Elephant Stories

Kruger National Park. South Africa. We are on safari. We cross one of Kruger’s massive rivers, and over the steep bank we notice two elephants. Females. We look closer and there is a tiny elephant, laying on her side between one of the female’s legs, her mother. She is not moving. You can see the fuzz on her tiny grey body. The mother is digging sand around her and kicking it onto her. I hold my breath; brows furrowed and pray she is not dead. The mother nudges her with her foot, getting her enormous toes underneath the baby’s body and tries to prod her up. Her limp body just moves with her mother’s foot, flimsy, not showing any sign of life. After much nudging, and spraying of sand, finally, the baby flaps her ears. A soft pink color on the inside of the ear is revealed. She is alive. I am elated. 

Over the next twenty minutes we watch as the mother helps the baby to her feet. Watching a young elephant discover how to walk and use her trunk is amazing. The trunk is like a slinky on the end of her face and she swings it in the air and swirls it around like a toy. You imagine she is thinking, hey, what is this thing, this is fun. The baby watches her mother use her trunk to rip off leaves to eat, and she energetically swings her trunk into the air and tries to do the same. She wobbles on her feet and runs around, delighted with her new feet, legs, trunk, life. 

Another sighting.

Over 60 elephants are gathered in the river bank. They are cooling themselves drinking the water and spraying themselves with cool sand. The group is all ages and it’s an amazing assortment of sizes. The matriarch, an enormous female starts walking down stream. The terrain is steep, rocky and variable. All of the elephants follow, single file. They navigate the rocks, steep slopes and stay in line. There is an area of sand that slopes down. The first elephant approaches the top, looks down, and then gets on her back knees and slides down, literally. These 3 ton animals are sand sledding. It was incredible to watch and one could almost imagine a “yee-haw” coming out of their mouths. The mouth of an elephant naturally slants up, so its easy to imagine a smile. We sat in awe watching these enormous elephants at the top of the hill, bending to get on their back knees and then letting it rip down the hill.Well, you can only 'rip' so fast being so large, but in the grand scheme of things, it was ripping.

One of the baby elephants followed suit, and rather than sledding down nicely like the others, the steepness forced her into somersaults. The baby elephant rolled down, spiraling like a tire going down a hill, and at the bottom landed on her back with her legs flailing up in the air. One of the elephants saw this, trumpeted, and immediately, over six elephants were running over to help her. Literally. They surrounded the baby, nudged her over and up on her feet and the baby wobbled off in-line with the others. An amazing glimpse into the complex familial systems of elephants.

May the Light Shine

Nicolas was our night askari (guard) in Kenya. Tall, lanky, crooked teeth, brilliant smile. His job, guard the house—from 5pm to 6am. He sat in a tiny little shack, tiny, large enough to fit one chair. No light in the shack, but he still devoured any reading material I gave him; newspapers, magazines, books. 

I bought him once a solar lantern. It charged from the sun, and then when the power ran out, you can crank up the power with a handle. A few days later I noted that it was gone. When I asked him he explained that his home has no power, so he brought it there. Makes sense. 

Another time I gave him an LL Bean blue zip bag with a little handle, the kind you put toiletries in when you travel. When I presented the bag, he was delighted, said it was perfect for carrying his bible. And so he did. I would see him walking off in the morning, after a long night in the shack, carrying his little satchel, containing his bible.

Every evening I would bring him tea in a thermos. We’d check in. How’s the day? How’s the weather? When I asked how he was he would say ‘today, I have seen nothing bad.’ Translation: I am well. It was such a great response that always stopped me in my tracks. There it is. My day is fine. I have not seen anything bad. I struggle for food, water, I work the night shift. But today, I have seen nothing bad.

When I moved houses he was on leave; at home in Western Kenya. I did not get to say farewell, which was probably for the best, I am not certain what Nicolas would have done if he saw me crying.  I wrote him a message though telling him I was leaving. He wrote back:

"Hi,may light shines wherever ur.I still in house I never go home.your moving is my stress i'll now lost my friends.Pliz do not forget me,Sodger Nicholas."

