An Elephant in My Kitchen: What the Herd Taught Me About Love, Courage, and Survival

by Françoise Malby-Anthony

  6

  Enfant terrible

  To think that Lawrence and I were once concerned that we only had three breeding females, because now here I was, faced with too many elephants!

  The original three – Nana, her daughter Nandi, and feisty Frankie, who Lawrence had named after me – weren’t the only ones responsible for the growth of our happy brood, because a year after they arrived we rescued a fourth female.

  Dr Marion Garaï is a passionate champion for traumatized elephants. She has studied them for thirty years across several continents, and her doctorate focused on trauma in young elephants. It was thanks to her initiative and determination that Nana and her herd found peace at Thula Thula, and when she heard about an elephant that was about to be auctioned off, she didn’t hesitate to take action.

  ‘What caught my attention was that this young elephant was alone. I mean, how is that even possible? Where was her herd?’ she lamented. ‘And when I delved deeper, I was absolutely horrified to discover the poor thing had been alone for a year. In a big five reserve. Can you imagine the horror of that? She’s only twelve.’

  ‘How the hell did she end up on her own?’ Lawrence asked.

  ‘She was originally part of a group of seven orphans, but as they got older, they caused problems and the owner basically dumped them onto whatever reserve would take them. One was even shot, probably a paid-for hunt. She’s the only one left of that bunch and now he wants to get rid of her too. I’m trying to find her a home because heaven alone knows who will buy her at the auction and what could happen to her.’

  ‘Is she a problem elephant?’

  Marion paused.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know her, so I can’t vouch for her like I could for Nana, but if she is causing problems, it’s because she’s traumatized, not because she’s necessarily an aggressive elephant.’

  ‘The thing is, if he’s auctioning her, he must think she’s worth something,’ Lawrence groaned. ‘We’re still paying back the banks for the loan we took out for Nana and her herd. Is she in danger of being shot?’

  ‘Not yet. But if a hunter bids for her at the auction…’

  ‘Look, we can definitely take her, but we don’t have the money to buy her.’

  ‘Fair enough. It’s good to know you’ll take her if you can. At least I know I have a possible home for her. She doesn’t deserve to end her life at the barrel of a gun. There must be a way I can raise money to buy her. I’ll make some calls.’

  I couldn’t get this young elephant out of my mind. Twelve in elephant years is similar to twelve in human years, so for her to have been utterly alone for so long was too painful to think about. And now she was being sold and could end up anywhere, even dead. Wildlife auctions are such a gamble. There was no way of knowing who would buy her.

  Marion phoned a few days later with unexpected good news. The Nature Conservation officials had denied the owner an auction permit.

  ‘But he’s still determined to sell her and is going to fight the decision, so it’s not guaranteed she’ll come out of this alive. But at least it gives me time. I’ve put out feelers to an old colleague who is part of an animal welfare organization in Zurich and he says he’ll chat to his board of directors about helping us with the money.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the boma is ready for her,’ Lawrence said.

  She gave a rueful laugh.

  ‘I wish it could be resolved that quickly, but I’m afraid it’s going to take a while still. Their next board meeting is a month away and the owner may have found another buyer by then.’

  ‘A month is a month. Why don’t we do a fundraiser for her with a radio station? I’m damn sure a lot of people will want to help,’ he said.

  ‘If we could buy her ourselves, that would be fantastic. I’d better make sure her owner is okay with that.’

  She phoned back, heartbroken.

  ‘He’s already sold her. Some American hunter has paid big money for her. More than the original asking price. We’ve lost her.’

  We were beside ourselves. She had been a hair’s breadth from being rescued.

  ‘What if we raise enough money to match the price?’

  ‘It’s too late. She’s been paid for and the hunt is scheduled for 14 February. Apparently he’s in a wheelchair, so I suppose a frightened young elephant without a herd to protect her is the only way he’s going to get his trophy,’ she said bitterly.

