As the sun drifted down on the rolling hills of South Africa’s Free State province, Manie Van Niekerk wore a mournful look. The 52-year-old farmer and rancher, whose short hair is dark on top and gray on the sides, has a sturdy, solid frame formed by decades of physical work. He looks like a man who is hard to shake. And yet, talking about his 32 rhinoceroses, which at that moment he was preparing to give away, he was visibly moved. “You fall in love with the rhino,” he told me. “You get a lot of joy looking at them. They are dinosaurs. You can look at them and imagine the world before. People think they’re clumsy, but they’re actually very graceful. Like ballerinas.”
In Kenya, aspiring safari guides are taught that the ideal guide should possess boundless knowledge of the local flora and fauna, rock-solid survival skills, mastery of the communication arts, and an unflagging sense of humor. And until recently, these guidelines also included an unspoken rule—that guides should be male.