Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  ‘Where is your mother now?’ I asked.

  ‘She is in my room at the gate house,’ he replied.

  ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Yesterday evening,’ he said.

  ‘Why didn’t you come over to the lodge and tell us immediately?’ I asked. He explained that that there were a lot of elephant about so he was too afraid to move in the dark.

  We were fortunate to have recently employed a competent young ranger, who, amongst his many noteworthy attributes, had been a medic officer in the army, where he had seen his fair share of blood and injuries. Waking the young man, we told him his skills were desperately needed. Briefing him on what had happened, I suggested that he take the lodge’s minibus and follow us to the gate, as not only was this vehicle comfortable; more importantly, with the seats folded down it had enough space for a mattress. We needed to be prepared for anything, and none of us knew the nature or extent of the woman’s injuries.

  Arriving at the gate house, we opened the door and peered into the semi-darkness of the candle-lit room. A small woman lay on a blood-soaked mattress, blinking in the sudden light as we pushed the door wide open. Wide-eyed, with a slow nod of her gashed and bloodied head, she acknowledged that we had arrived and were there to help her. We were to find out later that her head wound was a scratch compared to her other injuries. At that point, the three men stepped outside, allowing Meagan to examine her, as even at this life or death stage, we felt that while Meagan was there, we should respect the woman’s need for a little privacy and to be examined by another woman.

  Meagan emerged shortly afterwards and relayed the diagnosis to us in graphic detail, whereupon we wasted no time loading the woman, blood-soaked mattress and all, into the minibus. The only sound the woman made was when she was moved, and it was little more than an exhausted moan.

  Having bravely tolerated her agony for the whole night without painkillers, the additional pain as we repositioned her and the movement of her cold and stiffening wounds must have been almost intolerable. We had advised the doctor in Hoedspruit of the emergency and so he was ready and waiting for us upon arrival. He came out to meet us, took one look at the injured woman’s wound and, without hesitation, administered a powerful painkiller. He then connected her to a drip and told us to take her to the hospital immediately and he’d let them know we were on our way.

  Once Wednesday’s mother was stabilised, we left the hospital and drove him back to the Reserve. On the way, he gave us more detail about the incident as it had been relayed to him. From his account and the nature of the injuries his mother had sustained, we were able to piece together a fairly accurate version of the events leading up to the attack.

  The sweltering heat and high humidity of that day had proved to be an energy-sapping combination, and so no marula-collecting was done in the heat of the day. She and her friend from a neighbouring property were certain that they would make up for lost time and collect more marulas when it cooled down later. With renewed energy, but starting rather later that afternoon than anticipated, they began filling their bags. Before they knew it, darkness fast approached. Undaunted, they placed their respective loads, which must have weighed at least 20 kg, on their heads, and started walking home. Following the well-worn path that would eventually bring them onto the road, they were confident of getting home in 30 minutes or so. Staying on the pathway required a little more concentration than usual now that the light was fading, and even though their eyes were beginning to adjust to the low-light conditions, neither of them saw the dark grey shape of the elephant until it was too late.

  From out of nowhere, without warning, the elephant charged the two women, its shrill, ear-piercing trumpeting shattering the peace typical of that time of day. Dropping their loads of marulas, the two terrified women ran blindly through the bush in opposite directions, but unfortunately for Wednesday’s mother, the elephant chose to pursue her. In a desperate effort to evade the animal, she plunged herself head first into a bush, but couldn’t get in far enough, resulting in her rear end protruding. The elephant went straight for the target she’d unfortunately presented. One of its tusks penetrated her vagina and with a flick of its powerful head, the elephant then flung her through the air like a rag doll. She landed hard and her forehead was gashed open as she struck a rock. She was instantly knocked unconscious.

  A while later she came to, in agony and shivering from shock and blood loss. Despite her condition, she managed to crawl over 300 metres to the road, where she was able to get her son’s attention by screaming. What possibly saved her life after being gored and thrown was the fact that she had been knocked out on landing. Seeing her lying there in a heap, unconscious and motionless, the elephant may have thought she was dead, and lost interest.

  Another aspect of her relative good fortune and what saved her from dying of the wounds inflicted by the elephant’s tusk, was that being a small, light person meant there was relatively little weight resistance when she was tossed. If any more force had been applied, for example if she had been heavier, getting her airborne while pivoted on that tusk would then have caused massive internal damage. The ripping and tearing wounds thus inflicted and the subsequent bleeding resulting from them would almost certainly have proved fatal. In this case, although the tusk had entered her vagina and caused a ghastly wound, it was not as bad as it could have been. Not only was the penetration relatively shallow, the tusk went in at an angle where it broke her hip, whereas, had it gone a little deeper and straighter, it would have ruptured her peritoneum.

  Meanwhile, her friend had made it home in one piece, shocked and scratched, but OK. She, like Wednesday, had been too terrified to venture out looking for help that night, and had no idea how badly injured her friend was until the next day, when the bush telegraph was abuzz with the news.

  Six weeks later, Wednesday’s mother returned to visit, and although a little stiff and tender, she had recovered completely. When asked how she was feeling, her reply dwelled only briefly on the recent trauma she had suffered during the elephant attack. In fact, she appeared to be more concerned – or disappointed, rather – that a good marula season had been missed. However, her smile lit up her face again when she announced that she was already making plans to return the following season. Well, I thought, by then she would have had ample time to get over the emotional and physical trauma of the attack. But before I could develop this thought process, she interrupted it.

