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Authors: Lawrence Anthony,Graham Spence

The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild (9 page)

BOOK: The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild
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We drove back to the
boma
and the enormity of what we were about to do hit me. If I was wrong and the herd broke out, they would be killed. I started having second thoughts, but while doing the final fence patrol for the night, I noticed the elephants were more relaxed and calmer than I had ever seen them before. It was almost as if they anticipated something special was about to happen. Sensing that made me feel better.
At 5 a.m. a game guard radioed me from the energizer shed to say that power was ‘off’ in the
boma
. David lifted the gate’s hefty horizontal eucalyptus poles off their hinges.
I called out to Nana, who was standing at the fence about fifty yards away, and deliberately walked in and out of the entrance a couple of times to show it was open. Then David
and I went and stood on top of an anthill at a safe distance from the entrance to get a grandstand view.
For twenty minutes nothing happened. Eventually Nana ambled over to the gate and tested the space with her trunk for some invisible impediment. Satisfied, she moved forward, herd in tow, and then inexplicably stopped halfway through the exit. For some reason she would go no further.
Ten minutes later she was still standing there motionless. I turned to David, ‘What’s going on? Why doesn’t she go out?’
‘It must be the water in front of the gate,’ he said. ‘The trench we dug for the delivery truck is full of rain and she doesn’t like it. I think she won’t go through because it’s too deep for Mandla.’
Then, for the first time, we witnessed a graphic demonstration of Nana’s Herculean strength.
On either side of the gate stood two eight-foot-high, eightinch-wide eucalyptus poles sunk thirty inches into concrete. Nana inspected these with her trunk, then put her head down and gave a push. The shafts buckled as the concrete foundations popped out of the ground like corks.
David and I stared at each other, stunned. ‘My God,’ I said, ‘we couldn’t even have done that with the tractor. And to think that yesterday I was letting her touch me!’
The way around the trench was now clear and Nana wasted no more time, hurrying the herd down a game path directly to the river. We watched the thick summer bush swallow them up.
‘I hope we’ve done the right thing,’ I said.
‘We have. She was ready.’
I could only hope that he was right.
As soon as the herd disappeared, we struck camp. All this entailed was throwing sleeping bags and a fire-blackened kettle into the back of the Land Rover, but it was symbolic in the sense that we were moving on.
Max was still at the
boma
gate, watching the woodland that had seemingly gobbled up the elephants. I called him and he looked up askance, as if asking if I wanted him to pursue the animals. If I had said ‘Fetch!’ I have no doubt he would have bounded into the bush. Size meant nothing to him; he was absolutely without fear and had no concept that a single lift of Nana’s foot would have converted him into a pancake.
After dropping David off at the lodge, I drove to the Ovambo guards’ cottage to give an update.
I was about hundred yards away when Ndonga came sprinting up waving his arms. ‘Quick, Mr Anthony. Turn off the motor and keep quiet,’ he whispered. ‘There’s a leopard about forty yards ahead … just to the right of us.’
I killed the engine and squinted into the bush, my eyes scouring every inch of the area where he was pointing … and saw nothing.
‘A leopard out in broad daylight? Can’t be.’
Ndonga put a finger to his lips. ‘I saw it just two minutes ago as you were driving up. Just keep still … it’ll come out
again. Just watch that big bush over there. That’s where it came down.’
The thicket was certainly big enough to hide a leopard. But leopards are primarily nocturnal and it would be highly unusual to see one wandering around at midday.
Then out of the corner of my eye I spotted one of the Ovambos come out from behind the house and nod at Ndonga. He was wiping his hands with a rag, which he quickly stuffed into his pocket when he saw me looking at him.
Ndonga, who had been crouching near the car, stood up.
‘Well, I suppose you’re right, boss. Your Land Rover would have frightened it off anyway. Pity. It’s the first leopard I’ve seen on Thula.’
I nodded. We knew there were several leopards on the reserve from their tracks and the markings I’d seen recently by the Land Rover had confirmed it, but they had been vigorously hunted before we took over and as a result were so secretive that few had seen them. Thus Ndonga’s account of one of these beautiful dappled cats bounding out of a tree in brassy sunlight so close to human habitation was absolutely amazing.
‘So what’s happening, Mr Anthony?’ he asked.
