Elephant Dawn

  There’s always someone on the streets trying to tempt you with their wares, from bananas to batteries and pot scourers to pillows. I’m used to the recurring call ‘makiwa, makiwa’ (‘white person, white person’) as I walk by, as well as ‘sister’, or ‘aunty’ and ‘mama’. Sometimes I’m called ‘Mama Elephant’, which always makes me smile. But when a teenage boy calls me ‘gogo’, I almost trip over the tree root just ahead of me.

  ‘You think I’m going to buy something from you when you call me granny?’ I shriek in mock dismay. Gogo! Ouch.

  ‘We’re going to the Bend-down,’ Barbara announces one morning. ‘Would you like to join us?’

  The street market is known by this name because you have to bend over and rummage through the vast piles of clothing. It’s another place that white Zimbabweans don’t often frequent; it’s clearly not the sort of place to be seen. It is, however, the reason why there are so many well-dressed folk around Zimbabwe, even in the middle of nowhere.

  Massive bales of clothing arrive from overseas, bought cheaply by vendors who then resell them at street markets. Most garments are second-hand (I prefer to think of them as pre-loved), but many are barely worn. I’m astounded by the range of well-known Australian, American and European labels available, which mean nothing to the vast majority of Zimbabweans, but you have to be prepared to spend a lot of time bent over and digging deep to find the treasures.

  I sit on a bulging pile and sift through it for items. I leave contented with a long Geoff Bade skirt and beautiful De Luca top, having spent a couple of one-dollar notes for what, in the First World, would have cost me a couple of hundred. I don’t know where I’ll wear them—although I do from time to time dress up for sundowners with my four-legged friends. With a bottle of pink bubbly in a cooler bag beside me, and the soundtrack from Out of Africa ringing out from my laptop, I sit decadently on an edge of my cut-out roof, with bubbles in hand, until well after the sky fills with dazzling stars, while my elephant friends doze off around me. They seem to particularly enjoy the glorious instrumental I had a Farm in Africa, opening and closing their eyes so very slowly in time with its rhythm. It’s good for my soul to be dressed up among them, to feel just a little bit classy for a few hours. The fact that I’m sitting on top of an awfully battered and rusted old vehicle doesn’t matter at all. Nor does the occasional wet splosh of bat poop that lands on my stylish outfit.

  Barbara and I often walk more than forty blocks a day carting supplies for me to take back to the bush. I buy fresh fruit and vegetables from the ladies with little pyramids of produce at their feet, sitting shoulder to shoulder along a designated street. ‘Bonsella!’ they exclaim—‘Gift!’—handing over an extra piece for free, encouraging me to come back and buy from them again. When this fresh supply runs out I’ll live primarily on pasta and tinned fruit as I’ve done for the last ten years, although I have progressed from locally tinned tomato-and-onion mix to actual pasta sauce imported from South Africa. Pepper grinders can now be found, as well as an assortment of tinned cheese sprinkles. A box of good South African red is usually available these days too, and so my recurring pasta days are now less likely to make me gag.

  Bulawayo is a needed change of pace for a few days, and a welcome opportunity to enjoy a drink and a laugh with friends, but there are too many people in the city and far too much noise. Fat from pizza and ice-cream, I am, all too soon, longing to be back in the bush with the elephants.

  FINDING ADWINA

  2010

  I learn new things about elephants every day, and am sometimes left with more questions than answers. When in the field, I quite frequently come across sizeable chunks of ivory lying on the ground, broken off in a clash of tusks or when being used as a lever. Perhaps the mineral-deficient Kalahari sand contributes to the number of breakages. All pieces, if you choose to pick them up, must be handed in to the appropriate authorities. I always pick them up whenever I see them, not trusting what others might do if they get their hands on them. Earlier in the day I’d picked up a smooth twenty-centimetre-long piece, which had appeared overnight around a pan, and I’m still driving with it on my dashboard.

  I spot the L family in the distance, and hurry to check up on them. Lady is more excited than usual to see me. I pat my heart, as I’ve learnt to do, in a gesture of respect for her. Her dexterous trunk slithers inside my window and she grasps my steering wheel with her fingers. They move to mine, then to my face, and back to the steering wheel.

