Ping. Ping. Ping.
Whoever was trying to get hold of me was very determined. I frowned in frustration and went to look for my phone.
Promise. My heart lurched. Was something wrong?
They’re at the main house!
Who? What did he mean? Had I missed a meeting?
I clicked open the first photo he had sent.
The herd. Surrounding my house at Thula Thula. It was still drizzling and their backs glistened like ebony in the fading light. I opened photo after photo. There was Nana, standing at the fence with her daughter Nandi, both staring towards the house. And Mabula, his trunk tip scouting out the electric fence. I smiled to myself. He was checking the current before trying to stretch over the wires to the acacia tree on the other side. Our youngest calf, Victoria, was huddled against her grandmother Frankie.
They came back! Can you believe it? Promise messaged.
I stared at his words, stunned. Exactly a year ago, on 4 March 2012, the weekend of Lawrence’s death, the herd had inexplicably come to the house too. It was one of those strange phenomena in the bush that is impossible to explain scientifically but every one of us at Thula Thula knew they had returned because of Lawrence. Elephants mourn their dead for a long time. Years after Mnumzane died, they would return to where his bones lay and linger for hours, dark streaks lining their cheeks from their temporal glands, touching and picking up the bones in an elephant ritual that we didn’t understand. They have a sense of time beyond our comprehension and for me these beautiful, sensitive creatures were doing exactly what we had done two days earlier – marking Lawrence’s death in their own way.
I sat on my veranda overlooking the ocean, miles away from them, in awe of the spiritual power of these gentle giants. Why were they at my house today of all days? They would have sensed I wasn’t there and yet they still came.
I understood then that it wasn’t about me, it was about them.
Lawrence’s ashes had long since been absorbed by the earth at Mkhulu Dam and the herd had nothing physical to touch and revere. I believe they returned to where Lawrence had lived simply to be in the same space they had once shared with him. No one had forgotten him, especially not them, and whenever I felt anxious or overwhelmed in the months that followed, I drew such strength from that visit.
They needed me but I also needed them.
12
Ubuntu
‘What do we do if it’s still raining tomorrow?’ I asked Mabona and Winnie.
Mabona squinted up at the clouds. ‘It won’t.’
‘Klaus and Susanne have come all the way from Denmark to have her fiftieth birthday with us in the bush and the last thing they want is to be indoors. What do you think, Winnie?’
‘I think we should stop worrying about the weather and think about the food. I have the party menu right here.’
She held out a copy with a soft smile. She is as sweet and shy today as she was when she arrived as a timid sixteen-year-old, and she still hates being in the limelight – even when guests want to applaud her for a fantastic meal. Her love of garlic and chillies makes her lethal in the kitchen and even my hungriest ranger thinks twice about being her guinea pig when she’s rustled up a new dish using either ingredient!
‘French onion soup for starters,’ I read out loud. ‘Followed by a choice of venison, either on the barbecue or as bourguignon. What about veggies?’
‘Crushed garlic potatoes, three types of beans, deep-fried aubergine slices, and corn on the cob with amarula butter. I prepared the butter yesterday.’
‘Go easy on the garlic, please,’ I laughed. ‘How many people will be at the dinner?’
‘The Simonsens are six, plus you and four other lodge guests.’
‘We’ll bake Susanne’s favourite chocolate cake in the morning. Pity we don’t have fifty candles for it,’ Mabona sighed.
‘She’ll be relieved to hear that! Yesterday she told me how happy she was that she’s escaping the fuss back home and that she wanted her fiftieth to disappear.’
‘She should be so lucky! Her kids are up to something,’ Mabona grinned.
The Simonsens are a warm, animal-loving Danish family who have been coming to Thula Thula since Lawrence and I built the lodge – long before anyone really knew we existed. The only reason Klaus’s father, Jorgen, had discovered us was because one of his South African clients had told him about a luxury game lodge that had opened near their Richards Bay aluminium factory. Jorgen was a keen nature photographer and immediately booked a chalet with us for his next trip.
