan came upon the gruesome sight. They were villagers, not poachers, and they had hunted to feed the people in their village. Incredulous he listened to their story, and when they’d finished he turned towards their rustic canoes, carved from the trunks of the tamarind trees native to the Zambezi valley.

“You herded the hippos in those tiny boats?” he asked. Four black faces creased in broad smiles, and white teeth flashed as they nodded. The hippo would feed the village for the next few weeks.

“Were you not worried about the hippo attacking you?” Ivan asked the leader of the group.
“Oh not,” was the answer. “There are five of us and just one hippo.”

Before Ivan left he gave them some fishing hooks. They thanked him, and looked wistfully at his motor powered fibreglass boat. The leader leaned into the boat, and remarked:

“If we had a bigger boat like this one then one of us could trap a hippo. We would not need five people.”

Ivan did not answer, and bid the hunters farewell. He knows from experience one needs a much bigger boat than his to deal with a hippopotamus.

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