  ‘Do you want to drive my vehicle today?’ I ask her with a big grin.

  The gaping tip of her trunk worms back towards my mouth, exposing two enormous moist nostrils. I’m reminded of a big spongy sea urchin as she exhales a stream of warm air, flecked with mud particles, onto my face. She takes my fingers in the fingers of her trunk and gives me an elephant handshake. Her pull is powerful and I struggle for a moment to release her grip.

  Never allowing her to get the upper hand for long, I push her trunk out of my window. But today she is persistent. Her trunk snakes back inside with increased urgency. This is unusual behaviour. Even after a lively hello, Lady typically stands good-naturedly beside my door. Today she’s on a mission. Her trunk is slithering around in front of me. Quickly, she locates what she is looking for—the piece of ivory.

  Impulsively, I grab it before she does, unsure of what she’s planning to do with it, but in a flash she pulls it from my hand. It eventually falls to the ground, where she proceeds to touch and smell it. Does ivory have a smell? How did she know the ivory was on my dashboard? Could it be ivory from an elephant she’s acquainted with? Can she tell? Initially, she had seemed anxious about it. But once she’d investigated it, she lost all interest. Had she established that it was just a broken-off piece, and wasn’t therefore from a dead elephant? Would she have reacted differently if I’d been carrying ivory extracted from a carcass?

  I’m still coming across snared elephants, although thankfully not so frequently. Most recently it is Adwina from the A family who has a horrific wound caused by a snare around her back right leg. The first attempt to remove it had failed when the immobilisation dart bounced from her hide. Some darters are still learning about darting elephants, and nobody with more experience had been available that day. Slowed by her horrific injury, Adwina and her youngest calf had been wandering alone. I haven’t been able to find Adwina since, despite searching every day.

  A very pleasant and helpful couple named Esther and Hans are currently attached to the nearby Painted Dog project, which Greg still leads. Esther’s been darting some elephants recently, with Hans at the wheel. She’s particularly skilled and is always concerned with more than just darting: she appreciates input about the family groups, always keen to know who she’s darting, and later how the elephant is faring. I enjoy working with her. She’s been on standby for weeks now to dart Adwina, once I manage to find her again.

  I’m at Kanondo, where I often spot snared animals. The anti-poaching team doesn’t typically find many snare lines here—the elephants and other wildlife pick up snares elsewhere—but Kanondo is a large open area and it’s easier to catch a glimpse of snared animals as they wander by. It’s why I spend time driving around this area every day, checking on all of the animals that show up.

  At long last I spot Adwina’s head protruding from the scrub. I can’t see her leg, but I know immediately that it is her. She’s completely alone, slowly making her way away from the pan. My heart pounds and my hands shake. I fumble with my mobile phone. If we lose her this time around, she may die from her injury before we find her again.

  ‘She’s finally here, Esther, at Kanondo,’ I blurt into my mobile pretending to be calmer than I am. There’s no time for more talk as Esther and Hans need to quickly pack their 4x4 and race the fifteen kilometres to join me.

  A few minutes later, I’m back on my mobile. ‘Esther, she’s already moving off into thicker bush,’ I warn.

  I strategically position my vehicle in Adwina’s pat
h and try to encourage her to stay put. But she is restless.

  I’m back on my mobile yet again. ‘I’m not sure that I can hold her much longer. Please, we need a tracker,’ I say. I know this will delay their arrival, but it will give us a better chance of success.

  I circle around and keep herding Adwina back and forth, back and forth, trying to prevent her from crossing the road that I’m on and heading into thicker bush. In desperation I call for another vehicle to help me keep an eye on her.

  That vehicle eventually arrives, but it’s too late. Adwina runs across the road that I’m on. I can hear Esther’s vehicle pulling up and I drive quickly towards her, needing to get to the next road to prevent Adwina from crossing that one as well. Hans is driving and Esther is as calm, cool and professional as always. Thank goodness one of us is so composed. She’s about to start preparing the dart. The tracker with them is called Mkhalalwa. I leave them to get on with it and race off towards the next road.

