Avoid the tusk-tusking

A word to the wise: before you visit Thula Thula, read The Book

I'd obviously heard of The Elephant Whisperer, written by Lawrence Anthony, who owns Thula Thula. It's been an international bestseller since its publication in 2009 and has been translated into French, German, Italian and Chinese. I knew it was about Anthony's challenging and remarkable relationship with a herd of rouge elephants but, I have to confess, I hadn't read The Book.

When my sister informed me that she and her 12-year-old daughter were planning a visit from their home in Australia, I immediately thought of taking them to Thula Thula to see some of the elephants whose lives had been immortalised on the pages of The Book. What could be more exciting for a child whose contact with wildlife was restricted to wombats at the Sydney Zoo?

I had settled on the package offer of one night at the tented camp and a second night at the lodge. Our first activity would be an afternoon game drive. We arrived, rushed directly to the central area, and waited for the adventure to begin. A laid-back atmosphere and a general level of excitement led to inter-group bonding. "So?" said the woman seated next to me, "didn't you just love The Book?" Saved by the arrival of the game vehicle, I grinned, murmured something unintelligible and hopped on board. So did the woman and her friend, my family and an elderly Afrikaans couple.

We'd not driven for five minutes when the radio crackled: there had been an elephant sighting; we were on our way. We passed a watering hole. "Croc Pools," said our guide. There was an awed silence. "What happened at Croc Pools?" I said, "You haven't read the book!" hissed the elderly tannie alongside me. There was much clicking and tsking from the others. I felt like a pariah. My niece Zoe looked the other way. Soon, though, we had found part of the herd slowly making its way to a waterhole for a sundowner. "There's Nana," whispered the guide, "and, yes. over there. it's Frankie." "Oh my word," said one of the know-it-alls, "I can't believe it's the sisters - where is Mandla?" I'd had enough. I wanted in. "Where can I get a copy of The Book?" I muttered to the guide during our drinks break. "In fact, I'll take two."

By 6pm we were back, clutching our copies of The Elephant Whisperer. "Right," I instructed Zoe, "eat fast, go to your tent and read. You have until 5am. I expect you to at least have sorted out the main characters."

By the next morning, Zoe was on page 30, which meant that when she eventually met Lawrence Anthony and his gorgeous French wife Françoise later that day, she could honestly say, "I've read all about you." I had read somewhat further and was longing to once again see the characters that had now entered my imagination. I could link each elephant to a history and a context. The star of the show, of course, was Nana the matriarch, Anthony's beloved elephant who had bonded with him in the most fundamental way (read page 168 if you don't believe me).

The encounter that morning was different from any other game experience I've ever had: I was among stars, I'd gained admission to a celebrity gathering. I felt almost tearful.

By the time we got back to Durban, Zoe had reached page 110. A couple of weeks after she arrived back in Australia, I got a Facebook message to say she had finished The Book.

The Book, however, has not finished with her - some nights, she says, when it's very still, she can hear it whispering.