‘It’s a calling… someone has to do it’ — NSPCA inspector on why she endures the danger and the heartbreak

22 May 2025

Being an NSPCA inspector is a calling and not for the faint-hearted, as Sparky Moseki can attest, working in a landscape of legal loopholes, cultural clashes and sometimes dangerous confrontations.

It’s 6am and Sparky Moseki is somewhere between a city and the dustier edges of South Africa, heading to a property no one wants to see, to deal with something no one wants to face. “You never really know what’s waiting for you when you arrive,” she says. “People think the NSPCA is just cats and dogs, but you’d be amazed. We deal with everything. Dogs, snakes, seals, livestock on ships, smuggled animals at borders, you name it.”

Moseki is a senior inspector in the NSPCA’s Special Projects Unit and with every rescue, every raid, every inspection, she carries something heavy: the look in an animal’s eyes. “You know when you see a dog that’s been starved so long it can’t stand up? And it looks at you like… please. Please help me. That’s what stays with you.”

For Moseki, this isn’t a job. It’s a mission. It’s a calling. And it’s heartbreak, over and over again.

‘It’s the law and it’s people’

Moseki’s journey began at the University of Northwest, where she studied animal health. “I always knew I wanted to work with animals,” she says. After a short stint at a vet practice in Johannesburg, fate nudged her towards the SPCA movement. “That was 15 years ago, and here I am.”

She’s now a key figure in the Special Projects Unit – a team that operates in some of the most legally and ethically complex parts of animal welfare. “We’re the unit that deals with border control, checking for illegal animal trafficking. We inspect police dogs, prison dogs, private security dogs. We respond to cruelty reports. We monitor live exports. We handle dog fighting, illegal hunting, even tail docking.”

She pauses. “Every day is different. And some days it’s overwhelming.”

You’re sitting there rewinding a video of someone stabbing a zebra, trying to spot a landmark, a licence plate. It wears you down.

Unlike a vet’s clean, clinical space, Moseki works in a landscape of legal loopholes, cultural clashes and sometimes dangerous confrontations. “People don’t always welcome you. You show up and it’s ‘why are you here? Who sent you? Get off my property.’”

But the law is clear. “Every animal in South Africa is protected under the Animal Protection Act. We’re authorised to ensure their welfare. But if we’re denied access? We have to go to court for a warrant. And I’ve never had a magistrate refuse us.”

Still, paperwork is one thing. Reality is another. “Sometimes you sit waiting hours for a police escort because the station has no vehicle, or you’re walking into hostile situations, people threatening you. You have to stay calm. You have to stay focused on why you’re there.”

Asked what keeps her going, Moseki doesn’t hesitate. “It’s a calling. You don’t do this for money. You do it because you care, because someone has to.”

People think we show up and take animals away and that’s it. But they don’t see the mental load, the emotional toll.

It’s a philosophy that’s been tested, especially when she faces cruelty so severe it feels impossible to process. She tells the story of inspecting a live export ship in the Eastern Cape. “That morning, we arrived and the rams’ horns had been cut off too close to their heads. Blood everywhere. Animals were trapped. Crushed. It was a nightmare. We’d left them the night before and came back the next morning to this horror.”

She shakes her head. “You never forget that. Never.”

Read more: The cruelty of floating feedlots that ply the seas with living cargo destined to die

And then there are the decisions. The impossible ones. The ones that tear you up no matter how many times you’ve made them. “Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is euthanise,” she says quietly. “When you look at an animal and know: nothing can save you. You’ve suffered enough. You deserve peace.”

It’s a burden few outsiders understand. “People think we show up and take animals away and that’s it,” she says. “But they don’t see the mental load, the emotional toll.”

We’re here to make sure no animal suffers in silence. That’s why I wake up every morning.

Even fear hasn’t stopped Moseki. “I was scared of snakes,” she admits, laughing. “Couldn’t even touch one. Then I got a call about a python, and I thought, I have to do this.” So afterwards she learnt and even completed a snake-handling course. “Now? I can handle them no problem.”

It’s a theme in her work: confronting what others avoid. Whether it’s snakes, smuggling operations or cruelty cases, Moseki faces it head-on. “Someone has to. Someone has to be there for the animals.”

Social media makes it worse – and better

One thing that’s changed in recent years is the rise of cruelty shared online. “We get videos sent to us – WhatsApp, Facebook – people torturing animals, animals forced to fight, killing wildlife. And we have to watch them, over and over, to identify places, people.”

She sighs. “That’s the part people don’t think about. You’re sitting there rewinding a video of someone stabbing a zebra, trying to spot a landmark, a licence plate. It wears you down.”

But it also helps. “People are sharing more, reporting more. So in a way, social media’s made it harder for us, but also better for animals.”

After 15 years, Moseki has complicated feelings about people. “Some are cruel for fun. Some do it for clicks. Some do it because they’ve fallen on hard times and can’t care for their animals anymore.” She pauses. “But then you see the other side. People who rescue. People who care. People who feed stray animals from their own empty pockets.”

She believes education is key. “The more we’re out there, the more people understand what cruelty really is. And maybe that means less cruelty in the long run.”

At home, Moseki’s world is quieter. She has a dog – a cross-breed border collie with heart. “When I look into her eyes, I think, how could anyone hurt something that trusts you like this?”

Her children share her passion. “My youngest wants to be an inspector too. The older one wants to be a lawyer to advocate for animals. They see what I do. They’ve grown up knowing this is important.”

She’s lasted. And she’ll keep lasting. “At the end of the day,” she says, “we’re here to make sure no animal suffers in silence. That’s why I wake up every morning. That’s why I go out there. Even when it’s hard. Even when it breaks me a little.” DM

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.

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South Africa

‘It’s the law and it’s people’

Social media makes it worse – and better