  By the time the dart is ready Adwina is still somewhere between these two sandy roads. But the bush is horribly thick. We’re all looking in the wrong direction when an elephant eventually crosses. I catch a glimpse of it, and manage to confirm that it’s Adwina. Mkhalalwa quickly leads Esther and Hans after her on foot.

  I can hear sounds of elephants everywhere and the risk of them walking straight into one in the thick bush is high. Eventually, I see all three retreating back towards our vehicles. My hands cover my eyes in disappointment.

  ‘We just can’t miss her twice,’ I whisper to myself.

  It’s not practical for this darting team to wait around, since the chances of Adwina returning immediately to the open area are low. We wait together for a while longer, but all we see are lone bulls.

  I return to Kanondo alone, in the desperate hope that she will reappear. A game-drive vehicle with American tourists arrives, and so I show the safari guide the photographs that I’ve just taken of Adwina and ask him to keep a close eye out for her.

  Meanwhile, the gorgeous Whole and her family have appeared in the open. There’s a bateleur in the sky. A spirit messenger. I momentarily think of Andy. It seems impossible that he’s been dead for ten years. ‘Please help us find her,’ I murmur, looking skywards.

  I drive with the tourist vehicle to the mineral licks, where Whole, Whosit, Willa, Whoever, Wishful and others enjoy the minerals and then surround our vehicles. I share information about their family relationships and introduce the tourists to all of my favourites. I explain that the elephants are very familiar with me and my vehicle and know my voice well, but that as strangers they must sit in silence and never attempt to touch them. The Americans are visibly moved by this close encounter.

  ‘I could just cry,’ a middle-aged man whispers.

  Then, suddenly, Adwina reappears in the open just a few hundred metres away. She’s come back to splash soothing mud on her wound.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ I say, gazing once again towards the sky.

  If I thought my heart was pounding earlier, it is now about to jump out of my chest. One phone call and Esther, Hans and Mkhalalwa are immediately on their way back.

  Adwina does it to me again though. She starts to move off well before the darting team arrive. I dash back to the same road that I was on earlier, having asked the safari guide and his guests to remain still and to monitor her from there, which they do willingly. Once again I herd Adwina back and forth, back and forth, trying to keep her from disappearing into the dense bush. But it feels like I’m going to lose her yet again.

  I hear Esther’s vehicle roaring towards us and glimpse through the bush the safari guests waving coloured clothing in the air, to help guide them in. Hans can now see where Adwina is, even though there are by now scores of elephants in the area. Esther knows that I’m struggling to hold her at bay and, like me, fears that we’ll lose her again if she crosses the road. She has one chance to successfully get the dart in but her distance from Adwina is awfully close to the limit of the gun’s 40-metre range and thick bush is preventing them from moving closer. Adwina isn’t staying still, but with calm skill Esther leans out the window of her 4x4 and fires. The dart hits, albeit a little precariously, on the side of Adwina’s leathery rump.

  Through the leafy bush I can see the pink-feathered dart protruding from her backside and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. My mobile phone rings. It’s Esther, confirming that the dart’s in, and asking me to keep up with Adwina to see where she falls. Adwina’s head and trunk eventually start to droop while I peer at my trembling hands, thinking that I could do with a bit of sedation myself.

  In a few minutes she’s down. We hurry in our two vehicles towards her fallen body and the operation is immediately in full swing. There are elephants all around us, but fortunately none are close family members and so they’re considerately keeping their distance. The injury is horrific. The length of copper wire is embedded deeply, the wound a great deal worse than it was a month ago. There’s no skin left on the lower portion of her leg at all. Esther and Hans cut the wire and treat the wound. I tip water over Adwina’s ear to keep her temperature stable and Mkhalalwa holds her trunk, ensuring that her breathing is not obstructed.

  I invite the game-drive vehicle to come in quietly, to witness this life-saving procedure. The wound is soon treated and we all move off so that Esther can safely administer the reversal drug alone. My whole body is shaking; it’s impossible for me to relax until Adwina’s back on her feet.