He was a handsome Viking with platinum-white hair and an easy-going way that made everyone feel they were his friend. From the first time he and Lawrence met, they liked each other – two very different men with strong, colourful characters and a passion for wildlife that turned into deep friendship. They shared the same grab-life-with-both-hands approach: don’t delay, don’t overthink, just get out and do what has to be done. On Jorgen’s second visit, he brought Tove, his petite and gracious wife, and a few trips later they came with their children. Each year the Simonsen booking got bigger, because the kids grew up and brought their partners and then the grandchildren tagged along too. Lawrence and I always looked forward to their visits. The Simonsens understood what we were working towards and we loved how much it meant to them to be part of what we were doing.
‘Is there enough champagne?’ I asked Mabona.
‘Always, but I don’t have any that’s cold.’
‘We can’t have her fiftieth without champagne! Please ask one of the guys to take bottles out of the storeroom and pop them in the fridge. We must start with champers. In fact, why don’t we change the menu and…’
‘It’s too late for changes,’ Winnie objected.
‘Mais non! Susanne will love it.’
‘Please leave things as they are,’ she begged. ‘Susanne is happy with the menu and we don’t want to worry her with last-minute changes.’
‘But wouldn’t it be great if we rustled up something creative with champagne?’
Mabona rolled her eyes. ‘Remember the last time you were creative?’
‘That Camembert and Roquefort ice cream with red berry coulis was sublime.’
‘Except nobody else thought so,’ Mabona groaned theatrically. ‘Overruled. Imagine if your champagne creation is a flop!’
That got my attention. I’ll never forget how enthusiastic Jorgen and Tove were about our cuisine when we were just getting going. They said they had eaten better in the bush at Thula Thula than at any French restaurant in Copenhagen. I was so proud to get such a lovely compliment from a couple who had eaten at the best restaurants in the world.
I reluctantly agreed not to meddle with Winnie’s menu, and for the rest of the day she and Mabona kept out of my way. They know how dangerous I am when I’m in a creative mood.
When I went to bed it was still raining, and every time I woke up I heard rain. Poor Susanne. The party would have to be held inside. At dawn, Jeff, my Labrador, woke me with a wet-nose kiss and I held him to me and listened. Silence. I threw open the curtains.
The sky was a blush of pink with not a cloud in sight.
By six that evening, the dining boma was a hive of activity and the firepit was already blazing in the middle. Two girls were lighting lanterns and candles, and Winnie was keeping a watchful eye on the men grilling the venison on the braai. I checked the tables. Safari-print tablecloths with crisp linen overlays. I smiled at the napkins and knew exactly who had folded them into exquisite floral shapes. Water glasses, champagne glasses, wine glasses. Everything was in order, as it always is when Mabona and Winnie are in charge.
There’s something magical about eating outdoors under the stars in Africa, close to a roaring fire, cocooned by a circle of reeds. It connects the past, the present and the future, and makes you feel you’re the only people on earth.
It’s a time to share stories, be with those you love, and relish the closeness to Mother Nature. How I w
ished Lawrence could have been with us. He would have been so touched that Jorgen’s daughter-in-law was celebrating her big birthday at Thula Thula. I stared out into the darkness. It was hard to believe it was my second winter without him. Where had the time gone? Sometimes it felt as if he had died in a strange other life, and other times, like that night, my loss was as raw as the day he died.
Just before dessert, Mabona stood next to the fire and sang Thula Baba, the haunting African lullaby that Lawrence had loved and that had inspired Thula Thula’s name. The flames glowed. Her voice soared into the night. Susanne and I wiped away tears. When Mabona sings that song, you feel it in your soul.
Klaus Simonsen tapped a spoon against a glass. He reminds me so much of his father – tall, friendly and always smiling. The boma fell silent. Grinning broadly, Klaus and their three adult children plus a family friend stood in a row in front of Susanne.
