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

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An Elephant in My Kitchen: What the Herd Taught Me About Love, Courage, and Survival Page 14

by Françoise Malby-Anthony


  Needless to say, Gin didn’t miss his bully brother one bit and loved having me and his food bowl to himself.

  He nudged my leg and yapped to remind me he would like a snack and I was just about to relent when Jeff lifted his head and gave a lazy growl.

  There was a sharp knock on the door. I stood still. Surprise visitors are unusual at that time of the night in the bush.

  ‘Françoise? It’s me,’ a woman whispered.

  I threw open the door. ‘Tom? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?’

  She motioned frantically for me to come outside. ‘There’s a baby ellie here.’

  ‘An elephant?’

  ‘She’s right here, outside your house. She’s tiny and terrified.’

  Some of my staff love a good practical joke but Tom is more serious than that. She was a petite, shy little thing when she joined us after leaving school, and so scared of her new environment that whenever Lawrence went into the kitchen, she hid in the laundry! She faced her fears with the courage of a lioness and today she is a superb chef who is a magician at making pastries.

  ‘It must be ET’s one-week-old daughter,’ I said grimly.

  The calf had been seen inside the electric fence the night before, but I’d been assured that she was back with her mother and I was horrified that she clearly wasn’t. I huddled the dogs into my bedroom while Tom told me what had happened.

  ‘I heard a noise outside my room but when I looked out through the window, there was nothing. I presumed it was a bush pig or a buck and went back to bed, but then I kept hearing it,’ she frowned.

  Tom had grown up in rural Zululand and wasn’t easily unnerved by night noises, but this was something she hadn’t heard before. She took her flashlight, opened the door a fraction and shone it across the garden.

  A tiny elephant stared back at her, eyes bulging in terror.

  Stunned, she softly closed the door and climbed out of a back window to call me.

  A baby elephant in trouble is a code-red emergency. Always. And this little one had been alone for a dangerous length of time. My tented camp manager Zelda had reported to me earlier that day that she had seen it during the night, after the incessant screeching and alarm calls of a bushbaby had woken her and made her get out of bed to investigate.

  Bushbabies are part monkey, part gremlin, and when another animal invades their space they have a cry that sounds as if a thousand hyenas are attacking them. They’re cute but they’re drama queens, so Zelda had ignored it at first, but when it didn’t stop she decided to see what the racket was about, and was astonished to see that a baby elephant had slipped under the electric perimeter fence – its single wires strung at a height aimed at keeping out the bigger elephants. The little ones can technically slip under the lowest wire, but that had never happened before.

  ‘But where on earth was the rest of the herd?’ I asked.

  ‘Ngubane was on night duty and said he hadn’t seen them, but we both know elephants don’t leave a baby running around on its own and we figured they were close by. He promised to keep an eye on her until she joined up with them again so I went back to bed. Apparently after about an hour, he heard branches breaking behind Tent 1 and saw the calf run towards it.

  ‘But did he actually see her with ET?’

  ‘According to him it was too dark to see much but the noise sounded like elephants so he was sure they had come to fetch her. I’ve been up since six this morning and haven’t seen her around camp, or any of the elephants for that matter. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, Françoise.’

  I was uneasy that no one had actually seen the calf back with the herd but elephants are fantastic mothers and would never leave a baby unattended, especially not a newborn, so I assumed that Zelda and Ngubane were right.

  Which just goes to show how dangerous assumptions are, because here we were, almost a day later, and the calf was still alone. It seemed impossible. How on earth had she managed to get all the way from our tented camp to my home? We don’t have lions at Thula Thula but there are plenty of animals that are dangerous to a baby elephant – hyenas, crocodiles, snakes, and even our rhinos, who are very territorial. And then there was the Nseleni River. I shuddered. What does a week-old calf know about the dangers of water?

  Tom and I had to get her inside and keep her safe until we could get her back to her mother. We found her cowering behind a mulberry bush on the side of the house. Frightened eyes peered at us through the leaves. I put my hand on Tom’s arm, signalled to her to wait, and walked slowly towards the calf. She watched me, paralysed, but as soon as I was in touching distance, she squealed and bolted behind the house. Tom and I ran after her and tracked her down near the cars. Tom went to the left and I went to the right, but she slipped between us and hurtled away, trumpeting in panicked shrieks.

