The Plant That Breaks Bricks: A Biologist’s Quest for Hydnora

As a plant biologist, I have a penchant for plants that defy the ordinary—those that have abandoned their autotrophic ancestry and evolved into forms that bear little resemblance to one. Rafflesia is a prime example: a botanical enigma with no stems, roots, or leaves. It lives hidden within the woody tissues of its viny host, only emerging to produce the world’s largest bloom, which reeks of rotting flesh.

When I learned about a conservation genetics workshop in Namibia, Africa, scheduled for January 2025, I submitted my application six months in advance. I was eager not only to learn from the expert faculty but also to witness another parasitic marvel: Hydnora africana. This subterranean oddity emits a stench similar to feces to lure dung beetles, an evolutionary strategy I found fascinating.

On the first day of the workshop, during the meet-and-greet, I found myself flashing a Google image of Hydnora to anyone who would listen. “Where can I find this?” I asked, eager to see yet another delightfully disturbing dicot in the wild. I was told it grows in Dr. Laurie’s backyard. Dr. Laurie, the director of CCF, was hosting the Conservation Genetics (ConGen) workshop for the next several days. CCF, an expanse of 67,000 acres of savannah, is both a sanctuary and a research center dedicated to cheetah conservation.

For the next seven days, we ConGen students followed a structured routine. Mornings were filled with informative lectures, while afternoons consisted of bioinformatics and R coding tutorials. Each evening concluded with dinner and a keynote talk. That rhythm remained unchanged, except for one glorious Friday afternoon when we were finally allowed to escape the classroom for a safari game drive. It felt like stepping into an Attenborough documentary, with fleeting jackals, cackling guinea fowls, grunting warthogs, pirouetting ostriches, and towering giraffes. An endless procession of eland completed the unforgettable experience. The memories of that drive will last a lifetime, unlike the R commands we struggled to memorize in the long afternoons.

Even with the excitement of the safari, I was still determined to see Hydnora. Finally, on the day before the workshop ended, Anne Schmidt-Kuntzel, CCF’s director for animal health, called me over excitedly during a coffee break. “We can go see Hydnora at Dr. Laurie’s house!” she announced. I wasn’t the only one eager. A small group of Hydnora enthusiasts quickly gathered and hurried over to find it. Small brown bumps were emerging next to an aloe in Dr. Laurie’s garden.

Something didn’t add up. The literature states that Hydnora africana parasitizes euphorbs, yet none were present. Could this be a new host record? Or was it an entirely different Hydnora species?

That evening, while sitting near the front during the keynote lecture, my mind was elsewhere. I frantically searched through scientific papers for answers. Eventually, I found a recent paper by Hatt et al. (2024), which described H. solmsiana, a species that parasitizes Acacia species in the Fabaceae family. But where were the acacias? We hadn’t seen any near the aloe. Determined to solve the mystery, we made a plan to return the next day and explore deeper into Dr. Laurie’s backyard, where we had been told more Hydnoras awaited.

In the afternoon, Anne (CCF’s geneticist), Matti (CCF’s ecologist), two interns (Lapaka and Thresia), and I met Bruce, Dr. Laurie’s partner and the . He welcomed us into their backyard, where we noticed bricks in the pathway being pushed upward. “That’s the pesky plant,” Bruce said. “The buds somehow break through the bricks.” Then, with a grin, he added, “Take them all—they’re a nuisance!”

One man’s trash is certainly my treasure.

We eagerly began lifting bricks to free the emerging buds, carefully tracing the Hydnora rhizomes with trowels and delicate hands. Following the underground network, we finally located the host: Vachellia (formerly Acacia). Its frail, thin roots, oddly scented like onions, somehow sustained the massive, warty Hydnora rhizome. When cut, the rhizome was eerily steak-red but, surprisingly, odorless. Victorious, our team posed for a photo, proudly holding our Hydnora haul.

My mind is now buzzing with research ideas. In a few months, I plan to return, bringing nanopore sequencing technology to CCF to mentor Lapaka and Thresia. One idea is to use genetics to unravel the spread of Hydnora infection in its Vachellia hosts. A new collaboration has taken root—pun intended.

In the meantime, back in New York, I will begin the next step: applying for research permits from Namibia’s forestry ministry. These permits will allow sampling not just for genetic studies but also, hopefully, for ex situ propagation and conservation in the U.S. This mission mirrors my ongoing work with Philippine Rafflesia. I am driven by an endless curiosity to inspire public appreciation for nature’s anomalies and the singular evolutionary forces that shape them. Whether it’s the prodigious bloom of the Rafflesia corpse flower or the brick-breaking buds of Hydnora solmsiana, these botanical wonders continue to captivate me.