An Elephant Child

Few infant animals have the ability to touch our emotions as deeply as an elephant.  Watching these tiny creatures valiantly keeping up with their herd and mingling amongst their family members while learning their highly developed social skills is fascinating.  They are playful, dependent, charming and endearing.

 

I’ve loved elephants since I was a child, and recently had the opportunity to meet a three week old baby found on the Harare-Kariba road in early January.  The infant was alone, refusing to leave the busy roadside as he waited for his mother and family’s return.  Despite trackers following the herd’s footprints ten kilometres into the African bush not a trace of his family was found.  It is thought that perhaps a haulage truck frightened the herd off the side of the road, separating the tiny baby from his family.  His natural instincts told him to stay at the place he’d last seen his mother, and he refused to leave the roadside.

The baby elephant was taken back to Kariba, checked by veterinarians and treated.  A few minor cuts on his body were treated with a blue ointment, earning him the moniker “Baby Blue”.  His little tail was broken, leading to speculation that perhaps his mother had been sideswiped by a truck, and stumbled over her baby as she moved away from the road.  They might even have fallen off a steep embankment on the side of the road.  It’s difficult to imagine what could have happened, because elephants are so protective of their young.

The decision was made to place Baby Blue at Mwanga Lodge, a wildlife sanctuary just outside the capital city Harare.  He was renamed “Kunda”, a Shona word meaning “to win” or “success”.  Orphaned baby elephants are very difficult to raise, especially the very young.  Babies like Kunda need around 30 litres of special milk formula every day until around six month of age, when he would begin to eat “solids” in the form of breakfast cereals like Pronutro.

Orphaned baby elephants need round the clock attention from human handlers to try and emulate the loving interaction they receive from their family members.  In the wild the baby is fed on demand, comforted and nurtured by both mother and the family.  So in the absence of his relatives Kunda would need milk formula available for him whenever he wanted to feed.  His new human companions would also have to give him the physical attention so vital for his development.  Raising an orphaned baby elephant is a minimum of a two year/ 24 hour day commitment, requiring enormous financial resources as well as great personal sacrifice.

Two weeks after his rescue my husband and I, along with my brother and his family, went to see Kunda.  Mwanga Lodge had appealed for financial donations to help with his upkeep, and the public had responded generously.  Milk formula been donated, several businesses arranged donation boxes and private individuals dug into their pockets.

On arrival at the lodge we were greeted by the sight of tiny Kunda and his handler.  The little elephant had gained weight since his discovery on that busy road.  He was absolutely devoted to his human, following him closely, pushing against him with his head and running his trunk over the handler.  He was very interested in his visitors, walking up to us and pressing against us as he inspected us with his trunk.  He had hair all over his body, sparse on his head and body but thick on his underbelly.  Long eyelashes fringed dark, intelligent eyes.  His trunk moved constantly, taking in the different scents around him.  At one point he put his front legs up on the brick barbecue to give himself better access to the upper half of his handler’s body.

I expected to fall in love with Kunda, and I did.  What I didn’t expect was the sadness I felt that he really was completely alone.  Knowing that he was in a good place, with people who loved him and wanted to care for him did not help ease the feeling.  He did not belong in a crowd of human beings; he should have been with his own kind.  It just seemed wrong that we were all gathered around him, watching him as, guided by his natural elephant instincts, he adopted the position he’d take when feeding from his mother while his handler prepared his milk.  I found it disturbing that some of the milk dribbled out the side of his mouth and onto the ground, and wondered if he was getting enough milk.  The fact that he had gained weight steadily since he was found indicated he was doing well, but it was nevertheless a disturbing thought.

When he’d taken a little formula he moved back to his visitors, walking among us and touching us with his tiny trunk.  I felt as though he was searching, looking for somebody.  Then suddenly he stopped, lowering himself onto his stomach before turning to lie on his side.  Alarmed we moved back, but were assured he did this often.  He was tired, and went to sleep.  He slept deeply for about ten minutes, his breathing deep, rumbling and even.  His back legs twitched in his sleep, showing us his soft footpads.  The skin felt exactly like the underneath of our own feet.  Apparently these little feet are also known as “boots”, and the baby elephant looses them after a few months.  His perfectly formed ears moved slowly, the veins clearly visible beneath the surface.

Kunda sleeps after his feed.

