A cautionary tale, as told by Waddlesworth, Chief Inspiration Officer
Ahem! May I have your attention, please? Waddlesworth here, ambassador extraordinaire of the African penguin persuasion. Ah, dear listener, gather close. The tale I’m about to tell is not for the faint of heart or flipper. It begins with eggs, ends with empty bellies, and features villains of every featherless persuasion.
Let us begin with a proper introduction, shall we?
We are the African penguins, dashing, dignified, and delightfully noisy. Once upon a time, some rather impolite humans dubbed us “Jackass penguins.” Jackass! Can you imagine? I objected most vociferously. Not only is it rude, it’s wildly inaccurate. We may bray like donkeys, but we are no asses.
Then came “Black-footed penguins.” Admirable attempt, but alas, most of our penguin cousins also sport ebony toes. It’s hardly a distinguishing feature, darling.
So we took matters into our own flippers. We are the only penguin species to call Africa home, from Namibia’s rugged coast to the sun-kissed shores of Algoa Bay. Thus, “African penguin” it is. We wear the name with pride, like a well-fitted tuxedo.
Now, I must confess, our tale takes a troubling turn…
Once upon a time, we were legion:
- In 1920: Over 1 million breeding pairs graced these shores.
- By 1956: Just 147,000 remained.
- 1978: A mere 75,000.
- 2001: Down to 63,000.
- 2009: Only 25,000.
- 2015: 18,000.
- 2018: 15,000
- 2025 at <10,000 breeding pairs, we were declared critically endangered, just one step from extinct in the wild
How did we find ourselves in this precarious predicament?
First came the “Eggers” Yes, you heard me. Egg collectors. Our green-tinged eggs were once considered a delicacy. Humans loved that when cooked the whites remain translucent instead of turning opaque and white. Yes, humans are easily amusesd. By the 1960s, over three million eggs had been plucked from our breeding islands. That’s not brunch, that’s burglary. Our eggs were even served on the Titanic and we know what happened there.
Then came the “Scrapers” Guano collectors, if you please. Guano, our nutrient-rich droppings, formed thick, cozy layers on islands like Dyer Island. We burrowed into it to nest, shielded from heat, cold, and predators. But the scrapers stripped it bare, deemed it “white gold” and made a fortune from the fertilizer. Now we are faced with nesting in shallow pits, exposed to heat, floods, and nosy gulls. It’s like trading a luxury condo for a cardboard box.
Luckily some clever humans designed penguin houses that keep us safe.
And then, the “Oilers.” They say bad luck comes in threes. Enter oil spills. A thumbprint-sized blotch of oil on our feathers? Catastrophic. It’s like slicing a hole in your wetsuit. Water seeps in and we lose our waterproofing. Or worse, we ingest the toxic sludge while trying to clean ourselves. It’s a lose-lose situation, darling.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, humans started hoarding our sardines and anchovies. Our favorite fish! With stocks dwindling, we must travel farther and farther to find food during this frightening famine of overfishing . That’s hard enough for us grown-ups, but when our chicks are hungry? Long-distance takeout is a recipe for disaster.
Ah, but wait. Brace yourself, dear listener, for the plot thickens like spilled diesel on a moonlit tide. Ship-to-ship bunkering, they call it. A rather slippery practice where fuel is transferred between vessels at sea, no docking, no oversight, just a floating fuel fiesta. All in the name of saving time and money. Efficiency, they say. I say: penguin peril in a petroleum puddle.
The result? Noise, spills, and ecological mayhem. Our beloved Algoa Bay, once a shimmering jewel of biodiversity, has suffered an 80% drop in African penguin numbers. Eighty percent! That’s not a statistic, that’s a scream.
But wait, there’s more! In August 2025, the Department of Forestry, Fisheries and the Environment (DFFE) stepped in with new regulations. A noble gesture, truly. And yet… bunkering operations have increased. Increased! It’s like installing a fire alarm and then throwing a barbecue on the roof.
So here we are: braving oil-slicked waters, dodging diesel-scented doom, and wondering how long we can hold on.
Let’s talk about a threat that isn’t caused by humans. We’ve always had natural predators, like gulls who like to steal our eggs. Cape fur seal have gotten clever. They let us do the fishing, then attack us just for the fish in our bellies. It’s rude, it’s lazy, and it’s contributing to our decline.
Bottom Line? We, the African penguins, are disappearing. Rapidly. But this is not the end of our story, unless you let it be. You, yes you, can help us rewrite the ending. Rally with us. Protect our nesting grounds. Defend our fish. And for the love of sardines, stop calling us Jackasses.
Yours in feathers and fortitude,
Waddlesworth
Chief Inspiration Officer, Defender of the Dwindling
Extinction O’Clock #NotBy2035