Flying with a Maasai

We have chartered a small plane. We are with a member of Parliament, and elected officials looking at a vast area of land, in a remote location. We land for lunch. We eat in a small school, 150 students. The kids are in their green uniforms and excited about these guest that have landed from the air.  Once they get the courage up they yell “How are you?” “How are you?” “I am fine.” I hear it all the time and each time I find it adorable. I yell back “I am fine, how are you?!”

We meet and talk with landowners, and then we are to return south. A local Maasai who serves as a community liaison officer for conservation and community initiatives joins us in the plane. He is to be our guide as he knows the land better than the back of his hand. As we start taking off, I say to him “Please, just interrupt us anytime to point things out.” As I speak I notice he is bracing the chair. He is visibly shaking. We learn that he has never been in a plane before, let alone a small plane (10 seater.) He is absolutely terrified.

The woman next to me keeps saying to him “Poa,” which is slang for “Its all good.” This is in the language sheng, which is basically taking over Kenya, a slang that many adults cannot understand—strategic on behalf of the youth, but a concern of teachers. But back to the poor Maasai. Every time the plane dips or rises he lets out a little “ay.” He is breathing in and out like he is having a baby. Given that we are looking at particular parcels of land, we are banking steep turns, turning around and resurveying the area. Every time we dip left or right the “ay” gets louder, breathing faster. When the Maasai sing and talk they have a series of yelps, cries and short phrases such as “ay.” This poor man is using all of these expressions.

Long story short, we made it to the landing strip. He safely put his feet on the ground, and insisted that is it not normal to defy gravity and he will surely take the road next time.

Kafue National Park

We are in Zambia, Lusaka to be exact, the capital. We flew in from Zimbabwe after meetings in Harare. We are here to look at Kafue National Park, an enormous Park with little infrastructure and visitation. There is a lot of attention on this Park, interest by international donors (US Government, Norwegians) and we are providing advice on where and how the investment should be directed and how we can assist. As always, the questions revolve around making the Park self sustainable, generating income for the country and the surrounding communities and protecting the wildlife and ecosystem.

Zambia is one of the poorest countries in Africa. Although it seems many countries within which I travel says “one of the poorest.” The plight of Africa. The poorest, the most corrupt....however, there are so many stories of enormous success and growth in Africa, but that is not here, today in Zambia.

In the capital we meet with various donors, government officials and partners. There is a new President in Zambia, Sata, just elected, and so everyone is waiting to see what change will take place, if any. A transition time is always a fascinating time to be in a country. Early promises, statements. The old President is under investigation for corruption, his family detained at the border, his son is supposedly hiding out in Kenya...the usual stuff.

Most donors are waiting to see just how serious Sata (the new President) is about natural resource protection and conservation. Zambia’s economy is dependent upon: mining, agriculture and tourism. A smart approach would be proper planning that will enable the development of all three. You know, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. If tourism fails, you have agriculture, if you run out of minerals, you have tourism. If the new allocation of ministries is any indication, there is serious concern. For example, wildlife is within the Ministry of Broadcasting, Health and Wildlife. Makes really good sense, right? Seeing how Government’s divvy up their ministries is always a fascinating game of chess to watch. I will give you health, if you give me mining. Etc...  This is a major issue for a lot of countries. In Kenya for example, when a peace agreement was brokered, the number of Ministries doubled, each party wanted ample control over Ministries. So Kenya has 42 Ministries, which means 42 Ministries each with big, fat packages. This also means public health was separated from medicine. Environment was separated from forests, which was separated from wildlife. So, you can imagine how efficient things work. In Zambia, it was the same story.

