Hero rats save lives in Angola: Trained rodents detect mines for people to farm again

“If you come across a snake, it’s best not to get nervous, but to stay calm and wait for it to pass.” The instructions given by paramedic João Eduardo are alarming, especially in latitudes where certain species of viper, cobra, or the feared and deadly black mamba live. However, they sound like an asterisk in a contract: on these sandy paths of sparse vegetation and dry strands, it is not the animals on the surface that are dangerous, but what is hidden underground. Every few meters, without any specific arithmetic, anti-personnel mines nest under the soil.

They have been here since the civil war that ravaged Angola for almost three decades, from 1975 to 2002, and they still cause serious injuries to the population. That is why a team of workers from different parts of the country, with international participation, is dedicated to deactivating and removing the explosives, to transform the de-mined land into farms for residents. On the plot where the presence of reptiles was reported, Japanese and Belgian funds, through the NGO APOPO, are channelled to clear the land of hidden threats, including missiles or shrapnel. To do this, the team have metal detectors and the help of specially trained rats.

The so-called “hero rats” are Southern giant pouched rats that play a “crucial” role, according to Lily Shallom, spokesperson for the organization. This species can smell explosive devices, but because of their light weight, there is no risk of setting them off. With this “special” equipment, APOPO has achieved “more precise research” and “greater interaction with local communities and authorities,” Shallom said via email from APOPO’s African headquarters in Morogoro (Tanzania).

“We currently have around 110 rats sniffing out anti-personnel mines. They are of the species Cricetomys ansorgei, a large, omnivorous, mainly nocturnal, burrow-dwelling rodent. Their head and body are between 25 and 30 centimeters long, with a tail of around 30 centimeters. In total, these little heroes weigh between one and two kilos,” explains Shallom. The organization breeds and trains them from 10 weeks of age, making them associate the smell of TNT with treats such as bananas or peanuts.

The origin of this method was the brainchild of Belgian Bart Weetjens, founder of APOPO, who thought that these animals could be trained to detect explosives and decided to use them for landmines. The first tests were carried out in 2003, in a training camp in Mozambique. They were “exciting” but also “a little stressful”: “We didn’t know if they would be able to do it in open terrain,” says Shallom. The rats proved exceptional: over the past 20 years they have helped clear thousands of hectares of explosive devices in different parts of the world, such as in this corner of Angola.

A few miles from the town of Libolo, in the center of the country, a camp of thick canvas tents and military-style beige camouflage announces the presence of the deactivators. At the checkpoint, on the side of the road, are a dozen workers. Among them, apart from the aforementioned medic, are the sappers and the head of the mission, 40-year-old Arão Dos Santos. “We have already located 22 mines and removed eight,” he says.

To access this minefield, you have to put on a protective uniform consisting of a long overall and a plastic mask. The path is marked by poles with three painted upper edges. “If they are red, it means there are mines; yellow means there were mines before; and white means it is safe,” explains Dos Santos in front of an armored car that they deploy in the most delicate situations.

The process of de-mining is arduous and expensive. While these explosive devices cost very little, disarming them involves fencing off each area, searching with a metal detector, using experts to dig them up, and either extracting them or detonating them without inflicting damage.

A few days ago, a peasant woman stepped on a mine and lost her legs”

João Eduardo, paramedic

In addition, there are awareness campaigns in nearby towns. “We give guidelines on behavior, prevention, and avoiding certain places,” says João Eduardo, who at 37 is already experienced in hospitals, health centers, and remote villages, where he performs more of an informative than a health-related job. “A few days ago, a peasant woman stepped on one and lost her legs,” he laments.

Some strips of land have already been marked out by stakes and plastic tape. Inside, half-unearthed, these deadly artifacts can be seen. “They were put there by all sides, from the Cuban MPLA troops to the South African SWAPO troops,” says Dos Santos, referring to the various factions that fought in the war: during 27 years of civil conflict, different national and foreign groups fought for power in Angola after the country gained independence from Portugal.

The after-effects are still felt today. Not only in anti-personnel mines, but in the half-buried tanks that lie dormant on sidewalks or in the rusty bullet casings that litter the landscape. Also in the census: of the country’s nearly 38 million inhabitants, only 3% are over 65 years old, according to the United Nations Population Fund. “And we still live with insecurity, although we are people who have managed to move forward, without quarrels. With peace, there are also more universities and schools,” reflects João Eduardo.

They move without hesitation, with aplomb. Clementina Regina, 46, Francisco Joaquín, 51, and Daniel Casinda, 42, are some of the nine sappers who are currently combing the area, with a separation of 25 meters between them. Today, they are passing a metal detector over the ground, without touching the soil, until the alarm goes off. “It’s dangerous, but we’re careful and we believe that it is an important task,” they say. Once the beep is heard, the next step is to cordon off an area of about 40 square centimeters. It will remain untouched until it can be deactivated or destroyed with the appropriate material. Meanwhile, one side of the device protrudes between grains of black earth. If rats are used, they would raise the alarm, sniffing the gunpowder and marking the limit for the farmers’ crops.

The laying of mines is random, as in other areas of Angola, where 1,304 mines were still active in 2020, as estimated by the Anti-Personnel Mine Ban Convention. Clearing the land requires foreign assistance. This investment comes from various countries and is channelled here by APOPO, which began de-mining Angola in 2013. They have “safely” removed 306 landmines, 714 items of explosive remnants of war and 7,880 small arms and ammunition, according to Shallom, who details the devastating injuries caused by these munitions: “Loss of limbs, severe burns, or even death.” She notes that certain challenges specific to Angola — the long rainy season and dense vegetation — can make de-mining operations difficult.

Mine clearance missions are “essential to restore confidence and security” in affected regions, Shalom adds. In Kwanza Sul province, they not only prevent potential disasters associated with these explosives, but also turn formerly dangerous terrain into farmland. “We are proud to say that our efforts have made significant portions of land safe again for communities to live on and farm,” Shallom says. In July, APOPO said that the de-mining teams had found 74 mines in Kwanza Sul and Ebo over the past year, clearing 921,232 square meters of land.

Sowing the liberated land

“We will soon clear this land,” says Dos Santos, who highlights the team’s achievements: “In three months, we cleared some 250,000 square meters.” Manuel Agostinho, a veteran member of APOPO, stated in October in the Jornal de Angola that this operation has re-established agricultural activities in various departments of the country and has benefited, in total, 23,000 peasant families directly and 80,000 indirectly.

Various vegetables have already been planted on the land in this area of Libolo. Antonio Baristo, a 36-year-old farmer, comes from Huambo, some 236 miles away. He has six children and now sows this freed land, happy, but with a latent fear: “It goes away because I am outside the mining boundaries,” he confesses. Irrigation comes from the Longa River. Along its banks are eucalyptus trees jostling for water: unlike in other parts of the country, here ocher prevails, speckled with the green of the grass and the brown of the stunted bushes.

Perhaps that is why, for the moment, they will only plant tomatoes, onions, and peppers. “Angola, however, is very rich in crops. There is coffee, cassava, potatoes, beans and fruits such as strawberries, watermelon, or bananas,” says a Cuban agricultural engineer who has been supervising orchards throughout the country for two years and prefers not to give his name.

Everyone walks determinedly, hiding their nerves. “There is no thought of fear. I am happy because we free up land and we are lifeguards for farmers and residents. We make a contribution to the country,” says João Eduardo, whose job has the downside of being far away from his family. The paramedic looks at the farmer and smiles. He hopes that one day he will only have to warn about the poisonous snakes that cross the paths of visitors, and not about what remains hidden under the land.

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