The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild Lawrence Anthony (speld decodable readers txt) 📖

hacked with bolt cutters. About ten yards outside the fence were the studded muddy tracks of a 4x4 bush vehicle that by now would be several miles away. The animals would be sold to local butchers who would use them for biltong, a dried meat jerky that is much prized throughout Africa.

The light of my torch picked up a bloody tuft of charcoal-grey fur fluttering on the cut fence wire. At least one of the dead bucks was a male – the female nyala is light brown with thin white stripes on her back.

I shivered, feeling old and weary. Thula Thula had been a hunting ranch before I had bought it and I had vowed that would end. No animal would be needlessly killed again on my watch. I didn’t realize how difficult that vow would be to keep.

Despondently we drove back to the lodge. Françoise greeted us with mugs of dark, rich coffee. Just what I needed.

I glanced at her and smiled my thanks. Tall, graceful and very French, she was just as beautiful as the day I had first met her catching a taxi on a freezing London morning twelve years ago.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘A set-up. There were two groups. One fired some shots on the far boundary, then watched our Land Rover lights. As soon as we got there, the others bagged two buck on the eastern side.’

I took a gulp of coffee and sat down. ‘These guys are organized; someone’s going to get killed if we’re not careful.’

Françoise nodded. Three days ago the poachers had been so close it felt as if their bullets were whistling a fraction above our heads.

‘Better report it to the cops tomorrow,’ she said.

I didn’t reply. To expect the police to pay much attention to two murdered antelope was pushing it a little.

Ndonga was furious the next morning when I told him that more animals had been shot. He admonished me for not calling him. I said we had tried but failed to get a response.

‘Oh … sorry, Mr Anthony. I went out for a few drinks last night. Not feeling too good today,’ he said, grinning sheepishly.

I didn’t feel like discussing his hangover. ‘Can you make this a priority?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘We’ll catch these bastards.’

I had barely got back to the house when the phone rang. A woman introduced herself: Marion Garai from the Elephant Managers and Owners Association (EMOA), a private organization comprised of several elephant owners in South Africa that takes an interest in elephant welfare. I had heard of them and the good work they did for elephant conservation before, but as I was not an elephant owner, I had never dealt with them directly.

Her warm voice instantly inspired empathy.

She got straight to the point. She had heard about Thula Thula and the variety of magnificent indigenous Zululand wildlife that we had. She said she had also heard of how we were working closely with the local population in fostering conservation awareness and wondered … would I be interested in adopting a herd of elephant? The good news, she continued before I could answer, was that I would get them for free, barring capture and transportation costs.

You could have knocked me over with a blade of grass. Elephant? The world’s largest mammal? And they wanted to give me a whole herd? For a moment I thought it was a hoax. I mean how often do you get phoned out of the blue asking if you want a herd of tuskers?

But Marion was serious.

OK, I asked; what was the bad news?

Well, said Marion. There was a problem. The elephants were considered ‘troublesome’. They had a tendency to break out of reserves and the owners wanted to get rid of them fast. If we didn’t take them, they would be put down – shot. All of them.

‘What do you mean by troublesome?’

‘The matriarch is an amazing escape artist and has worked out how to break through electric fences. She just twists the wire around her tusks until it snaps or takes thepain and smashes through. It’s unbelievable. The owners have had enough and now asked if EMOA can sort something out.’

I momentarily pictured a five-ton beast deliberately enduring the agonizing shock of 8,000 volts stabbing through her body. That took determination.

‘Also, Lawrence, there are babies involved.’

‘Why me?’

Marion sensed my trepidation. This was an extremely unusual request.

‘I’ve heard you have a way with animals,’ she continued. ‘I reckon Thula Thula’s right for them. You’re right for them. Or maybe they’re right for you.’

That floored me. If anything, we were exactly ‘not right’ for a herd of elephant. I was only just getting the reserve operational and, as the previous day had spectacularly proved, having huge problems with highly organized poachers.

I was about to say ‘no’ when something held me back. I have always loved elephants. Not only are they the largest and noblest land creatures on this planet, but they symbolize all that is majestic about Africa. And here, unexpectedly, I was being offered my own herd and a chance to help. Would I ever get an opportunity like this again?

‘Where’re they from?’

‘A reserve in Mpumalanga.’

Mpumalanga is the north-eastern province of South Africa where most of the country’s game reserves – including the Kruger National Park – are situated.

‘How many?’

‘Nine – three adult females, three youngsters, of which one was male, an adolescent bull, and two babies. It’s a beautiful family. The matriarch has a gorgeous baby daughter. The young bull, her son, is fifteen years old and an absolutely superb specimen.’

‘They must be a big problem. Nobody just gives away elephants.’

‘As I said, the matriarch keeps breaking out. Not only does she snap electric wires, she’s also learnt how to unlatch gates with her tusks and the owners aren’t too keen about jumbos wandering into the guest camps. If you don’t take them, they will be shot. Certainly the adults will be.’

I went quiet, trying to unravel all this in my head. The opportunity was great, but so