  Other staff heard the commotion and came to help. She wouldn’t let us anywhere near her. I was scared stiff she would wriggle under the fence and disappear. If she ran into the reserve we would never find her, and if she got lost she wouldn’t make it out alive.

  I scanned the bush around the house. Where on earth was the herd? The calf was making so much noise they must have heard her by now, but there was no sign of them. I began to wonder if they had rejected her, as they had rejected baby Thula ten years earlier. It was a terrifying thought. Our rehabilitation centre was far from being finished and in no state to receive a baby elephant. What was I going to do if the calf was sick?

  Well past ten o’clock, we still hadn’t managed to catch her. I phoned Vusi for help. He didn’t answer. I tried Promise but the phone rang and rang. I suddenly remembered both men had two days off and were only due back the next day. Now what? Tom and I might be able to get the calf into my home without them but I didn’t want to risk keeping her away from ET until morning. We had to find the herd and get the calf back to them that night, but how would I do that without Vusi and Promise?

  It’s times like this that I feel so alone. Lawrence would have known exactly what to do. I stood in the middle of the lawn and gazed out into the blackness, willing the herd to come back and fetch their little one.

  My phone rang. Vusi. Thank God. They were in Empangeni, an hour away. I explained what had happened and he didn’t hesitate about coming back.

  ‘That’s why they were so vocal and restless when we drove past them on our way out,’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re on our way. Keep her safe.’

  Thank heavens he and Promise were close enough to drive home. Without their tracking skills, we’d never find the herd. We still had no clue why they had abandoned the calf, and I knew that if they had rejected her they wouldn’t take her back. I pushed the thoughts away. I would deal with that if it happened.

  Tom had in the meantime called Alyson and the two of them had managed to corner the calf in the parking area between the house and the staff rooms. She stood completely still, head down, ears drooping; just her eyes flitted anxiously at any movement or sound. I tried approaching her again and this time she didn’t resist, allowing Tom and me to gently herd her into my home. Once inside she panicked again, running through my kitchen in frenzied zigzags, trumpeting in fear. Thank goodness my dogs kept quiet – as if they knew that any noise from them would make it worse for her.

  I kept talking to her, telling her she was safe and that we would get her back to her mum that night. Food would calm her, but I had nothing in my kitchen for her. No formula, no bottles. Alyson called Mike Toft who confirmed that the priority was to get her to drink.

  ‘If you don’t have soya milk, use cow’s milk until you can get some. It’ll probably give her diarrhoea but it’s better to get something into her than nothing at all.’

  Next challenge – how to feed her without anything even resembling a bottle. There are no emergency night pharmacies in the bush! Alyson had the brainwave of adapting latex gloves. She used a needle to pierce the tiniest of holes into the glove thumb and we started up a very efficient feeding line.


  Tom warmed the milk. I held the doctored glove open. She filled it. I tied it closed. Alyson did the feeding.

  We never usually insert fingers into a baby animal’s mouth. The risk of passing on bacteria and germs is too high, but an elephant calf’s sucking reflex is strong and we were worried the latex might break so Alyson carefully put two fingers into her mouth and placed the makeshift teat on top. She drank straight away. We were so excited and relieved. She gulped down the first glove-bottle and nudged Alyson’s hands for more! The calf was in such a rush to eat, she spilled milk everywhere – on the floor, over her face and all over Alyson. I had to give Alyson one of my shirts to wear when hers became drenched in milk.

  I couldn’t get baby Thula out of my mind. Had the herd really rejected this little calf too? She looked so healthy. Her legs were strong and she had proved that she could outrun all of us. She was drinking up a storm, looking at us with grateful, trusting eyes. Was there something wrong with her that I couldn’t see? Nature knows about things like this, as I had learned with baby Thula, but I couldn’t bear to have another calf die in my home.

  She drank four gloves of milk.

