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

a few minutes for the izindunas, headmen, to restore some semblance of order. Then, as promised, I was able to continue.

‘However, I do not deny that men have been hiding on Thula Thula,’ I said. ‘I emphatically deny that I know them, or that they were living with me.’

The cabal leader again stood, shaking his head and grinning.

‘This man says he does not know who is in his home, on his own land.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘Which man does not know his visitors?’

Laughter. The Nkosi raised his hand for silence. He nodded at me to carry on.

‘As you all know, Thula Thula is a very big place. It takes many hours to walk fast from one side to the other. Anyone can easily hide there.’

‘But you have workers patrolling on your land!’ shouted the cabal leader, pointing a finger. ‘And you still say you don’t know your visitors?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘But do you? Do you know who lives on Biyela land?’

‘Of course we know! No man will dare stay on our land if the induna of the area does not know his name.’ He laughed again, playing to the crowd, confident of victory.

I then signalled to David at the back of the room. A few moments later he came forward with Ngwenya who, impressed by the occasion raised both his hands head-high in traditional greeting.

I introduced him. ‘This is Ngwenya, my senior ranger. We all know his family is well respected in this area.’ I was pleased to notice several of the senior indunas nodding in assent.

I turned to one of the indunas who controlled the Ntambanana area, west of us. ‘Biyela land in Ntambanana is off limits to anyone. No one can stay there. Is that correct?’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘No one is there, no one may stay there.’

‘Ngwenya and I have just been there and I can tell you now there are several people living deep inside the land. We found them and spoke with them, they have been there for weeks. The bush has hidden them. Just as it hid the men you said were on my land.’

Ngwenya nodded as I spoke.

‘Is this true, Ngwenya?’ asked the induna, suddenly standing up. ‘Were you there? Are there people living there?’

Ngwenya nodded. ‘Yebo, it is as Anthony has said.’

‘Hau!’ The induna’s traditional exclamation of surprise echoed across the now silent room. ‘Then they are trespassers. ’

The cabal leader shrugged dismissively, but my argument had found traction and the tribal leaders were now looking at me expectantly.

‘I repeat, I did not know anyone was hiding in the bush on Thula Thula. The same way the honourable induna did not know men were hiding on his property. Trespassers are trespassers; they are not visitors. They are not welcome.’

There was a murmur of assent from the crowd. Not huge, but still reassuring.

‘What about the guns?’ someone shouted from the back.

Now that was what the meeting was all about.

‘Yes, we have guns,’ I said. ‘We have guns to protect ourselves from wild animals – you all know that. Why would we give away our guns and put our lives in danger walking in the bush with no protection?’

I was about to answer my own question but a tribal elder stood up first to defend me. This was a sure sign that the tables were turning.

‘Mkhulu speaks the truth,’ he said. ‘I have spoken to his rangers and they all still have their guns. Their guns never leave their hands because they need them for their work. They wouldn’t give them away to endanger their own lives.’

‘Anthony lies!’ shouted another cabal member in desperation. ‘Everyone knows he is the one supplying guns to be used against Nkosi.’

OK, this was now getting personal and anger crept into my voice.

‘No. Not everybody knows. This has got nothing to do with everybody. It’s not “everybody” who’s accusing me. It is just a few saying these terrible things and they say it recklessly without proof. All that’s happening here is someone is trying to drive a wedge between me and the Nkosi; someone with another agenda altogether.’

‘We don’t believe you!’ shouted the same man. ‘Our people are dying because of you. We don’t want you here living with us. You are white, and we do not trust you. You must take your family and go.’

I could hear the sudden intake of breath. Every head in the crowd swivelled, first to the Nkosi, and then towards me.

I suddenly felt tired. This is what it had all come to; in South Africa, when logic shrivels, the same dreary dinosaurs rear their vicious heads. But thanks to the racial slur, I now had the crowd’s absolute attention.

‘Several of the leaders here today knew my name long before I came to Thula Thula. They know that I worked with Zulu leaders during apartheid, even before some of you were born,’ I added, invoking the deep Zulu respect for age.

‘I had believed, and hoped with all my heart, that apartheid was dead. Yet this man wants to start it again here in our village.’

I turned to him, ‘You will bring shame on all of us.’

At that moment the young Nkosi stood up. He stood straight as a spear, and at that instant I knew that he was a true leader.

‘This has gone too far. We are not holding a trial here,’ he said. ‘Anthony’s not on trial. This gun-running is a matter for the police. If anybody has proof, then take it to the police – not just make wild claims, which is what is happening here in this hall. I will speak to the police myself after the meeting. Anthony was a good friend to my father. This matter is dismissed.’

It was done and I breathed a sigh of relief.

That was the last thing the cabal wanted to hear. They had no proof of anything other than some rebels had been trespassing in the virtually inaccessible corners of Thula Thula. They knew the gun-running claims were complete hogwash;