Elephant Hunters

So we moved after three nights at Sands River to a place called Beho Beho which made our last place look unglamorous. Also dangerous. The new place has a discreet electric wire in front of the open room, and Masai guarding our rooms at night. It was not uncommon to hear them yelling at hyena and hippos…no weapons, just sticks and voices. There are Persian carpets on the stone floors by the bed and in the bathroom complete with a bathtub in open air, beneath the African sky.  

We are picked up at a meeting point by a man named Saningo: a Masai with 24 brothers and sisters. He lets us swim in the hot springs at the pick up location:  a very hot pool and a cool one, but all natural, and complete with waterfall. The kids are out of their minds. Also a hyena is watching us, which thrills them even more. Saningo has the kindest face I have ever seen –it is as if he has candles in his eyes..they have that much light. The kids and I are in love.

Charlie was the first one to articulate what is clearly a difference between the white and black Africans. The black ones are the most in touch with the children; they see them for what they are: lion pups with large paws that occasionally knock over things and step out of line. Best of all, the Africans do not mind if you sneeze without covering your nose, or leave your napkin out of your lap. They just gently them back to the topic or get them to sit down again in the jeep without frustration or annoyance. And man do they laugh at their antics. I have seen young Charlie reduce them to tears with his act, which as I have said, has gotten very good. He loves them fiercely back and will say so in a loud voice: I DON’T LIKE the WHITE ONES.

One white one, Werner, is an Afrikaner…the descendants of the Dutch who believe they are as African as any black man, and were the ones in charge during that whole apartheid kerfuflle. They are macho, alpha male types who think children should been beaten and not heard.

His look is straight out of central casting: huge muscles, dark glasses, beard, and best of all a belt made of a tidy row of huge bullets. Werner is one of only three who are trained to take guests on walking safari, with a rifle and plenty of those bullets. I admit I am sort of buying the act- firm handshake, tall tales of big game at lunch, ok we get it: you have a big gun, (this is a family blog so I won’t make the bush jokes here, but feel free). Charlie, however, is having none of it. He rolls his eyes at the stories and stage whispers to me that he thinks this guys is a blow hard. For his part, Werner can’t believe this little cub is taking him on.  F has a natural sense of hierarchy and keeps quiet (Charlie says Frederick is waiting quietly til he can crush these people with his evil German brain), but Charlie is like Screw it, why wait? He thinks his big puppy paws are big enough to do some damage, so he swats away-contradicting him at will, interrupting him to speak to me, sighing loudly at the scary stories.

We arrange for a walking safari and are assigned not one but two guides: Werner and Haribert a black man with a German name because his father was a doctor in Germany long ago. The instructions are clear: no noise. No antics. We must walk silently into the bush because we want to hear the animals and know where they are. Werner reads the boys the riot act. He has told me a story about the one and only time he had to shoot an elephant. He was so miserable, he claimed he would rather be trampled the next time.

The first thing we encounter is a group of elephants including a very young one. Obviously, if a young elephant wants to come over and check you out, it is bad. Often we are told the mother will look up, see where the kid is headed and freak the fuck out. You do not want to flirt with a baby elephant. So I am breathless and wide-eyed and we watch Werner speak to it, kindly, firmly. “That’s a god boy” he says “Go back to Mommy”. Good boy. Off you go. He is firm, and I must say masterful.

Whew.

I don’t remember the events that followed exactly, but very soon we come around a corner. And around a tree comes a bull. A big ol mother of a male bloody elephant bull.  He’s startled, we’re startled and we freeze.  Apparently I began to walk up the hilly bank of the river bed we are in, and Haribert stops me. The one and only rule in this is DO NOT RUN.  You must stand your ground.

So we stand, and the elephant comes towards us. It is not fast, but it is menacing and we are close. Werner raises his gun and says to the elephant in essence, to stand down. Elephant comes closer to me and my kiddies and god he is huge and they trample people..they are being poached and he is scared and shit shit shit. I don’t want to be there and isn’t this supposed to be a vacation. ?

Werner is now almost yelling…he is very clear; he means business and the elephant must turn back. And the bull starts to turn away from us, god sweet relief, and then terror again as he changes his mind and comes back.

Werner readies the gun and pleads with gut wrenching sincerity because there is no lying to an elephant-

 DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!!

Sweet Jesus. It was intense; intimate really. I was no longer afraid for us, I was afraid for the bull...Please elephant, please don’t give us this burden. Please, please please live.

And we are frozen while the elephant decides. And he does; he turns away.

Haribert, takes us to safety while Werner waits until the bull is really gone before turning his back on him, and joins us.

Sweat is pouring off of me- Werner asks if anyone has gotten a thorn from the walk through the bush. (Thorns?) Frederick, precise Frederick says, yes he has a thorn in his sock. Sir, yes sir. One thorn reported.

We go to a safe place and look at hippos and the sweet relief from adrenaline makes us giddy. The guides are euphoric. They live for this: proximity with the animals, but also the fear, and the relief from fear. Both light up cigarettes and laugh and I sit very close to Werner just in case. I might have been in his lap don’t judge.

We have one more encounter-have to walk past mother and child again, but we skeedadle no pictures no confrontation. And then, we are greeted on a hill at sunset with gin and tonics and little meat balls and a jeep to take us home.

The drive home was the most magical thing : we drive in and around the elephants in the near dark and we stop and visit with them in silence. When we get to camp the trusty, tall dignified Masai are there in red cloaks and the children shake their hands and we high five and drink more gin until dinner where I am seated with Werner and Charlie (Werner did the seating so clearly CMB is growing on him) and Werner is laughing like he is the happiest man in the world.

I told Thomas, I believe if he had asked for all my money or a kidney or my first born, I would have given it. Either way we are somehow tied for life…Me, Werner, the Elephant.