  Hunting is a mystery to me. How humans can want to shoot magnificent wildlife is beyond me, and the fact that the hunt was scheduled for Valentine’s Day sickened me. Here was a young elephant that had lost her family, not once but twice, had been shifted from one reserve to the next and, worst of all, condemned to a solitary miserable life, and now her beautiful face was going to end up above some American’s fireplace.

  Lawrence phoned the radio station and cancelled the fundraiser. We moped about, wracking our brains for ideas to rescue the young elephant.

  Days flew by. Only a miracle could rescue her now.

  Early one morning, Lawrence’s phone rang. Marion. He grimaced. Every one of her calls over the past few months had brought bad news.

  Not this time.

  ‘The reserve’s hunting permit expired at the end of January,’ she whooped. ‘The hunt’s off for now. The American had to cancel his flight, but he still wants her so the owner is reapplying for another permit.’

  One step forward, two steps back, but at least for the moment we were standing still.

  ‘He hopes to have it by early March and I’m going to try and block it,’ she said.

  What an angel this little abandoned elephant had in Marion! Lawrence decided to start work on the boma straight away.

  ‘You never know,’ he said. ‘It might all come together when we least expect it and then it would be terrible if we weren’t ready for her.’

  He bought a new transformer for the electrical current, and then along with Vusi and a team of workers, they fixed the fence and reinforced the gate. By the end of February, everything was done. She just needed one last miracle.

  On 3 March, it came through.

  Her owner’s application for a new hunting permit was denied. We never found out why, and we didn’t care. The youngster had been given another reprieve. Now we needed to raise the money to buy her. Quickly.

  Lawrence jumped on the phone to his radio presenter friend to revive the fundraiser. Bad news. The man had resigned. We went back to the drawing board. We ran fundraising competitions ourselves, offering free weekends at Thula Thula as prizes. We sent out newsletters about the elephant’s plight. Some money came in, but not enough.

  ‘I’m going to try my friend in Zurich again,’ Marion said. ‘It’s a long shot but you never know.’

  Five minutes later she phoned back. ‘I have the money!’

  Lawrence and I collapsed onto the sofa, too drained to celebrate.

  Three weeks before Easter, the reserve owner received his blood money and the move was immediately scheduled for the following Monday. The sooner we got her out of there, the better. Our unhappy orphan was four days away from her new home at Thula Thula.

  We didn’t dare get too excited. Lawrence contacted the regional authorities to finalize her transport permit. They promised to get back to him the next day.

  Midday on Wednesday, the permit was rejected.

  We couldn’t believe it.

  ‘We checked up on her and found out she’s trouble,’ the official said. ‘We have enough problems on our hands without inviting more. She’ll have to go somewhere else.’

  We were devastated. The money had been paid, we had been on standby for weeks and now she wasn’t allowed to leave. Lawrence got into his car and went to speak to the officials face to face. If we didn’t get their okay by Friday, Marion would have to cancel the transport booked for Monday, and who knew what might happen to the young elephant after that.

  Unfortunately, none of us had first-hand knowledge of her, but Lawrence st
uck his neck out and assured the authorities that she wasn’t trouble, just traumatized, and that she would be fine once she knew she was safe. Marion risked her professional credibility and backed everything Lawrence said.

  ‘How can you be sure your herd will accept an aggressive newcomer?’ the official asked.

  Now we were on safer ground. The herd had only been with us for a year but we knew they were gentle and compassionate and it hadn’t crossed our minds that they wouldn’t welcome her.

  ‘Because our herd has been through what she’s been through. They know the horror of having their families shot in front of them. They’ll understand that she’s not a threat and that she needs them,’ Lawrence said quietly.

  The official ummed and ahhed and eventually said he couldn’t make the decision without his boss, who was away.

  Marion was at her wits’ end after eight exhausting months of fighting for an elephant she had never met. If only that little calf knew how hard everyone was fighting for her life.