‘We’ve let the herd out. I want all of your guards to go on patrol and track them. Also, check the fences. Make sure the power stays up permanently. And double-check that there are no trees anywhere even remotely close by. I don’t want the elephants shorting the wires again.’
‘I’ve already done that. All trees near the fence have been chopped.’
The last time I had heard that was just before the herd had escaped from the
boma.
I didn’t want to risk it again.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well … OK. See you later.’
I drove off. The recent rains had brushed the bush in colours of green and gold and the fecund earth throbbed with life. Unfortunately, as beautiful as it looked, this rampant foliage would make the elephants more difficult to track. We needed to know all the time exactly where they were in case they attempted another breakout.
Biyela, our loyal gardener and everybody’s friend, ran up to welcome us back as Max and I got out the car, glad to be home. As I walked through the door Françoise told me that Ngwenya, my security
induna
or foreman, wanted to see me.
He was sitting on a tree stump outside the verandah of the rangers’ quarters about thirty yards from our house. This was unusual. He obviously didn’t want to be seen approaching me. I walked over.
‘
Sawubona
, Ngwenya.’ I see you.
‘
Yebo
, Mkhulu.’
We spoke for a bit about the unusually wet weather and the elephants. Then he got to the point.
‘Mkhulu, we all know strange things are happening.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Such as the shooting of
nyamazane
’ – game – ‘on Thula Thula.’
I stiffened. I had been so absorbed in the elephants that the poaching problem had been put on a backburner.
‘But now I am also hearing strange stories,’ Ngwenya continued. ‘And the strangest of all is that people are saying that Ndonga is the man who is doing the shooting. The man killing our animals.’
‘What?’ The blood drained from my face. ‘What makes you say such a serious thing?’
Ngwenya shook his head, as if he too couldn’t believe it. ‘Ndonga shoots the buck, but the skinning is done by the
other Ovambos and by Phineas, the gate guard. Then sometimes a truck with ice comes late at night with no lights and fetches it. Or sometimes Ndonga takes the meat to town.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘It is what the people here are saying. Also, I am told the other Ovambos are unhappy. They complain in the village that they are doing all the hard work and Ndonga gives them no money. He only gives them meat. Not even good meat – they get maybe the head and shins. That’s all.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
Ngwenya shrugged. ‘Since the day you came. But I have only found this out now. That is why I have come to you.’
‘Thanks, Ngwenya. Good work.’
‘These are dangerous times.’ He eased himself off the stump. ‘The Ovambos must not know I have spoken to you.
Sale gahle
, Mkhulu.’ Stay well.
‘
Hamba gahle
, Ngwenya.’ Go well.
I sat there, stunned as if I had been smacked on the head. This was a horrific accusation, not just because the poachers had killed so many animals, which was bad enough. But to add insult to injury, if Ngwenya’s allegations were true, was that my own employees were guilty of poaching my animals with my own rifles. The Lee – Enfield .303s that the Ovambos had been issued with belonged to Thula Thula.
‘Boss.’
I looked up. David was standing next to me.
‘The electrician has arrived. He’s at the gate. Should we take him down to the energizers?’
I nodded, remembering that we had booked the man to check the fence’s electrics thoroughly now that the elephants had been freed. As we got into the Land Rover the radio crackled into life. It was Ndonga. I tensed with anger. My head guard may be innocent and I had to give him the benefit of the doubt, but Ngwenya’s story rankled deep.
‘We’ve found the elephants. They’re right on the northern boundary.’
‘Excellent,’ I replied, fighting to keep the fury out of my voice. ‘Keep an eye on them and wait for us. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.’
With the electrician squashed between us straddling the Land Rover’s gear stick and Max on David’s lap we drove off. It made sense that the herd had emerged at the far border, the direction of their previous home, but nevertheless it was chilling news. Were they still determined to break out, I wondered?
As Ndonga had said, gangs of workers had indeed chopped down all trees within felling distance of the wires. Narrow vehicle tracks had been hacked out to make a rough road for anti-poaching patrols and maintenance checks along the boundary, so it was relatively simple to keep the animals in sight as we followed from a distance.
Nana was moving down the line, the tip of her trunk just below the top electric strand, sensing the pulse of the surging current. With her clan following, she had walked almost the entire twenty miles of the reserve’s perimeter using her natural voltmeter to check if there was any weak link – any section without power in the fence.
