'Gentle' Giants

Wild Heritage is a complex of holiday homes on the banks of Lake Kariba, where I have been going on holiday with my family most of my life. Mornings in Wild Heritage, unless you have woken at dawn to go fishing, tend to be a warm and lazy affair. You are woken by the sun, or maybe by people splashing and shouting in the swimming pools next door, and often the smell of a fry-up is wafting from the kitchen. You can take a moment to laze in your bed and look out the window at the lake. Some mornings, when the water level is low and flood plains are exposed, you might see some zebra or impala grazing together.

However, quite a few years ago my indulgent morning was interrupted by a very unique, very loud sound, instantly recognisable – the angry and aggressive trumpeting of an elephant, accompanied by hysteric screams. I fumbled with my mosquito net, struggling to find the opening, and then tearing out onto the balcony once I was free. I was just in time to see two screeching ladies bolting down the dusty road, and in hot and furious pursuit behind them a fully-grown male elephant. People were crowded onto balconies, in doorways and in windows watching the chase. Most of us knew the elephant – he was a local in the Charara area, nicknamed Tusker and notorious for being bad-tempered and destructive. Aptly, his eyes were always red, and I glimpsed them as he sped past – and yes, he did speed. Despite their size, elephants are able to reach speeds of forty kilometres per hour and it is very difficult for the average human to outrun them. So, the dash past our lodges was soon over, leaving nothing but giant footprints, dust and excited chatter behind. I don’t know what happened to the ladies – I hope they managed to get inside a strong building.

People who have had few or no encounters with the world’s largest land mammal tend to have an illusion that they are beautiful, gentle giants. Beautiful and gigantic they certainly are, as well as highly intelligent, loyal and loving towards their families – my mum never gets tired of watching them, and I have a simple tattoo of an elephant on my ankle. The word ‘gentle’ however is not something that I associate with them – perhaps to each other, or to humans that they know – but really elephants are some of the most destructive creatures to walk the earth, and one thing that can certainly bring this out in them is the smell of citrus.

When entering any national park in Zimbabwe you will always see a sign to tell you NOT to bring any citrus fruit in. This is for very good reason, as I witnessed when I was a small child. The memories are a bit hazy but considering how young I was it is a testament to the event that I remember it at all.

Ironically, we were holidaying in a complex called Nzou, which is the Shona word for Elephant - next door to Wild Heritage. We were there with two other families, and one of them had a car called a Toyota Venture – a good child-carrying car in its day. That day it was carrying some oranges as well as children. One of the mothers was in the car with her two children with the rest of us standing around, when a large elephant approached the car. We must have been watching it eating grass or something and didn’t expect the sudden increase in proximity. Those of us who were outside all moved quietly and quickly into the house, but the lady and her children were still inside. Seemingly unaware of this, the elephant poked a tusk through the passenger window and the windscreen in one, shattering them in an instant. We were all silent. The staff who worked in the house were motioning to the three still in the car to get out, whilst the elephant investigated the front of the vehicle with its trunk. They were on the other side of the car to the animal, behind the driver’s seat. They opened the door, slid out and then walked very carefully around the back of the car and made a dash to the kitchen door.

So intent was the elephant on trying to reach the snack it had smelled, that it didn’t even seem to notice. They got out just in time – within the next few seconds, obviously frustrated that it could not find the zesty fruit, the enormous animal pushed the entire car onto its side. I’m sure there was a collective gasp from all of us. I don’t know where the oranges were being kept, perhaps inside a cooler box or the middle console of the vehicle, and I can’t even remember if the elephant finally managed to get at them or not. My last clear memory is of the car lying on its side, windscreen smashed and all of us peering through the rusty kitchen burglar-bars. I wonder what the owner of the car was thinking.