After days of meetings in Lusaka we are ready to head west out of the city to Kafue National Park, but we are given a meeting with the new Minister of Tourism, at 2 pm. It is 4pm by the time we hit the road and make our way out of the city. Lusaka is a gritty, chaotic city. The usual blend of sky scrapers, tin shacks, houses, traffic, people, bikes. The road east is paved and we drive four hours the edge of the Park, stopping for petrol halfway, our last petrol stop for days. This main road cuts the Park into two parts. We spend the night at a lovely lodge off the main road that sits on the Kafue River. It is dark when we arrive, but you can hear the river and hippos. The warm breeze is welcoming, as is the noise of the bush.

We are heading to northern Kafue National Park, the Busanga Plains. The manager of the lodge says “Oh, it’s easy to get there, you just head north and you basically spill into the camp.” We should have known better. We do know better, but that morning, we were anxious to get there. We turn off the main road instantly, enter a “gate”—a stick resting on two barrels and head north. Now, a main road to someone who lives in the bush is quite different to someone who is visiting a place for the first time. The road is sandy and there are various spurs off the “main road”—we soon find ourselves saying, is this a T junction? Is this considered a turn? Our map is out of scale, and we are completely out of phone range—no network. The map shoes a rock outcrop, this looks like one? Yes? Should we turn around? 7 hours they told us. Well, we are heading north right? So we should spill into it...

It is hot. Very hot. The Tsetse flies are biting and it is an all out war in the Land Rover. The three of us smack each other hard with newspapers, everyone, anywhere is fair game if a Tsetse is on them. Never does it occur to us to roll up the windows and turn on the AC. Smack. Blood smears the windows and the newspapers.

Three gorgeous lionesses lay on the side of the road. They are laying in the shade, cooling off. We watch them for a while as they breathe in the warm air. They eventually, slowly get up and cross the road, and it is only then that we realize there are two males behind us.

We eventually reach the plains, what we guess are the Busanga Plains. Vast. Open. Awesome. Similar to the Serengeti in that they stretch as far as the eye can see. Given that there are no other vehicles (although we would have welcomed one to ask for directions), no cell reception, I feel far more remote than the Serengeti. We travel along the western edge of the plains, the tree line, hoping for some sign of the camp. Eventually, we run into a vehicle, mechanics for the camp, and we follow them along a curvy, windy route through the plains, which we frankly would have never found.

We eventually ‘spill’ into camp, and we are relieved after a solid 8 hours in the vehicle. The camp is run by Wilderness Safari, and it is a lovely camp. Four luxury tents in total. We are greeted with cold mint-ice tea, cool wash cloths and collapse in the safari couches overlooking the awesome plains.

We spend the next two days in the plains. They are unique, remote and magical. They flood half of the year. We drive at night and during the day. We see porcupines, cheetah, civets, cervals—the wildlife viewing is amazing. The bird life exceptional. We talk to camp owners, lodge managers and discuss where investment should be directed, poaching issues, how to increase revenue, how the wildlife authorities work with private investors etc...

At night the horizon is one fire, bush fires are a severe problem and it appears that the world is on fire. They are set mainly by poachers. One night at dinner, under the skies and with lanterns all around we see the flames. The wind is blowing. The camp manager (who looks like he is 18 years old) walks me back to my tent—you can’t walk alone at night because of wildlife, not sure what this 18 year old would do with a lion, but hey, these are the rules. I see the flames and ask if we should be concerned. He says no. As I go to sleep that night I try to comfort myself, thinking this kid, (yes, I am more than twice his age) certainly knows how the fire is moving and I have nothing to worry about. Ha. I am exhausted from the day, the sun, the heat, and the big, comfortable, soft bed quickly lulls me to sleep.

The next few days were drive out of the flats, though southern Kafue and to Livingstone to our office to meet with the team there and check on projects. Meanwhile the President of Zambia fired the board of the Wildlife Authority, saying they cared more about nature than people. Well, caring for wildlife is their job. A typical populist statement, but followed by the pardoning of 750 poachers from jail. The 90 Million USD that was going to Kafue was yanked and other donors have pulled back. We’ll see how the story continues to unfold, but not a good sign for Zambia’s protected area system and tourists in general. Rumour has it that the President years ago was detained for ivory. Who knows the real motivation for his current actions but hopefully his actions will change.

