The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild (29 page)

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Authors: Lawrence Anthony,Graham Spence

BOOK: The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild
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‘And then?’
‘Brett took a broom to the mamba. I told him this snake was too dangerous and that you only use the broom for
mfezi
but he did not listen. I tried to stop him but it was too late and the mamba bit him. Now maybe he will die.’
‘Who shot the mamba?’
‘I did. It was very angry and moving everywhere.’
‘Well done.’
Ten minutes later I picked up my cellphone and dialled the driver.
‘How’s Brett?’
‘Sweating and salivating. But he’s still coherent and it’s not far to the hospital. I’m just about flying at this speed.’
‘OK, let us know when the doctor is with him.’
As bad as it sounded, I knew from that rudimentary diagnosis that Brett had a slim chance. He was in for a rough ride, but if the bite had been lethal he would have already started vomiting and losing muscle control, the final fatal symptoms.
Ten minutes later we heard from the driver that they had arrived at the hospital. Brett was rushed into intensive care and stayed there for two days fighting for his life. And it wasn’t even a bite, just a fang fractionally nicking a finger.
We have often seen mambas since that incident, all of them just carrying on with their lives but that bite will go down as our only snake crisis in over half a century. And it’s a story the trainees will never forget.
Nana’s oldest daughter Nandi’s swollen stomach was attracting a lot of finger-pointing.
Named after King Shaka’s influential mother, Nandi – which means ‘good and nice’ – had stamped her own definitive temperament on the herd: dignified, confident and alert. As a teenager, she had been with the herd in the famous breakout the day after they arrived at Thula Thula, and had now blossomed into a twenty-two-year-old adult. She was inheriting from Nana the hallmarks of a potential matriarch. And she was very pregnant.
The father, of course, was Mnumzane and with Nandi ballooning like a keg we were expecting a big healthy baby. The whole of Thula Thula was waiting for the good news.
Johnny, a likeable new ranger, was first on the scene when it happened. Blonde, good-looking in a boyish way, he had recently joined us and his easy smile made him popular with the staff. He radioed me and, surprisingly, didn’t sound that happy. ‘We’ve just found Nandi down near the river but we can’t see the baby properly. The herd’s gathered around and won’t let us anywhere near her. They’re acting most peculiarly.’
‘Where are you exactly?’ I asked, heading for the door and taking the portable radio with me.
‘Just before the first river crossing on the lodge road.
Take the back route otherwise you won’t get past the elephants.’
It was mid-morning and the sun was already blistering down. The mercury was topping 100 degrees Fahrenheit and soaring as I leaned over and groped for my cap on the Land Rover’s floor. Being fair-skinned, I had learned the hard way to watch myself in the merciless African sun. Max sat in the passenger’s seat, head out the window, tongue out lapping at the passing scents.
I found Johnny and Brendan easily enough. Just as Johnny had said, fifty yards away stood the herd gathered in an unusually tightly knit group.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Johnny. ‘We can’t get close enough to see anything. But they’ve been there for a while now.’
I walked off into the bush, keeping my distance, trying to find a spot from where I could get a peek through the obviously flustered herd. At last I got a glimpse of the brand-new baby on the ground in the middle.
The fact it was lying down sent alarms jangling. The infant should already be on its feet. All wildlife in Africa stands, albeit tottering, almost instantly after birth, and for a good reason. A vulnerable baby on the ground is asking for trouble, an easy snack for predators. Even elephants, with their formidable bulk, move away as soon as possible from a birth spot where the smell of the placenta will attract lurking carnivores.
I needed to find out what was going on so I started approaching on a slow zigzag path, carefully watching to see how close they would let me come. I got to about twenty yards away when Frankie caught a glimpse of me and rose to her full height, taking two or three menacing steps forward until she recognized who it was and dropped her ears. But she held her position and from her demeanour I could tell she didn’t want me any nearer. Once she was sure
I had got the message, she turned back to the baby lying in front of her.
I could now at least see what was going on, and my heart sank. The little one, invigorated by the elemental energy that surges in new life, was desperately attempting to stand up. Time and time again it tried, patiently lifted by the trunks of its mother Nandi, its grandmother and matriarch Nana and its aunt Frankie. But, heartbreakingly, each time as it rose half up it fell back, only to start trying to get up again. This had obviously been going on for a while and my heart went out to the baby and the desperate family.