  And soon she is. The whole procedure took less than 30 minutes, from the time the dart hit to Adwina getting to her feet once again. Five long weeks of searching came to a close with just minutes of frantic, compassionate teamwork. Adwina wanders off, a little dazed, across the road that she’s now welcome to travel without interference from me. Her family’s still nowhere in sight, nor is her youngest calf, but I feel confident that she’ll be okay. Once the wire has been removed, the chances of full recovery are high no matter how dreadful the wound.

  It’s a time for celebration and we all sit in our vehicles next to the recently scooped Kanondo pan, full of water from the wet season, surrounded by the W family who have chosen to stick around and help us celebrate. Esther’s reward for the day’s effort is the opportunity to meet the beloved Whole. It is however Whole’s daughter, the cheeky Whosit, who insists on standing right beside Esther’s open window.

  I stay on after the others depart, alone under the almost-full moon, sipping a beer handed to me from the game-drive vehicle’s cooler box. Whosit’s firstborn, Wish, places his trunk inside my open window and proceeds to give my 4x4 a little shake. A tad naughty perhaps, but it makes me laugh out loud just the same.

  I make my own forlorn wish: that we never have to do another snare removal.

  A few days later I’m out with guests from Brisbane, who I’ve known for many years. We raised funds for elephant conservation together back when I lived there. We stumble upon Adwina, who is once again at Kanondo splashing mud on her de-snared leg. She is still apart from her family, but she is looking much better. One side of the wound is horribly deep and raw, and a little blood is still oozing from it, but she is now putting full weight on her leg.

  It is another three weeks before I see Adwina again, and this time she’s reunited with her four-year-old son, Ade. This is a very positive development; Ade no longer needs to be looked after by family members. Having lost so much skin on the lower portion of her leg, there is nothing to protect the flesh, and her wound is taking a worryingly long time to show signs of real healing. She bathes it in mud and dust continually, helping Mother Nature along.

  The next time I see Adwina she is still limping, but she’s surrounded by all the members of her family. She is going to be okay.

  There’s always one battle or another going on. Inside Hwange National Park, animals are being rounded up in pairs, reportedly as a gift for the president of North Korea, who is a close ally of President Mugabe. Once news of this shipment breaks, the press
dub the operation ‘Mugabe’s Ark’. Two young elephants are among those who have been removed from their families, destined for a life in captivity.

  I know that if I want to survive here, I can’t be too vocal about this, although I quietly make my views known. Joyce Poole—with decades of knowledge and now head of a Europe-based NGO called Elephant Voices—gets involved to try to save the elephants from export. With all that is now known about elephant family bonds, intelligence and grieving, the abduction of elephants from their families is generally viewed as inhumane and unacceptable. Public outrage is widespread. A number of other animal pairs have already been captured, among them giraffes, zebras, warthogs, hyenas and rock hyrax. Conservation groups in Harare get involved, voicing their concern for all of these animals. Somewhat surprisingly, the director general of Parks (who reports to Minister Francis Nhema) eventually announces that the deal has been cancelled and the animals will be released. Zimbabwe is not known for bowing to public pressure, and so I’m pleasantly surprised. The two elephants can’t simply be released back into the park, since they’re too young to survive without their families, who can’t be identified. Instead, they’re transferred to the captive facility in Victoria Falls that Gavin had managed before his death (now renamed Wild Horizon’s Wildlife Sanctuary), where they will be integrated into a makeshift family, and at some future time, hopefully, returned to the wild.

  I’m heartened to know that, sometimes, Zimbabwe does the right thing.

  A film-crew from Natural History Unit Africa is set to arrive to make a documentary about my work and relationships with the Presidential Elephants. The crew has successfully applied to the appropriate authorities for filming permits and it’s all systems go. I’m not sure how I’ll cope having a five-person film-crew with me every day for what could be several months, accustomed as I am to leading a relatively solitary bush life. I’ve only met Kira, the South African-based documentary producer, briefly once before. She was in Zimbabwe last year documenting the release of some rehabilitated elephants into Hwange National Park. These elephants had been captive and had been abused; a black mark on the already controversial elephant-ride industry. The SPCA (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) had successfully intervened in that cruel debacle and managed to secure the elephants’ release back to the wild. I was invited into the park with them, to witness this release. Following this happy event, Kira asked to interview me on camera.