Little Eyes

Tiny Eyes: Kenya and Uganda

I take yoga classes at a Hindu Temple around the corner from the house. It is an impressive temple, large, ornate. It is on a lovely, green compound and is a gathering spot for the Indian community (the Asians as the Kenyans call them). People come and walk the grounds, pray, meet, eat. At night, when it gets dark, the lights shine on the pagodas, flags fly, chants fill the air—it’s another world. 

My yoga instructor is an Indian woman. While I only get to class every so often, I love it. It’s simple, but really hard. Make sense? The simplicity is the practice, the room, the dress. The teacher is in sweat pants and a t-shirt, no fancy yoga clothes, no new-age garble, just the practice. On this evening there are 14 of us, half men, mostly Indian. We start with a chant then lead into the practice. No talking, just practice, breath, move. She is tough, really tough. I am focused, wondering if my head can implode from the blood that is rushing down, wondering how I can hold a position for 20 breaths, trying desperately to not topple over and crush the person next to me, recommitting, as I always do, to come to class more often. Ha!

I am next to a tiny Indian man who is in his tennis whites, he is adorable. We catch each others' eyes every so often with a look of ‘good lord this is tough.’ Another man is two mats over and you would think he is having knee surgery with the grunts and cries he is letting out. It makes me smile, chuckle, which is good because I feel the way he sounds. 

There is a door in front of me, with a window that leads into other parts of the temple. Partway through class I notice there are two kids peeping through the window. Their eyes are just above the window pane. They laugh and watch, I smile. 

Their eyes bring me instantly to northern Uganda, to another pair of eyes. Northern Uganda, home of Joseph Kony. Until a few weeks ago, most people had never head the name Kony, but a video on him went viral (that is a whole other fascinating story). I was Kony’s region, Kidepo Valley, meeting with local government officials last month. We were sitting in an office with the local commissioner. Outside hundreds of people gathered, the World Food Program (WFP) was distributing food. Long lines of women patiently waiting while kids ran around and men lingered. This region has been riddled with war for decades. Driving up here you quickly notice there are no huts, no huts, no huts....drive....nothing, then all of a sudden you come upon a cluster of hundreds of huts, all very close. Security. This was their way of protecting themselves. Now that peace is settling across the region, slowly people are moving out of the villages to begin cultivation, farming, but it will take time. Signs on the street warn of land mines. “Don’t touch foreign objects” the signs say.

Back in the office we are talking about programs we may work on in this area. The commissioner sits at his big wooden desk and we are lined up in front of him, on wooden chairs. There is a big open window behind us and we can hear the commotion of the food distribution. In the widow are dozens of eyes. Children peep above the window pane and listen. They stare at my skin, hair and they watch eyes wide open. Across the room is a door that is open (it is hot and the breeze feels nice.) Kids, poor kids wearing filthy t-shirts, dresses, shorts peep around the door way to stare, to listen. They catch my eye, giggle, back away, then creep towards the door again. The commissioner says nothing, he lets them listen. He is a politician, he likes the audience. 

Cameroon

We have traveled from the border of Chad and Cameroon (northeast corner of Cameroon), to the border of Guinea and Cameroon (southwest corner of Cameroon). Night and day. Savannah, dry lands to tropical rainforest. Incredible diversity. Incredible country.

We started our trip by landing in Yaounde. West Africa is so very different than East Africa in many ways. People, language, attitudes, development, cultures etc... Standards are different. Of course it is Francophone, and my years and years of studying French slowly emerged from the cob webs of my memory. God knows what I am saying to people. But I love it, love trying, listening and learning. All our meetings are in French and I thought I was doing pretty well, until one meeting. We were talking about community development projects, how to enable communities to generate income to alleviate pressure on natural resources. I thought for sure they were talking about crocodile farming (yes, that does actually exist). I wrote down in my notes crocodile farming as a means for income generation. My Belgian colleague sitting next to me glanced over at my notes, smirked, nodded his head, leaned over and said “micro-credit program, not crocodile farming.” Crocodile farming...micro-credit program, clearly my French needs serious improvement.