By now it was nearly four o’clock. It had taken the animals most of the day to circumnavigate the reserve and I was relieved to see that despite checking for breaks in the power, Nana was not attempting to make direct contact with the fence. She wasn’t going to take the pain and smash through like the previous matriarch had at the Mpumalanga reserve.
But just as the herd was completing its tour, we saw a large acacia standing proud right next to the wires that Ndonga’s clearing gang had inexplicably missed. It was the only ‘danger’ tree along the entire border that had not been felled, and it stood out stark as a monument.
‘Dammit,’ groaned David. Both he and I knew what was going to happen next.
Sure enough Nana and Frankie stopped, saw the tree and loped over for a closer inspection.
‘No, Nana no!’ I shouted as they positioned themselves on either side of the acacia and started shouldering it, testing its resistance. There was no doubt they were going to shove it down and if we were going to prevent the inevitable breakout we needed to get closer. Fortunately a gate was nearby and we sped out of the reserve and onto an adjacent track putting us on the opposite side of the fence.
As we arrived, the tree was creaking wildly on its roots and Nana gave a mighty heave. With a rending ‘crack’ the trunk splintered down onto the barrier, collapsing the poles and snapping the current, causing an almighty short circuit. Forsaking caution I rushed up and snatched at the wires to see if they were still live. As I feared, the fence was dead. And with the herd almost on top of us, we had a real problem.
‘No, Nana, don’t do it!’ I yelled with only a tangle of dead wires and flattened poles between us. My voice was raspy with desperation. ‘Don’t do it!’
Fortunately the frenetic clicking and snapping as the wires shorted had spooked her and she took a hasty step backwards. But for how long?
Thank God the electrician was there and as I pleaded with the agitated animals he and David got to work. With Nana, Frankie and the youngsters barely ten yards away, they calmly untangled the bird’s nest of wires, chopped the tree free, reconnected the cable, straightened the poles and got the power going again.
While all this was happening, I continued speaking directly to Nana as I had in the
boma
, using her name often and repeating again and again that this was her home.
She looked at me and for at least ten minutes we held eye contact as I kept talking.
Suddenly, as if baffled by what all the fuss was about, she turned and backtracked into the bush. The others followed and we exhaled with relief.
It was only then that I realized I hadn’t even considered picking up a rifle in case everything went amiss. My relationship with the herd had certainly changed for the better.
However, something else caught my attention during the commotion, something more sinister. It was the Ovambos. As the tree had come down, to a man they had bolted like startled rabbits. This was strange, I thought. These muchvaunted rangers were actually petrified of elephants, not quite what you would expect from experienced men of the bush.
Then it flashed. It was as if I was seeing clearly for the first time. A fog had miraculously lifted. Despite their braggadocio, these men were not game rangers at all. They never had been. They were soldiers who could shoot straight, but otherwise knew precious little about conservation. They were now out of their element. I had always wondered why the Ovambos, who were supposed to be top-drawer trackers, had led us the wrong way during the original breakout. Now I knew.
Any remaining niggles of doubt in my mind dissipated. It was suddenly as obvious as the sun beating down on us. The guards were indeed the poachers, just as Ngwenya had said. They were the ones who had been plaguing the reserve for the past year, decimating the buck population. The last thing they wanted was a herd of wild elephants on Thula Thula.
Having no experience with elephants, let alone this unpredictable herd, they realized that with angry jumbos around their poaching racket would be ruined. The reason was
simple. Most poaching is done in the dark and one would have to be a brave – or monumentally foolish – man to trample around in the bush at night with this temperamental herd on the loose. It would be suicide. They desperately needed to engineer another escape so their lucrative sideline could continue.
Even though the evidence was completely circumstantial, the jigsaw pieces started fitting together. I suddenly remembered Bheki telling me a ‘gun had spoken’ at the
boma
on the night the elephants first escaped. Could someone have deliberately fired those shots to panic the herd and prompt a frenzied stampede?
This also explained why the fence wires had initially been strung on the wrong side of the
boma
poles. And of course there was no leopard at the cottage earlier this morning. I would bet the farm that they had been butchering illegally slaughtered animals and my unexpected arrival had almost caught them red-handed – literally. Ndonga had to distract me while they hurriedly hid the evidence. That’s why the game guard had come out from the back of the house wiping off his hands: they had been covered with blood.
And what about the tree that had been left standing right at the fence? That was probably the most obvious clue of all. It was far too coincidental not to have been deliberate.
BOOK: The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild
4.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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