‘Are they going to sing?’ I whispered.
She shrugged, eyes gleaming in anticipation.
Frederick, the eldest son, took off his sweater and turned around. The number 12½ was printed on his shirt. Her second son, Nikolaj, turned too. Another 12½. Susanne and I began to giggle. We knew what was coming before the others finished turning around.
Sara, her daughter, and the one who had teased her the most about getting older, revealed the grand finale – a huge number 50.
‘Now everyone knows,’ Susanne complained cheerfully.
Klaus tapped the glass again.
‘Susanne, happy birthday!’ He kissed her and gave her a card. ‘This is your second birthday present. Please read it out to everyone.’
She took it from him, looking very confused.
‘To my wonderful family,’ she began. ‘Thank you for the present I’m about to receive and that I know nothing about…’ She paused with a frown. Klaus waved at her to continue. ‘As you know, I turned fifty today. Well, that gave me an idea to use the number 50 in a different way. I would therefore like to ask Françoise to come and stand next to me…’
Laughing in delight at being included, I filled two champagne glasses and joined her, just as curious to know what Klaus was up to. He handed her a second card to read out.
‘Dear Françoise…’ she started.
Me? I looked at Klaus. Now what? He and the children beamed at me.
‘This present is for you.’ Susanne’s voice began to shake. ‘It’s my small way of being part of the fantastic work you do here at Thula Thula.’
A cheque for R50,000.
I was speechless. Everyone clapped and whooped and the Zulu staff broke into elated ululation. Tears streamed down Susanne’s cheeks.
‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered.
I’m not often lost for words, but that night I couldn’t speak. At a time when my life was so adrift, so scary, this beautiful family helped moor my shaky boat. I hadn’t realized until that moment how lonely I was.
Ubuntu is a powerful Zulu word that means we don’t exist on our own and that we are never alone because we are part of a bigger connected world of humanity. Before coming to South Africa, I lived in a society where being an individual was more valued than being part of a community. It’s not like that here. In traditional Africa, ‘us’ is more meaningful than ‘me’. Ubuntu means that I am who I am only because of who we all are together.
Lawrence always used to say that every contribution makes a difference because, big or small, they all come with the same goodwill and love. Whether it’s a huge cheque like Susanne’s or knitted blankets for orphaned animals, it’s all part of humanity coming together.
Kelsey Paul’s contribution is a good example. She was just sixteen when she visited Thula Thula with her family, and on her first night Thabo and Ntombi slept under her window. She barely slept a wink in excitement and was horrified the next day to learn that without 24/7 armed guards, they would be killed by poachers. She went back home to the USA, determined to spread the word that rhinos were in danger of extinction. This intrepid young girl and her mum, Jill, wrote a children’s book about Thabo and Ntombi – My Baby Rhinos – and all proceeds go to our rhino fund. In a world where teenagers are more often than not glued to their phones, Kelsey stepped in to make a difference.
Every cent helps, every person who helps is important. It wasn’t just the Simonsens’ generosity that moved me so much, it was their understanding that I couldn’t do it on my own.
By midnight, only Klaus, Susanne and I were left around the firepit, boots up on the stone edge for warmth. I finally found the words to thank them properly.
‘It means so much to know I’m not alone,’ I said quietly.
‘We’re the ones who are grateful,’ Klaus said. ‘Thula Thula has changed the lives of three generations in our family – two of our kids have even chosen to work with animals because of what they’ve seen and learned here.’
Susanne brushed curls away from her face and gazed into the fire. She’s an earth mother, serene and nurturing, and just being with her is calming.
‘Coming to Thula Thula and getting to know Nana has made me a better person,’ she said. ‘Nana has taught me that when you’re a matriarch, you have to be strong and you have to do everything to keep your family together, especially when life gets tough.’ She glanced at me. ‘And she also taught me about hope. The herd was on the verge of being shot and look what happened – you and Lawrence came into their lives and they were given a second chance. That’s hope, Françoise. Never forget that. There’s always hope.’
