Insight: Wild things

Françoise Malby-Anthony shares lessons learnt from 'An Elephant In My Kitchen'

After acclaimed conservationist and bestselling author Lawrence Anthony died, his wife, Françoise, faced the heavy responsibility of running Thula Thula, the KwaZulu-Natal game reserve he had founded. As a chic Parisienne she had never expected to live on a game reserve in Africa, let alone manage one...

19 August 2018 - 00:00 By FRANÇOISE MALBY-ANTHONY

I walked into the lounge of my home at Thula Thula and almost tripped over my dogs Gypsy, Gin and Jeff. Gin immediately trotted up to me, hoping for a snack, but his timing was a bit off. It was 9pm and dinner was over.
"The thing about you, Gin, is you only love me for my food."
He wagged his tail in agreement. My Labrador Jeff lifted his head and gave a lazy growl. Seconds later there was a sharp knock on the door. I frowned. Surprise visitors are unusual at night in the bush. I opened the door cautiously and was astonished to see my chef Tom Xulu.
"Quick! There's a baby ellie outside your house," she said.
I froze, knowing exactly which calf it was. ET's one-week-old daughter. The night before, my tented camp manageress had reported seeing her inside the electric perimeter fence but both she and the guard had assured me that the calf was back with her mother. They had clearly been wrong.
I huddled my dogs into the bedroom while Tom told me how she had shone her torch across the lawn to investigate a strange noise. A tiny elephant had stared back at her, eyes bulging in terror.
An abandoned calf is a code-red emergency. And this little one had been alone for a dangerous length of time. I had been concerned when the night guard had explained that he saw the calf running towards the sound of branches breaking near Tent 1 but hadn't actually witnessed her reunion with ET, but elephants are fantastic mothers and would never leave a baby unattended, especially not a newborn, so I had assumed she was safe.Which goes to show how dangerous assumptions are because here we were, almost a day later, and the calf was still alone. It was now extremely urgent to get her back to her mother. Tom and I found her cowering behind a mulberry bush. The minute she saw us, she trumpeted in panicked shrieks and bolted away. Others came to help but she wouldn't let anyone near her.
I scanned the bush around the house. Where was the herd? They must have heard her cries by now. Had their matriarch Frankie decided to reject her because there was something wrong with her? It was a terrifying thought.
I phoned my reserve manager Vusi Gumede for help. He didn't answer so I left a message. I tried one of our game rangers, Promise Dlamini. No reply. Then I remembered both men were off duty and only due back the next day. Now what?
It's times like this that I miss Lawrence desperately and feel so alone. He would have known exactly what to do. My phone rang. Vusi. Thank God.
"We're on our way. Keep her safe," he said.In the meantime, our rhino orphan carer Alyson McPhee and Tom had managed to corner the calf in the garden. She stood completely still, head down, ears drooping, eyes flitting about anxiously.
This time she didn't run off when I approached her and we managed to coax her inside. She ran through my kitchen in frenzied zigzags, trumpeting in fear. I talked to her nonstop, promising her we would get her back to her mum that night.
Next challenge was feeding her. I had no baby elephant formula on hand. We phoned our vet, who said the priority was to hydrate her, even with cow's milk.
"It'll probably give her diarrhoea but it's better to get something into her than nothing at all," he said.
The problem was how. Alyson came up with the brainwave of turning latex gloves into makeshift bottles by using a needle to pierce a tiny hole in the glove's thumb. We were thrilled when the calf latched immediately and gulped down one glove-bottle after the other, gazing at us with gratitude and trust.
Thirst quenched, she began to inspect us, surfing her inquisitive trunk all over us before quietly dozing off, as babies do when their tummies are full and they feel secure. I sat next to her with my legs against her in case she woke up frightened.We were in constant radio contact with Vusi, who had hauled every ranger out of bed. I was flummoxed that the elephants didn't seem to be looking for the calf. What was going on?
I examined the baby carefully. No wounds, no swellings, no obvious deformities. She was a perfect little elephant. If Frankie and ET hadn't abandoned her deliberately, why weren't they at the fence, trumpeting to have her back?
Long after midnight, the radio crackled.
"We found them!" Vusi said. "They're near the pipeline."
Now for the real test. What if ET refused to have her back? Or worse, became violent? I'd heard of cases of baby elephants being trampled to death after being rejected by their herd.
"I'll bring the truck to your door so we can load her up," Vusi said.
Alyson and Tom prepared a fresh glove-bottle in case our sleeping beauty panicked when we woke her up, but she wasn't the slightest bit bothered to find herself surrounded by worried humans.
I heard the rattle of the bakkie on the dirt track, followed by two quick hoots. Vusi and Promise had arrived.
"What's the plan?" I asked them.
"Siya will go off in a separate vehicle to keep track of the herd then Promise and I will release her close to them and stick around to make sure they take her back."Approaching a herd with a baby was a dangerous operation in daylight, but in the dark it bordered on madness.
Tom insisted on joining the rangers, as did Alyson. I wasn't happy about the risk they were taking but they insisted. These plucky young women only cared about helping to reunite mother and baby. How could I stop them?
The men lifted the calf onto the truck and her trunk wriggled wildly at all the interesting new smells. Vusi took the wheel and the others clambered onto the back with the calf. They did their best to persuade her to lie down, but no, siesta time was over and she had every intention of enjoying her adventure, even giving a couple of happy trumpets for good measure.I waved them off with dread in my heart and couldn't stop thinking about Lawrence. It felt as if he had left with Vusi and the rangers and would be coming back in a few hours to tell me what had happened. I let Jeff, Gin and Gypsy out of the bedroom and they ran around the kitchen, sniffing everywhere, staring at me with accusing eyes as if to say, what happened here?
Siya Mbatha and his team reported that the elephants were heading south so Vusi immediately drove to a clearing that they were likely to traverse. Siya kept tracking the herd's progress and radioed updates to Vusi.
"They're almost there. Stand by."
Everyone knew the danger but no-one backed out. Sensing the tension, the calf lay down and began to suckle her blanket for comfort.
"Expect visual on the herd in five," Siya radioed.
"Time to offload the calf!" Vusi called.
They lowered her onto the ground and formed a ring around her to stop her from running off too soon. The clatter of breaking trees became louder. The herd was nearby.
The team leapt back onto the truck and began to drive away. The calf trumpeted in bewilderment and wobbled after them.
This was bad. Very bad.
Vusi stopped, beckoned for another Land Cruiser to take Alyson and Tom to safety, then he and Promise reversed back to the calf. Promise jumped off and crouched next to her, scanning the darkness for the approaching elephants.
The calf snuggled against him.The herd broke cover, with our dominant bull Mabula, Frankie and ET in the lead. Vusi pushed the gears into first, Promise gritted his teeth and stayed put.
ET skidded to a standstill right in front of their 4x4, ears pinned back, breath ragged. Promise edged away. ET glared at him. He took another step back. They stared at each other. His eyes dropped to the calf: she's all yours. Her trunk curled over her daughter and pulled her under her belly.
"Time to go," Vusi said in a low voice.
ET trumpeted loudly and pushed her daughter into the middle of the herd where a tangle of loving trunks welcomed her back. Promise vaulted onto the vehicle and the men sped off.
So far so good. But we couldn't relax until we had seen the calf suckle.
The next morning, every 4x4 on the reserve was out looking for her. Vusi headed to Mkhulu Dam with Siya.
"Herd's here. No baby," he radioed.
I groaned in despair. Had she been killed?
He manoeuvred closer, binoculars trained on the herd.
"I've got eyes!"
"Eish, she's suckling," I heard Siya say...

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