We called him Boesman. He was a solitary Cape buffalo bull that used to roam along the outskirts of our game farm in Limpopo. Unpredictable, powerful, and always alert, Boesman was one of my first introductions to the Cape Buffalo.
The Cape buffalo has a reputation across Africa. Locals call them the Black Death – not because of superstition, but because of how quietly they move, how suddenly they charge, and how difficult they are to read. Boesman was no exception. One morning, his herd came close to the gate of one of our enclosed areas. On the other side, a farm worker was walking along the road.
Boesman saw him, and without hesitation, acted. He went straight for the enclosure gate (three meters tall and mounted on a motorized rail). Boesman hooked it with his horns, yanked it off its rail, ripped the whole gate out of its fixtures, and shoved it forward. It dropped to the ground with a crash.
Just like that, the gate was gone. Luckily, the sound scared the herd, and they bolted. Boesman followed them into the dense, thorny sicklebush, and the moment passed. But the memory didn’t.
This artwork is a tribute to that day, and to the bull that left such a strong impression on me. I chose to surround him in smoke – the dust of the fleeing herd rising around him – tying the moment to the medium. He stands facing the viewer, tense and unshaken, just like he did then. A reminder of what it feels like when there’s nothing left between you and one of Africa’s most dangerous animals.
