The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (the ebook reader txt) 📕

resilient when it isn’t. In the bush, simple acts give intense atavistic pleasures, such as sliding a sprig of grass into the tiny slot of a scorpion hole and feeling a tug that pound for pound would rival a game fish. Even today that triggers memories of my born-free adolescence asvividly as a lovelorn youth recalling his first heart-thudding kiss.

So too does the chime of songbirds, the tunesmiths of the planet, where even a panicked warning call is perfectly in pitch. Or watching life’s endlessly fascinating passing show, the brutal poetry of the food chain where life is so precarious yet pulses so powerfully in every shape, colour and form.

Those solitary hikes in Thula Thula evoked the path I first walked as a child in untamed places. Now decades later I was bringing a herd of elephants, to me the definitive symbol of wild Africa, back to an ancient Zululand home. Thula Thula’s landscape is an elephant’s paradise: woodlands leading to sweet savannah, riverbanks choked with nutritious grasses and waterholes that never run dry, even in the bleakest of winters.

But we had to get cracking, electrifying the fences and building a sturdy boma. The word boma means stockade and with antelope it’s a simple matter of erecting barriers high enough to stop them from leaping over. However, with elephants, which are stronger than a truck, it’s a different ballgame altogether. You have to spike the fences with enough mega-volts to hold a five-ton juggernaut.

The electrical force is designed not to injure the animals; it’s only there to warn them off. Thus it’s vital that the boma is a replica of the reserve’s outer border so once they have learned that bumping into it is not much fun, they will later steer clear of the boundary.

There was no way we were going to be able to do all that in just two weeks but we would certainly give it a damn good try and wing it from there.

I radioed David and Ndonga to come to the office.

‘Guys, you’re looking at the owner of a herd of elephants.’

Both stared for a moment as if I had gone loopy. David spoke first. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been given nine elephants.’ I scratched my head, still hardly believing it myself. ‘It’s a one-off deal – if I don’t take them they’ll be shot. But the bad news is that they’re a bit of a problem. They’ve broken through fences before – electric ones.’

David’s face lifted in a massive grin.

‘Elephants! Fantastic!’ He paused for a moment and I could see he was mulling over the same concerns that I had. ‘But how are we gonna hold them here? Thula’s fences won’t stop ellies.’

‘Well, we’ve got two weeks to fix them. And to build a boma.’

‘Two weeks? For twenty miles of fence?’ Ndonga spoke for the first time, giving me a doubtful look.

‘We’ve got no choice. The current owners have given me a deadline.’

David’s unfettered enthusiasm was gratifying and I instinctively knew he would be my right-hand man on this project.

Tall and well built with handsome Mediterranean features, David was a natural leader with a sense of purpose about him that belied his nineteen years. Our families have ties stretching back decades and it was, I believe, fate that brought him to Thula Thula during this pivotal period. A fourth-generation Zululander, he had no formal gameranger credentials but that didn’t worry me. He could do a hard day’s work and was in tune with the natural world, which I have found to be one of the best recommendations for anyone, regardless of vocation. He also had been a top rugby player, a flank forward with a reputation for almost kamikaze tackles. This tenacity would certainly be tested at Thula Thula.

I then called in the Zulu staff and asked them to put the word out among the local community that we needed labourers. The nearest village to us is Buchanana whereunemployment runs at 60 per cent. I knew there would be no problem finding able bodies, the problem would be the skill factor. A rural Zulu can build a decent shelter out of sticks, a puddle of mud and a handful of grass, but we were talking of constructing an electrified elephant-proof stockade. The gangs would have to be heavily supervised at all times, but they would develop skills which would stand them in good stead when job hunting later.

Sure enough, over the next two days there were hordes of people outside Thula Thula’s gates clamouring for work. Hundreds of thousands in rural Africa live close to the brink, and I was glad to be able to contribute to the community.

To keep the amakhosi – local chieftains – on our side, I made appointments to explain what we were doing. Incredibly, most Zulus have never set eyes on an elephant as nowadays the giants of South Africa are all in fenced sanctuaries. The last free roaming jumbos in our part of Zululand were actually killed almost a century ago. So the main aim of visiting the chiefs was to explain that we were bringing these magnificent creatures ‘home’ again, as well as providing assurances that the fences were electrified on the inside and thus wouldn’t harm any passers-by.

However, the fact that none of the locals had seen an elephant before did not stop them from voicing ‘expert’ opinions.

‘They will eat our crops,’ said one, ‘and then what will we do?’

‘What about the safety of our women when they fetch water?’ another asked.

‘We’re worried about the children,’ said a third, referring to the young herd boys who do a man’s work looking after cattle alone. ‘They do not know elephant.’

‘I heard they taste good,’ piped up another. ‘An elephant can feed all the village.’

OK, that was not quite the reaction I wanted. But generally the amakhosi seemed well disposed to the project.

Except one. I was away for a day and asked one of my rangers to discuss the issue with an interim chief. Sadly all he succeeded in