It was blazing hot and with absolute rotten luck the baby was lying in the middle of the only open space among the trees, right out in the blazing sun. To compound matters, it was also off the grass, lying on hot sand.
There was nothing to do but wait, watch and hope, so I sent the rangers off on other duties, got myself a bottle of water from the Land Rover and found a shady spot as close as I could to the elephants. I called out so they all knew I was with them, and Max and I settled in for the duration.
I took out my binoculars and managed to focus in on the baby. She was a girl and the problem was starkly evident. Her front feet were deformed; they had folded over themselves in the womb and each time she tried to stand, she was doing so on her ‘ankles’.
An hour later and the little one was exhausted and her attempts to stand were becoming weaker and less frequent. This did not deter her mum and aunts who, if anything, renewed their efforts with each failure. By worming their trunks under the little body, they lifted the baby up and held her on her feet for minutes at a time, then gently let her down, only for her to crumple to the ground again.
Elephants always find deep shade on hot days and stay there. Their humungous bodies generate a lot of heat so keeping cool is a priority. Looking up at the sun I cursed; it
was firing full-strength and these poor animals were in its direct blast. Yet none shied off for the shade of the trees, barely twenty yards away. There they stood in the midday solar furnace guarding the baby, even the younger elephants, which were doing little more than watching. Nor did any leave for a long draught of cool water at the river less than half a mile away. Their sail-like ears, their natural radiators were flapping overtime, fanning as much air as they could, attempting to regulate their overheated bodies.
It was only then I noticed that the baby was permanently in the shade of its mother’s and aunt’s shadows. Not just because they happened to be standing around her, but because they were taking conscious care to do so. While the sun arced through the sky I watched amazed as they all took turns to act as an umbrella, slowly shifting their positions to ensure the struggling infant was always out of direct heat.
Three hours later and the baby started to succumb. She didn’t want to be moved any more and trumpeted pitifully when family trunks lifted her yet one more time. She was fatigued beyond measure.
Eventually Nana stopped and they all just stood there, waiting with the baby lying motionless in front of them. I homed in with the binoculars and could see she was still breathing but fast asleep.
Wildlife can absorb adversity that would destroy a human without a blink. This little elephant had gone through the trauma of birth and spent half a day in a blazing new alien environment and hadn’t even had her first drink. Yet she was still alive, still fighting.
But she must be nearing the end and somehow I had to get her away from the herd. They were doing the best they could, but this little creature needed sophisticated medical care. With the best will in the world, Nandi and Nana could not fix the baby’s feet. Her only chance was with us – and even that was tenuous. But how could we get her away from
the herd? An elephant’s maternal instinct is extremely powerful. We could not remove a baby from its mother simply by driving up and snatching it. The retribution would be cataclysmic.
So what could we do? Short of opening fire and trying to scare them off with bullets, which would destroy my relationship with them forever, there was no other way. Perhaps if it was just Nandi … but certainly not with Nana and Frankie around as well.
So there we sat, Max and I, pondering the great mysteries of the elephant world. In the late afternoon, when the day cooled fractionally, the elephants started again worming their trunks in tandem underneath the baby, trying to lift her onto her feet. They kept it up until nightfall, agonizingly failing each time.
I drove the Land Rover in closer and beamed the headlights onto the scene to help them, watching in awe as the elephants never gave up. They had been trying for nearly twelve hours now. Their persistence was absolutely phenomenal. The Marines may have a saying ‘leave no one behind’, but these elephants could even have taught them a thing or two.
Towards midnight the baby was pitifully weakened and I resigned myself to the fact that not only was she not going to make it, but there was nothing I could do. I called out a goodbye, saying I would be back, then drove back up to the house and went to bed, expecting the worst when I woke.
When I returned the next morning as dawn broke, incredibly the herd was still there, still trying to get the now almost completely limp body to stand. I couldn’t believe it; the dedication of these magnificent creatures was beyond comprehension. My respect for them and what they were doing was infinite.
The sun started climbing and by 10 a.m. I knew we were
in for another steamer. And still they continued. But what more could they do? I knew the baby was finished.