My wise Nana was touching lives on the other side of the planet. I raised my glass, teary-eyed.
‘Here’s to another matriarch, Lawrence’s mum, who even in her nineties keeps the Anthony clan together. Our Nana really did live up to his hopes that she would be as wise and strong a leader as his mother.’
‘To courage and wisdom,’ Susanne smiled, raising her glass.
‘When she first arrived, we didn’t know what to expect from her,’ I reminisced. ‘The original matriarch had been shot and she was forced to take over her role in terrifying circumstances. Can you imagine her fear and distress? Her leader killed, transported in huge noisy vehicles, an unknown terrain. And yet, right from the moment they arrived, Nana rose to the challenge and led her little family with confidence and wisdom.’
Susanne took my hand.
‘You also ended up with responsibilities you were unprepared for, and were forced into a role you never thought would be yours. And you handled it like Nana, with dignity and courage. We know, we watched.’
We fell silent and listened to the orchestra of night sounds. From deep in the reserve, I sensed Nana’s love and I basked in the wonder of ubuntu.
13
Stars are brighter in Africa
A late-night hello from a sociable rhino when you’re staying in a tent is a hair-raising experience, whether it’s your first time in the bush or your hundredth. Despite Thabo’s years as a free rhino in the wild, he still loved human company – the downside of not being reared in a dedicated centre where contact with people is limited to carers. Fortunately the American guests Thabo visited stayed relatively calm and, with a bit of creativity, they even managed to persuade him that a midnight pyjama party wasn’t on the cards.
‘Our ranger had escorted us to our tent after dinner and we were just getting ready to go to bed when I heard something strange outside,’ Mike told me the next morning. ‘No footsteps, just breathing.’
‘I’ve never been so scared in my life! I mean, the only thing between us and the thing was some fabric,’ said his wife Jeanne.
‘You know where we’re staying, right?’ Mike asked me.
I shook my head. He flung his arms in the air.
‘It’s the last one, right at the end, where there’s nothing but wilderness.’
I did my best not to laugh. ‘What did you think the thing was?’
‘No clue. We just knew it was big and too close for comfort.’
Jeanne rolled
her eyes. ‘My hero.’
‘When did you work out it was Thabo?’
‘We didn’t at first. It was full moon so the thing cast a huge shadow onto the tent and then it started to push against the canvas, as if it wanted to get in. Bloody hell. It could have been anything.’
‘And we had no signal on our mobiles. We couldn’t even phone for help if we needed it,’ groaned Jeanne.
‘I don’t know what was worse – being clueless about what it was or knowing it was a flipping rhino. We had no idea it was Thabo himself, but we realized damn quickly it was a rhino from the shape of the horn through the fabric.’
‘We were terrified the tent would tear,’ Jeanne said. ‘You see these things on YouTube but you never think it could happen to you.’
They were horrified and I didn’t blame them. Thabo was a smart teenager in rhino years and he had worked out that tents meant his favourite two-legged creatures were inside.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘Hopefully after another year in the bush he won’t be so tame any more, but a year is a long way off. I’m going to have to find a way to keep tents off limits from him.’
‘Don’t do that! He’s adorable as he is,’ Jeanne laughed.
‘Thabo trusts people too much for his own good,’ I said. ‘The tamer he is, the greater the risk of him being killed.’
Because we lacked a proper rehab centre, Thabo and Ntombi had grown up at the lodge, surrounded by all of us, a big human family who doted on them. But like most kids who leave home, they loved coming back and often chose to sleep outside their old room. I think it comforted them because they knew they were safe there. It was endearing but dangerous. Wild rhinos usually run a mile from humans and that’s how it should be.
An Elephant in My Kitchen: What the Herd Taught Me About Love, Courage, and Survival Page 11