The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (best motivational books .TXT) 📗

drive off, but I was intrigued by the fact that she was actually heading my way. Normally she would have hurriedly herded her family in the opposite direction.

I manoeuvred the Land Rover into a good getaway position, steeled my nerves and waited. At the last moment, just yards away from me, she changed direction ever so slightly and walked past the vehicle, followed by her family who each turned to stare as they passed. Frankie, who was bringing up the rear, splayed her ears and gave an aggressive shake of her head towards me.

Then suddenly, she swung off the back of the line, triumpeted harshly, and started coming at me, fast as a truck, her ears flared and trunk raised high. I knew instinctively it was a mock charge, and the worst thing to do would be to drive off as this could encourage her, perhaps spark a real charge. I braced myself as she pulled up spectacularly just yards away in a whirlwind of flapping ears, dust and rage. After tossing her head in anger once or twice, she stomped off back to the herd with her tail angrily erect.

I stared after her, transfixed. Even though I had seen it many times a charging elephant is one of the most awesome physical spectacles in the world. I’ll have to be careful with Frankie, I thought, once I had regained my ability to think. She was still too ill-tempered, too eager to vent her fury. Even though Nana was the matriarch, Frankie was far more dangerous.

I followed them for a bit, thorns squeaking and stabbing the Land Rover’s paintwork until the bush became too wild and I turned off on an old overgrown track and set course for home.

I had just gulped down a pint of ice-cold water when the phone rang. The wildlife dealer was on the line.

‘Really, Lawrence, I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re wasting your time with this herd,’ he said. ‘I can let you have a much better one within a week and your problems will be over. You know, you could easily get yourself killed by this lot. They need more space, to be completely away from humans. Surely you owe that to them.’

‘You may be right,’ I said, fumbling for a pen and some paper. ‘By the way, I never got the name of your company – or even your phone number. What is it?’

I wrote down the details and immediately dialled the Elephant Managers and Owners Association in Johannesburg, asking for Marion Garai.

‘Marion, do you know who these people are?’

‘Oh God, Lawrence. Please don’t tell me you’re dealing with them.’

‘Why?’

‘This lot was trying to get your herd first but I beat them to it. They are registered wildlife dealers, perfectly legitimate, and I had heard they had already pre-sold your animals to a Chinese zoo – that’s why I was in such a hurry to get them to you. They’re pretty upset with me and are now trying to get the animals back to fulfil their contract. If you sell themto him, your elephants’ lives will be a misery. There’re few animal rights laws in China, so anything could happen. And even worse, the zoo only wants the babies so the two adults will probably be shot. Please … please don’t deal with them.’

‘Well, you can relax,’ I said, relieved finally to hear the truth. ‘My elephants are going nowhere.’

I phoned the dealer and told him politely never to contact me again.

He was flummoxed. ‘You can have all this money plus a new herd and you prefer to keep the problem, which is only going to get worse. Don’t come crying in three months’ time because it will be too late for us. And for you.’

‘I’m not selling.’

‘OK, OK.’

He then hesitated for a bit and I could tell he was mentally wrestling with something. ‘Listen … don’t tell my boss I told you this, but the previous matriarch, the one they shot, wasn’t so bad. I reckon she was just trying to get the herd to better water and grazing, that’s why she kept busting the fences. She was just doing her job.’

I put the phone down as that revelation slowly sunk in. The old matriarch had been doing her duty to her family – and she had paid for it with her life. They had even shot her baby daughter. My anger flared; no wonder this herd was traumatized.

I never heard from the dealer again.

chapter twelve

During the next few days fresh information about the poachers kept popping up, all of it helpful.

The Ovambos, unable to hunt due to our constant surveillance, had taken to slipping out into the village at night and getting rat-faced drunk at the local shebeen, a traditional, usually illegal, tavern. The more they drank the more they talked, and we made sure we always had an informer there. With alcohol-fired machismo, they bragged openly about their exploits. Slowly we were piecing together our case.

‘OK, what do we do now?’ David asked.

‘We go to the police and give them the statements. I have set it up with a lieutenant who’s expecting us.’

The next day we drove into Empangeni, met with two senior policemen and recounted the full story, handing over all the affidavits.

‘This is an open and shut case,’ said one after reading Phineas’s statement. ‘They’re as guilty as hell. We’ll be out there later to make the arrests.’

That was exactly what I wanted to hear and at 5 p.m. on the dot two police vans arrived. David and I led them through the reserve to the Ovambos’ cottage. It was strangely silent, with no one to be seen. Leaving the cars quietly, we split into two groups, heading for the front and back of the building.

We were too late. As we burst into their rooms, all we found were rifles strewn on the floor and cupboard doors flapping open. All their personal possessions were gone. No doubt they saw us coming and instantly