  ‘The owner won’t keep her past Easter,’ she reported to us in tears. ‘My colleagues think I’m mad and that I should just let her be hunted so she’s put out of her misery.’

  We refused to give up. Between the three of us, we harassed every living person we knew in conservation to help. Late on Friday afternoon, a fax stuttered out of the machine. I jumped up and watched it slide out.

  The permit. Approved.

  We didn’t dare breathe out. This little elephant was too jinxed. Would she really be getting onto that articulated truck on Monday?

  With only a few minutes left before businesses shut for the weekend, Marion finalized insurance for the relocation. That evening, we had every bit of paper, every single stamp, every last signature that we needed.

  But our worries were far from over.

  The elephant had to endure a twelve-hour journey from the reserve in Gauteng to us in Zululand. She was healthy and strong, but after everything she had been through, would she survive the stress?

  She made it through and arrived at Thula Thula at last. Her life of hell was over.

  We put her straight into the boma and Lawrence set up camp outside with two rangers. She hated their presence, charging Lawrence every time he approached the fence. Her animosity and fear turned her eyes black with rage.

  ‘We have to be patient with her. She’s our enfant terrible,’ I said, using an affectionate French expression for difficult kids.

  ‘That’s a good one,’ Lawrence said wryly. ‘We’ll call her ET for short.’

  ‘She’s had so much trauma packed into that little life of hers. We’re not going to give up on her now.’

  ‘It’s the strangest thing that with all that anger, she’s so silent. She hasn’t trumpeted once,’ he puzzled. ‘I’m worried about this girl.’

  ET’s rage turned into the deepest despair. Unfamiliar territory. Scary new smells. Terrifying human beings close by. It was too much for her. She stopped hiding, didn’t bother to charge Lawrence, wasn’t eating, and just walked round and round in listless circles. Lawrence took me to her and she barely acknowledged our presence. She had given up.

  I understood completely. Humans represented danger and pain and grief. She was trapped in yet another strange environment. What could we do? You can’t hug an angry elephant. Lawrence would have stayed with her for months if he’d thought that would help but she looked as if she had lost the will to live.

  ‘We’ve got to get Nana here,’ he said. ‘If she doesn’t get company soon, she’s going to die of heartbreak.’

  Using food and sweet talk, he and Vusi lured the herd to ET’s boma. They had probably already sensed the presence of a strange elephant close by but they still trusted Lawrence enough to follow him to her.

  The minute Nana and Frankie set eyes on the frightened teenager, they lumbered up to the fence and ‘talked’ to her, floating their trunks between the electric wires to touch her. She stared at them, transfixed. They were the first elephants she had seen in a year. She tentatively raised her trunk to theirs. Quiet rumbles rolled between them. Even our macho rangers were wiping their eyes.

  The rest of the herd came closer to say hello, as if it was the most normal thing to do. And it was. In their world, they never questioned her right to be with them.

  ‘I think they’re reassuring her,’ Vusi murmured.

  ‘I hope so,’ I smiled.

  He nodded confidently.

  ‘They’re probably telling her their story – that they too lost their families and know what it’s like to be frightened and alone. They’re saying, You’re going to be fine. We’ll walk with you.’

  I choked back tears at the beautiful image he was painting and hoped with all my heart that he was right.

  ‘I’m taking down the boma gate and letting her out,’ Lawrence said firmly. ‘She needs to be with them.’

  He slid the gate aside and we watched from the Land Rover to see if ET would work out how to walk through. She walked past the open gate several times but didn’t realize she was free to join the herd.

  Nana and Frankie milled about, moving unhurriedly in front of the gate as if trying to show her what to do. ET followed them, backwards and forwards, not understanding that nothing stopped her from being with them. Her wretchedness was heartbreaking.

  The herd began to leave and she let out a strangled cry. Lawrence shook his head in despair.

  ‘Oh my God. The poor thing has no voice.’

