There is something slightly lunatic about dusk. Here in the South African bush, it carries the unknown within it, a hint of possibility. The day disappears like the Cheshire Cat until only the stars above remain, grinning madly across the sky.
But there is something sinister about the dusk, too. Night is when nature gets to work, when it has the upper hand. In Balule Game Reserve where the Black Mamba Anti-Poaching Unit plies its trade, night is when murder happens. That doesn’t just mean lions and leopards, though there are plenty of big cats to go around. It can also mean men with guns, drawn by the promise of ivory and rhino horn.
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