On awakening, he clambered to his feet and went off to look for his handler, who’d gone to mix him some more formula.  When he could find him he trumpeted loudly, an almost angry, desperate sound.  His handler arrived immediately, and he took some more formula.  When he handler walked away across the lawn, Kunda followed him, a tiny elephant child hurrying at the heels of the man who’d become his parent.  I couldn’t help but wonder just how traumatic this must all seem to him.  At just one month old he’d lost his mother and was now in a completely alien environment.  It was some consolation he was in a good place with dedicated people.

After we left it took a long time for my emotions to settle.  Seeing this very dependent, helpless baby made me wonder just how many baby elephants have, in the past, been taken from their mothers and placed in zoos or “trained” to entertain people in circuses.  They are such trusting creatures, a wonderful trait that is so easily exploited by man.  I wonder if perhaps being among the crowd of people admiring Kunda that Sunday afternoon didn’t on some level make me feel like a visitor to a circus.  This does not in any way demean the wonderful work done by Mwanga Lodge for Kunda – had he not been found he could very easily have fallen prey to lions or hyena, or even suffered terrible injuries from a motor vehicle.

Two weeks after our visit to Mwanga little Kunda died of pneumonia.  This is a common cause of death in abandoned and orphaned baby elephants.  The melancholia that haunted me every time I thought of Kunda turned into tears, and I can only imagine how dreadful everyone at Mwanga must have felt when Kunda died.  In six weeks little Kunda touched so many hearts and enriched so many lives. Although I am so glad I had the opportunity to meet this elephant child, the reality is that if he’d not been separated from his elephant family I would never have been  He made more of a difference in his short life than most human beings do in an entire lifetime.

Nature’s great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.
John Donne, British Poet.  1572-1631

Searching for the Light

Tilley lamp photograph, 1970

Some years ago, when Zimbabwe’s electricity network began to collapse, a popular joke provided a brief interlude of light humour in the ever-increasing and unpredictable darkness slowly enveloping the country:

Question: What did Zimbabweans use before candles?
Answer: Electricity.

At the time we were living in the northern hemisphere, some ten hours flying time from our homeland. Frequent telephone calls and emails to friends and family and brief trips back twice a year meant we were aware of the problem. But we were never back long enough to appreciate the frustration caused by a power cut. We’ve been back home for almost fifteen months now. While the novelty of the candle joke has worn thin the daily frustration of dealing with an erratic and almost non-existent electricity supply is… challenging, to say the least.

Zimbabwe’s sole electrical energy supplier doesn’t attempt to stick to a regulated schedule for power cuts for specific areas. The seemingly contemptuous attitude displayed towards its consumers – without whom there would be no justification for the corporation’s existence – would not be tolerated in many other countries. So how do we deal with the frequent lack of electricity? With difficulty. Households able to afford it run generators or inverters. Many houses use gas rather than electric stoves. Others use wood fires.

Or candles.

We also rely on a support network – after all, all Zimbabweans are subject to unscheduled power cuts, regardless of our age, gender, ethnicity or political affiliation. Sometimes I think lack of electricity unites Zimbabweans in a way no political party seems to have been able to do – apparently those at the very top of the political hierarchy do not experience the power blackouts inflicted on the rest of the country.

A sense of humour helps. Here are a few thoughts on looking at the power cut as a blessing rather than a curse:

• I no longer need an alarm clock to rouse me from sleep.  Most electricity blackouts start before my alarm bell rings at 06.01.  The instant power is lost my computer’s UPS begins beeping in distress, alerting me to turn off the house alarm before the siren rings and the security company calls to confirm we are safe.  How can one sleep after not one but THREE alarms signal the beginning of a day without electricity?
• While some power cuts last up to 16 hours at a stretch there’s always a chance electricity will be restored after three or four hours.  This is called anticipation…
• The electricity will eventually be reconnected, unlike municipal water.  Many places no longer receive water from the municipality, and those without boreholes have to buy water.  Water is life – we can live without electricity but not without water.
• Lack of electricity means those jobs we put off doing around the house or office can be done.  There’s no denying that once the linen cupboard/pantry/sock draw/store rooms/workbench is tidy and/or the office filing system is up to date life is more organised, meaning our life with electricity will run smoother.
• A power cut during the day is a great time to catch on reading, the latest crossword or Sudoku game… but only once the linen cupboard/pantry/sock draw/store rooms/workbench and/or office filing tasks are complete!

Five positive ways to look at lack of one service we Zimbabweans no longer take for granted? Perhaps… but it certainly doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be frustrated at lack of what most of the world sees as a basic essential service.

And remember – I could not have written or posted this if we’d had no electricity!