  We learned later that after she’d lost her companions in the other reserve, she had shrieked herself hoarse in fear and damaged her vocal cords forever. To this day, she can’t trumpet and can only squeeze out strangled honking noises.

  Just as we were about to give up for the day and close the gate again, she paused in front of it, her eyes on the disappearing herd, and walked straight through.

  I was in awe of our herd’s compassion and tenderness with her. They accepted this troubled youngster without hesitation, and during the first few months she was never ever alone. One of the older females was always close to her. Sometimes I think that elephants have a greater sense of community and responsibility towards one another than humans will ever have. I was so proud of our herd, and relieved that ET would never in her life be short of love again.

  On Easter Sunday, Lawrence phoned Marion.

  ‘She’s doing fine and already has a mother figure in Frankie,’ he reported. ‘The whole herd has just come past the river in front of the lodge and she was right in the middle of them, Nana in front of her, Frankie next to her, and Mnumzane behind with his trunk on her back. She has a new family, Marion. Thanks to you.’

  To this day, Frankie and ET have one of the strongest bonds in the herd.

  Not that ET calmed down straight away. She remained fearful and skittish for a long time, living up to her enfant terrible name, and she once gave Promise the worst scare of his life.

  He had jumped out of his Land Cruiser to track animal spoor and he heard her before he saw her. By the time he spun around to face her, she was coming at him, ears pinned back and trunk curled under.

  ‘Her eyes were so damn black and angry, I couldn’t look at them,’ he told me afterwards. ‘This wasn’t one of her moods, this was a full-on charge. My 4×4 was twenty metres back and I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting to it in time.’

  Elephants can reach speeds of forty kilometres per hour and she was closing in fast. Running wasn’t an option.

  ‘Lawrence always told me that in a face-off with an elephant, you have to do the last thing your body tells you to do, so I stood my ground. What choice did I have?’

  Ninety kilos versus five tons.

  The distance between them narrowed. She was metres away and thundering closer. He almost choked in the dust. The ground vibrated under his feet. He focused on breathing, staying calm. If she picked up his fear, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  She stopped.

  He didn’t move, felt her breath on his head. She t
owered over him. He stared at the monster legs in front of him. One tap would crush his skull. He talked silently to her. I’m not going to hurt you. Please leave me alone.

  Abruptly she spun around and stalked off, tail high and stiff in irritation.

  ‘You should have seen how quickly she skidded to a halt. I don’t know how they do that without ABS brakes,’ he joked at the bar that night.

  ‘Eish,’ said a guest, a farmer from Nelspruit. ‘You have balls of steel, man.’

  ‘Nah, he’s just bushwhacked,’ laughed another ranger, tapping the side of his head.

  ‘I knew I couldn’t outrun her,’ Promise shrugged. ‘Not even Usain Bolt could.’

  Nothing helps settle the soul like having one’s own family, and the same year ET arrived, she fell pregnant. Twenty-two months later, baby Jurgen was born.

  It was the herd’s fourth baby since coming to Thula Thula but for Lawrence and me, this little one was an extra special arrival – ET’s life had come full circle.

  7

  French temperament

  Frankie was named after me because, according to Lawrence, she was second in command.

  ‘It’s actually because I recognized in her someone I know quite well,’ he teased.

  I grinned, not taking the bait.

  ‘That feisty French temperament…’ he smirked.

  ‘That feisty French temperament will take her places,’ I laughed.

  Frankie was a bit more than feisty. In the beginning, she had a temper and an unpredictable streak that meant we were never sure how she would behave around game drives. But time brought her confidence and inner peace, which stood her in good stead when she took over as matriarch.

  I will always remember when Nana began to relinquish the reins to her in 2003, four years after they had arrived at Thula Thula. We were confused at first because Nana was still young, not even forty years old. It wasn’t a power struggle because, unlike bulls, there’s never a battle between old and new matriarchs.

  Lawrence had picked up that there was an unusual shift in roles between them and he arrived home late for dinner one evening, very concerned.