Lions develop taste for human flesh

"Now when it's too quiet people become frightened. They have begun praying to God during these times."

The above quote is from Belete Muturo, director of the McNair Scholars program at Southeast Missouri State University. Belete is a native of the extreme south of Ethiopia called the Hadiya zone. He grew up in a village of 15 mud huts and has herded livestock ever since he could walk.

He never thought people from his and surrounding villages would cower at the thought of man-eating lions.

"When we were children, we were always told they were our family -- the lions and the leopards -- and because of that they will never attack you; and I believed that so I was never afraid," said Belete.

He recalls harmony then between wildlife and humans. As a boy of 12 he was once closely followed for miles by a leopard and never feared harm. Troops of monkeys inhabited the grassy lowlands and Belete could identify them based on their personalities. They were scenes straight out of Disney's "The Lion King."

On this savanna, though, the sight of one beast was a rarity. Lions were heard by their guttural calls at night, but a pastoralist might only see a lion a handful of times per year.

"Each of us stayed in his own territory," said Belete of the divide between bipeds and the regal cats.

That has now changed.

Starting less than two years ago reports of attacks began to stream in. Belete, who still has 11 siblings there and extensive connections, heard regular and terrifying accounts of lions hunting adult humans.

"Because of deforestation and population growth, they lost their territory. They don't have natural things to eat now," he said of lions.

Belete now believes 48 people have been killed by lions in five villages surrounding his home during the past 20 months. He has submitted pleas to USAID and Ethiopian government officials requesting protection, but has seen little results.

A report by a South African news agency dated September 2005 seems to confirm the problem. It reports the deaths of 20 people in this isolated region due to lion attacks.

And it has hit home.

In one town, Gortancho, where much of Belete's wife's family still lives, 18 have been killed; 12 of them were blood relatives of his wife.

Belete now receives reports every other day of the status of these killer lions.

Last week another victim was claimed. On Nov. 23, a 26-year-old school teacher from nearby Woko village let his sixth- and seventh-grade students out early. He started home at 5 p.m. along the normal dusty and frequently traveled road, with the sun still shining brightly. Behind one of the bushes lay a squatting male lion.

The young man's screams could be heard throughout the village, but when help arrived nothing was left for burial other than tattered clothing.

"Now they go where people are. They lie in wait like cats do for mice," he said.

"Most of the time when they kill, there are other goats, cows around and available, that's what scares me most because now they seem to have gotten a taste for human flesh."

The soft-spoken, bespectacled professor effortlessly ticks off other horrifying ordeals. A mother killed in front of her daughter while the two gathered wood 500 yards from home, a woman killed while leaving church at noon.

"There is a terrible sense of hopelessness now, they say to the lion maybe if we beg him he will forgive us or if we don't show resistance he will take pity; it's like they're worshipping this animal in a Christian country. It's just hopelessness and a sense of defeat," he said.

Belete says the only hope now is through foreign safari hunters who seek to kill the lions for trophies. He hopes in the future that game reserves will return nature to its proper order.

TJ Greaney is a staff reporter for the Southeast Missourian.