  ‘Next week,’ she said with a grin, ‘I will be collecting mopane worms!’

  Initially I thought she was joking: everyone knows that elephant also have a penchant for mopane trees, the leaves on which the mopane worms feed exclusively. I admit to being a little apprehensive at the time, and tried in vain to explain to her that the risks were not worth it, especially in her frail condition. But it was clear that the natural bounty of nutritious and delicious mopane worms was regarded as on a par with a good marula harvest, and that outweighed any call for caution or revision of plans, never mind the abandonment of plans.

  As far as we know, there were no further near-tragic incidents in Wednesday’s mother’s life. Accordingly, we have no plans to follow ‘Marula Madness’ with a chapter entitled ‘Mopane Madness’.

  They say game rangers are paid in sunsets … this bonus package looks splendid in the light of a lowveld winter afternoon. Photo: N Holzer

  Olifants is the only private reserve in the lowveld to have a large perennial river running through it – the elephants cross to and fro at will. Photo: N Hulett

  Photo: J Scorer

  The fence is coming down! It took nearly 18 years of goal-driven single-mindedness to fulfil the criteria needed to remove the 20 mile fence between us and the Klaserie – giving game access to the Greater Kruger Park’s open system. Photo: C Ferguson

  Down came the fence … and in came the icons of the African wilderness. Photo: R Lawrie

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sp; However, the elephants’ giant appetites took a toll on the ecosystem. Photo: N Hulett

  Mama Cass, on the right, and Waiter-eater were so-named because, respectively, one lion’s relatively round face resembled that of the famous singer, while the other ate a waiter! Photo: R Keeler

  One of the two dominant males of Olifants’ resident pride – Hang-lip – none the worse a few days after the removal of a chestfull of porcupine quills. Photo: N Hulett

  Rex and Adonis, carriers of the recessive ‘white lion’ gene. Their shooting by hunters on the farm ‘Goedehoop’ was catalytic in the fragmentation of the white pride. Photo: R Keeler

  Waiter-eater demonstrates her preference for four-legged prey Photo: R Keeler

  ‘Whitey’ and her tawny sister treat their cubs to a feast of giraffe. Photo: R Keeler

  One of Africa’s most rewarding scenes: the leopard is vibrantly beautiful, alert and in the prime of its life. Photo: N Hulett

  The dilemma of interference – veterinarian Gerrit Scheepers, Edward Zwane and I were called out to treat this lion, which we thought had been hit by a train, only to find that his wounds had been caused by other lions. Photo: N Hulett

  We saved his life, but subsequently had good reason to suspect that he was the killer of a number of cubs and that the bites had been inflicted by pride males protecting their offspring. Photo: N Hulett

  Olifants North – hilly, rugged and with a wide variety of browse – is superb black rhino country, an opinion unequivocally endorsed by the rhino themselves when the region had the opportunity to introduce two from Swaziland. From left to right: Kestor Vickery, André Uys (capture team), Mario Cesare and Klaserie warden Colin Rowles prepare to inject the antidote to the tranquilliser administered for the release. Photo: A Burgess

  The rhino were soon at home in precisely the habitat predicted. Photo: J Gibbs

  Old buffalo bulls are often referred to as ‘dagga boys’ because of their penchant for rolling in mud wallows. This particular ‘gentleman’s club’ was to demonstrate a strong bond under adversity. Photo: N Hulett

  A breeding herd of buffalo about to cross the Olifants – they would forage far and wide, sometimes needing to be herded back to the safety of the Reserve at considerable expense. Photo: H Aitken

  Perfectly adapted to an arid environment – a steenbok and her lamb. Photo: D Borcherds

  The Olifants River never dries up: during the winter months the Blyde Dam is opened from time to time to keep the mines of Phalaborwa supplied with water. Photo: G du Toit

  The river runs through it … and over it! Photo: MH Cesare

  In the 2000 flood huge trees came barrelling down the river like a flotilla of invading Vikings. Photo: MH Cesare

  One of the great success stories of Olifants: five introduced white rhinos multiplied to 50 in 19 years! Photo: N Hulett

  Photo: N Hulett

  The canine love of my life, Shilo: There could never be enough space on a headstone for a fitting epitaph to his memory. Photo: M Cesare

  Till death us do part … Despite a mortal wound, this buffalo, with a flick of its horns, threw me into a grove of knobthorns – see the hat I left behind. Photo: D Johnson

  Africans in Italy – Meagan and Mario. Photo: G Cesare

  Eleana Cesare, at home in the bush Photo: K Kampinga

  Dino Cesare, at home in the bush Photo: MH Cesare

  A family of wild dogs introduced into Balule from Marakele make quick work of an impala carcass thrown into their holding boma. In 2002 a wild pack that occupied a den on Olifants produced eight pups and killed an estimated 730 impala! Photo: D Cesare

  Meagan photographed this unwelcome visitor, who was clearly unimpressed by her attempts to shoo him away, shortly after he demolished the water tank behind our house; the next day he overturned a Land Cruiser that hampered his access to a tasty acacia. Photo: R Hopkins

  Photo: R Hopkins

  Photo: R Hopkins

  Sundowner time at Olifants – the view from our back door. Photo: E Cesare

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