  Thirst quenched, she began to inspect us with great interest, surfing her inquisitive trunk all over us, sniffing our faces and bodies, poking it under our hair and armpits. We tried to avoid too much physical contact with her because I was worried ET might reject her if she smelled us on her, but my little house guest pooh-poohed our efforts and demanded love, pushing her soft forehead against me as she would against her mother. How could I refuse? I pressed back gently, reassuring her that the rangers were scouring the reserve for her mum.

  She dozed off, like babies do when their tummies are full and they feel secure. I sat next to her on the kitchen floor with my legs up against her in case she woke and felt frightened.

  We were in constant radio contact with Vusi, who had hauled every ranger out of bed to search for the herd. I was flummoxed that the elephants weren’t close by. We know how well they communicate but they didn’t seem to be looking for the calf or even know she was with me, and yet Vusi had said that the herd had been visibly stressed that morning. What was going on?

  I examined every part of her and found nothing wrong. No open wounds, no swellings, no obvious deformities. She was a perfect little elephant. If the herd hadn’t rejected her for health reasons, where were they? Why weren’t they at the fence, trumpeting to have her back? It didn’t make sense.

  Long after midnight, the radio crackled.

  ‘We found them!’ Vusi said. ‘And they’re not too far away, near the pipeline.’

  Only half an hour away. There are miles of wilderness on our reserve, so thirty minutes wasn’t far. It was fantastic news. Now for the real test. What if ET ignored her? Or worse, became violent? Our ET has a temper if she feels threatened and I’d also heard of cases of baby elephants being trampled to death when they have been rejected by the herd.

  ‘We’re on our way back. I’ll bring the truck to your door and we’ll load her up and take her home,’ Vusi said.

  Alyson and Tom prepared another glove-bottle in case our sleeping beauty panicked when we woke her up. We needn’t have worried. She wasn’t the slightest bit bothered to find herself in my kitchen and was more interested in my brown suede sofa than in the anxious stand-in mums around her. I think she found the soft fabric comforting, because she rested her tiny trunk on top of the armrest and nestled her mouth against the edge with half-closed sleepy eyes. I crouched next to her and hugged her.

  ‘You’ll be with your mummy soon,’ I promised.

  We heard the rattle of the bakkie on the dirt track, followed by two quick hoots. Vusi had arrived. Alyson fed the calf and Tom and I carried blankets to the truck to soften the ride for her. Siya jumped down to help us. I nodded at Vusi in approval. Siya was an eagle-eyed tracker and an excellent choice to help him locate the herd. He became our head ranger in 2017, and is calm and earnest with the impeccable manners of a gentleman, even when he’s under enormous pressure.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ I asked Vusi.

  ‘We’ll release her close to the herd and stick around as long as it takes to make sure she joins up with them.’

  He made it sound so easy. Approaching a herd with one of their babies would be a dangerous operation in broad daylight, but in the dark it was bordering on madness.

  ‘How does the herd seem?’ I asked.

  ‘Tense and skittish. The females are secreting from their temporal glands,’ Siya said.

  I felt bewildered by the herd. They were clearly stressed, yet hadn’t come to fetch the calf. All the signs pointed to rejection.

  Tom had appointed herself the calf’s foster mum and insisted on joining the rangers, as did Alyson. I wasn’t at all happy about them being exposed to this level of danger but they weren’t taking no for an answer. These plucky young women were true champions of the bush – all they cared about was helping the baby. How could I stop them?

  The men lifted the calf onto the truck, her trunk wriggling wildly at all the interesting new smells. Vusi took the wheel and the others clambered onto the back with the calf. They did their best to persuade her to lie down, but no, siesta time was over and she was on an exciting adventure. She even gave a couple of happy trumpets for good measure. It looked like she was having the time of her life. And that for a little one-week-old calf. If she survived, she was going to be a remarkable elephant one day.

  I waved them off with dread in my heart. Please take her back, ET. I’m not superstitious but I crossed my fingers and blew a kiss to the sky, refusing to believe this little one had been abandoned like baby Thula.

