A park ranger in the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s Garamba National Park, photographed by Guillaume Bonn.

*Top,* giraffes in Kenya’s Maasai Mara National Reserve; *above,* a border post separating Maasai Mara from Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park.

*Top,* a survivor of Kenya’s dwindling elephant population; *above,* zebras underneath a railway bridge cutting through Kenya’s Nairobi National Park.

*Top,* a lion on land stripped of its resources for nearby construction; *above,* a run-down apartment building in Maputo, Mozambique.

A lion trophy from the colonial era, on view at an exclusive club in Nairobi.

*Top,* members of the Maasai community standing in line at the offices of the Predator Compensation Fund, which offers cash to make up for cattle lost to predators; *above,* elephants in Maasai Mara.

*Top,* a hut in Turkana County, Kenya; *above,* a settlement near Maasai Mara.

A rhinoceros horn, likely removed by conservationists to reduce the animal’s appeal to poachers selling horns on the black market.

*Top,* a Kenyan man holding the skull of a waterbuck that died in a drought; *above,* a rhinoceros being transported to a new area to avoid territorial fights in its homeland.

Requiem for a Continent

Ahead of Earth Day, photojournalist Guillaume Bonn’s haunting images expose the dark side of Africa’s wildlife havens, which are increasingly falling victim to unchecked industrialism

Over a 20-year career, the photojournalist Guillaume Bonn has documented civil wars in Sudan and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, ethnic violence in Rwanda and Burundi, and the displacement of pastoralist communities in Kenya and Tanzania. Bonn grew up in Kenya, as did his father and grandfather before him, and his distinctive style—raw and unflinching—has made him a mainstay in magazines such as The New Yorker and Vanity Fair.

Recently, Bonn moved to Lisbon, heartbroken over the state of his continent. “Here’s a metaphor,” he tells me. “It’s like waking up and seeing the tree that’s been down the road from you for 150 years cut down in the night. After a while, it becomes a direct violation of your well-being. All of it together becomes unbearable—you have to get out.”