A few minutes later, Nana backed off a few paces for the first time and stood alone, as if assessing the situation. She then turned and walked off without stopping. Her trunk dragged, her shoulders stooped, a portrait of dejection. The decision had been made. Nana knew that they had done what they could. She knew it was all over. Despite their best efforts, the baby was unable to stand and thus wouldn’t survive.
The rest of the herd followed and were soon out of sight on their way to the river to slake their arid gullets. They had been on wilderness ER for more than twenty-four hours without drink or rest. Few humans could match that.
Yet Nandi stayed behind. As the mother, she would be there to the end, protecting her baby from hyenas or other predators. She manoeuvred her crippled daughter in her shadow and stood still, head down, exhausted, resigned to her firstborn’s fate, but determined to protect the infant to its last breath.
I studied the baby through the binoculars, certain she was now dead. Then almost imperceptibly, I saw her head move. My heart pounded with excitement. She’s still alive, barely, but still alive! And with the herd gone, another crazy plan came into my head.
I sped to the house and loaded a large open container on the back of the Landy, filled it with water, and threw in a bag of fresh-hewn alfalfa. Brendan summoned the rangers.
‘OK, guys,’ I said, ‘this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to try and reverse right up to Nandi, give her a sniff of the water and alfalfa, and then slowly move off to try and draw her away from the baby. She hasn’t had a drink or anything to eat for twenty-four hours and she’s been baking in the sun solidly. She’s starving and thirsty, so she may just follow me. There’s a sharp corner in the road
about thirty yards off, and if she follows me there she won’t be able to see the baby. That’s when I want you guys to sneak in from the other side, get in as fast as possible, load up the baby and then speed off.’
I paused for a moment, scanning their eager faces. ‘But if Nandi sees you taking her baby, there won’t be enough of you left for me to bury. So if you’re not comfortable with this, don’t come with me. It’s bloody dangerous. I really mean that.’
There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. ‘We’re in,’ was the unanimous reply.
I nodded my thanks. ‘OK. I’ve phoned the vet and he’s on his way with a drip as the baby will be dangerously dehydrated. I have also put a mattress in the back of the truck for her.’
We quickly drove down, got into position, went over every aspect of the plan once again and then tested our radios. ‘We’ve only got one chance,’ I reminded them. ‘As I said earlier, if Nandi catches you near the baby you’re in big trouble. Reverse in so you can drive out of there forward if she sees you. One driver, two in the back to load the baby.’
I at least had some protection as Nandi knew me and I was carrying food and water, but how she would react with her lame baby right there was anybody’s guess. However, for the rangers, it was a different story entirely. Nandi didn’t know them and on top of that they were stealing her baby. They could expect no mercy.
I got in the Land Rover and started reversing towards Nandi, calling out to her as I got closer to let her know it was me. Her first reaction was uncharacteristic. She moved between the baby and the approaching Landy and then charged, trumpeting loudly to scare me away, kicking up a cloud of dust. She had never come at me before so I stopped and leaning out of my window started talking to her soothingly.
As she walked back, I gently started reversing again, only to prompt another noisy stampede. I kept talking and the third time I reversed, her charge had no steam at all and as she turned away I saw her physically jolt as she got the unbearably intoxicating scent of fresh water and food. She stopped and turned.
‘Come,
baba
,’ I called gently, ‘come, beautiful girl, come on. You’re hot; you haven’t had anything to eat and drink for twenty-four hours. Come to me.’
She paused and then tentatively took a few steps forward, ears straight out, hesitantly checking everything, and then walked up and dipped her trunk into the trough and sucked in a yard of water which she squirted messily into her mouth, spilling it everywhere in her haste. Then her screaming thirst kicked in and she started drinking insatiably off the back of the vehicle and I moved forward very, very slowly. Without hesitation she followed, slugging bucketfuls as we moved along. She still hadn’t stopped when we were around the corner, out of sight of her baby. I couldn’t believe how thirsty she was.
‘Go, go, go!’ I whispered into the radio. ‘I can’t see you so neither can she. Let me know as soon as you’ve done it.’
I continued talking to Nandi, calming her with my voice, keeping her distracted, and then for what it was worth I told her what we were doing. ‘Unless I take your baby, she’s going to die. You know that and I know that. So when you get back she won’t be there, but if we save her, I will bring her back to you. That I promise.’

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