  The rangers divided into two groups. One team would go with Siya to monitor the elephants and the other would stay with Vusi to help get the calf off the truck. The idea was to get as close to the herd as was safe, offload the baby and drive away as fast as the 4×4 could go, then monitor the reunion from a safe distance.

  That was the plan. It had two serious problems.

  One, the herd was already highly agitated and if they thought the rangers had stolen the calf, they would attack. No question about it. The herd trusted us but rule number one in the bush is never to forget that the animals are wild.

  Two, we didn’t know how the herd would react to the calf. If they didn’t want her back, we had no way of protecting her.

  It was a typical summer’s night in Zululand – hot, muggy and humid. I couldn’t sit still, and instead set about trying to bring order back into my kitchen. It was a lonely job, made harder by the dogs who were going berserk at the smells of the interloper that had been in their home. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lawrence. It felt as if he had left with Vusi and the rangers and would be coming back in a few hours to tell me what had happened.

  Jeff, Gin and Gypsy ran around, panting and sniffing every corner of my kitchen, staring at me with big eyes as if to say, what happened here? I gave them each a bone and they forgave me immediately and munched noisily, growling and eyeing each other. I wished I could have distracted myself as easily.

  The herd had in the meantime started to head south, and Vusi had driven to a clearing that they were likely to traverse. Siya trailed them, radioing Vusi with their progress.

  ‘They’re still heading south. Stand by.’

  The rangers, along with Alyson and Tom, were on red alert. They knew the danger but nobody backed out. Sensing the tension, the calf lay down and began to suckle her blanket for comfort.

  ‘Expect visual on the herd in five,’ Siya radioed.

  ‘Time to offload the calf. Go, guys!’ Vusi said.

  They lowered her off the back of the truck and formed a ring around her to stop her from running off. The last thing they needed was her disappearing on another bush escapade. The clatter of breaking trees became louder. The herd was close.

  The team leapt back onto the truck and banged the cab roof.

  ‘Drive!’ they yelled at Vusi.

 
The calf trumpeted in bewilderment as her saviours drove off and wobbled after them. This was bad. Very bad.

  Vusi stopped, beckoned for the second Land Cruiser to take Alyson and Tom to safety, then he and Promise reversed back to the calf. Promise jumped off and crouched next to her, eyes scanning the darkness for the elephants. Cloud cover blocked out any moonlight and the night was shadowless. They could hear the elephants but not see them.

  The calf huddled against Promise. Who could blame her? She was only a week old, it was pitch-black and she didn’t know her mother was coming to get her. Or maybe she knew and feared she wouldn’t be taken back.

  The herd had caught scent of the baby and thundered closer. Vusi and Promise didn’t know how ET would react. They waited, bracing themselves.

  The herd broke cover and pounded towards them – Frankie, ET and Mabula in the lead. Vusi pushed the gears into first, Promise gritted his teeth and stayed with the calf.

  She saw her mother but wouldn’t leave Promise.

  The herd pounded closer. Vusi and Promise didn’t budge. ET skidded to a standstill, the length of a Land Cruiser away, her ears pinned back, breath ragged. Promise edged back. ET glared at him. He took another step, stopped. They stared at each other. The herd flocked behind her, silent.

  His eyes dropped to the calf: she’s all yours.

  ET’s trunk curled over her daughter and pulled her under her belly.

  Promise waited, willing the calf to start suckling. The baby stood still, watching him.

  ‘Time to go,’ Vusi said in a low voice.

  Promise shuffled backwards, terrified the calf would follow. Vusi started the engine. ET trumpeted loudly and pushed her daughter into the middle of the herd. A tangle of trunks excitedly welcomed her. Promise vaulted over the door and into the vehicle and the two men sped off.

  Thanks to their skill and nerves of steel, our runaway was reunited with her family.

  So far so good. They hadn’t rejected her, but we weren’t out of the woods. Not by a long shot. We couldn’t relax until we had seen her suckle.

  At first light, Promise and Alyson left to check on the calf’s status. They found the herd in a clearing near Mkhulu Dam but they scattered as soon as the vehicle approached.

 

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