Buzz
By Deeann Reeder, as told to Jed Lipinski
SOUTH SUDAN, 2013—As we ventured into the Bangangai Game Reserve, a haven of lowland forests and open meadows, we came across an outdoor bushmeat market. At first glance, it resembled a typical African produce market, but instead of vegetables, the stalls were filled with charred monkey limbs, bushbucks, dik-diks, and even pangolins—a critically endangered species. While hunting has been a tradition here for millennia, it has recently transformed into a lucrative trade, decimating primate populations. Proximity to the Democratic Republic of Congo exacerbates the issue, with cross-border poaching rampant. We pitched our tents on a grassy plateau at the heart of the reserve, surrounded by dense tropical rainforest. As darkness enveloped the area, the distant sound of gunfire pierced the night.
As a bat biologist at Bucknell University, my work involves studying diverse bat species to pinpoint reservoir hosts that carry deadly diseases such as Ebola. My research also extends to mammal biodiversity, conservation efforts, and exploring lesser-known ecosystems, which ultimately led me to South Sudan. Following years of civil unrest, the region achieved independence in 2011, earning its status as the world’s youngest nation.
A year prior in Bangangai, my team and I identified a rare vesper bat species seldom observed. After determining it belonged to a distinct genus—evidenced by its black wings and white, badger-like stripes—we named it Niumbaha, which translates to 'rare' or 'unusual' in Zande, the local dialect. This find underscores the region's remarkable biodiversity.
Each morning, we trap shrews, deploy camera traps for larger mammals, and analyze animal tracks. Our group includes two Smithsonian researchers, two African ecologists, a photographer, a South Sudanese camp manager and diplomat, and a Bucknell graduate passionate about immunology. Darrin, who always carries at least three knives, uses a method we call the 'meat dog' to lure carnivores. He ties meat to a rope and drags it across the ground for miles, leaving a scent trail that predators follow, allowing us to identify their tracks.
By the second day, our fortunes take a turn. Our water runs out, leaving the team severely dehydrated. Filtering water from a nearby muddy pond takes hours, so our porters, locally called 'arrow boys,' hurry to a neighboring village for supplies. They return with cans of water, but it smells strongly of diesel. Desperate, we drink it anyway. As a diabetic, I’m at high risk for bladder and kidney infections, and diesel-contaminated water is far from ideal.
The bees, however, pose the biggest challenge. Though not aggressive, they are omnipresent—a constant in the reserve. Over the next week, we capture three more Niumbahas, several stunning bats with translucent wings, and a mongoose. During this time, my left ankle suffers numerous bee stings, swelling dramatically, and I develop a kidney infection. Dizziness and nausea set in, while the nightly gunfire grows increasingly closer.
At dusk, animals gather to drink from the muddy pond. One evening, as I stand by the water’s edge with my bat net, a rifle shot rings out just a hundred feet away. I freeze, frustrated. Darrin emerges from the shadows and urges, 'We need to leave.' No one argues. While our white skin might shield us in a clash with poachers, the same cannot be said for our African ecologists, one of whom is Ugandan. Anti-Ugandan sentiment is widespread in South Sudan.
Courtesy of Bucknell University
The following morning, we gather our equipment and embark on a four-hour journey back to base camp in Yambio, the headquarters of the conservation organization Fauna & Flora International. The arrow boys are visibly angry at the poachers for disrupting our work and forcing an early departure.
I decline to visit another game reserve, expressing my unease about encountering poachers again. Our local contact recommends Bandala Hills, a remote area located 10 hours north on the western fringe of Southern National Park. Upon arrival, park rangers establish a protective perimeter around our camp, citing safety concerns.
In Bandala, we successfully capture a diverse range of mammals, including epauletted fruit bats, nose-leaf bats, and horseshoe bats. However, my swollen ankle has developed a severe infection, and my blood sugar levels have skyrocketed. I struggle to stand, and despite consistent insulin doses, I develop diabetic ketoacidosis, a dangerous condition where the blood becomes acidic. This necessitates another emergency evacuation.
Everything happens quickly: the medevac flight on a small 20-seat plane, landing in Juba, the capital, and being rushed to Unity Clinic. After running tests, I’m prescribed antibiotics. I spend nearly a week in deep sleep. Eventually, my husband arrives from the U.S. and takes me to our mud hut in Kajo Keji, just south of Juba, to recover.
Some regions of the world remain understudied for valid reasons. Many of my peers consider me reckless for conducting research in South Sudan. Our most recent expedition was halted due to the horrors of civil war. Despite the dangers, I’m committed to taking these risks. For me, wildlife conservation is inseparable from fostering community growth and resolving conflicts, ensuring mutual benefits for all. Just please, keep the bees at bay.