We are here looking at new programs for the organization, savannah/Sahel ecosystems and tropical forests. We are submitting a bid for over 4 M Euro for a program in northern Cameroon with a European partner. I am traveling with three colleagues—a Belgian (who worked for us in Congo), a Dutch (who works for us in Burkina) and a Kenyan. We are joined by a German, another Belgian and Cameroonian.

I find cities like Yaoundé hard to describe. A bit run down, like many third world cities. Tall buildings, shacks, gritty streets, people, colours, music, fruit sold on the sidewalk—anything sold on the side walk. Traffic. Unlike Kenyans, Cameroonians are very forceful, loud, and boisterous. So life in the capital is dynamic. Men and women wear amazing colour print pants, dresses, and shirts. The Muslim wear colourful boo-boos, the long shirt, pants and caps. Our hotel is about $60 dollars a night. Air conditioning. It is filled. You have to bargain with the maid to get a towel—“c’est fini” she says, shrugs her shoulder and walks away. While the service is nothing to write home about, one of best things about West Africa is the French influence left behind fantastic baguettes and croissants. So you can stay at a bland hotel, but when you are served a warm croissant in the am you forget that your hotel room had no toilet seat.

We fly north to Garua, a bustling town. Air Cameroon. I was impressed with the new plane and efficient timing. However, we had the worst landing I have ever had in Africa—as if the pilot woke up while landing. It was basically a nose dive and the sound of the plane hitting the pavement would have woken a hibernating bear. So much for being impressed. We are picked by a Belgian man who operates a lodge in Boubba’ndjidda National Park, right on the border of Chad. “Bonjour, ca’va?” I ask. He tells me he is not so good, 27 elephants have been poached in the last three days. A massacre. South Sudanese, jinjaweed, 50 poachers, on horseback, with Kalashnikov riffles. The Park staff is 7. They are not armed. They do not have a chance. Over the next four days we stay in the Park 12 more are shot. Since we have returned over 150 more have been poached.

The Park Authorities and government leaders have little ability to respond. There is no communication in the field, access is difficult, weapons are few and vehicles minimal. Building their capacity is key to conservation and economic success. We are discussing this, Park viability and sustainability, coordination with Chad, an anti-poaching unit and program, and community development programs.

One day met the Chief of the region. Across Africa we work with various traditional leaders, but this was like none I had ever met. He is important and very influential, and rules over a vast area. He can pick the phone up and speak to the President. (Cameroon has had the same President for 30 years.) The Chief (called the Lamido) lives in a palace, surrounded by tall, sand-stone, Adobe walls, that surround the 5 hectare compound. As we enter, after being summoned, there are people on their knees, wearing long white boo-boos, in honour, praise of the Lamido. As he walks, everyone gets on their knees. He is a very sharp and an engaging man. We discuss the region, the issues, the problems and potential solutions. He is appreciative that we have come to see him and he gives us a goat. This is a first. Usually we bring elders and chiefs goats, but here, he gave us one. The poor goat was tied up in the back of our pick up for a three hour drive after we left. I am not sure what happened to the goat, and am pleased I did not have to eat him, but I am fully confident that he was put to some sort of use, nothing gets wasted in rural Africa.

One of the major issues in this region is the movement of people and livestock from the surrounding countries of Chad, Nigeria and Central African Republic. Hundreds of thousands of people move through these landscapes with livestock seeking better grazing lands, water and access to markets. This increases conflict with people and wildlife and is a difficult issue to tackle. There are “trans-humance corridors”--human corridors that are designed to help facilitate the movement of people across vast lands and to reduce conflict, but these are very difficult to enforce. Chad, Cameroon and Nigeria have a treaty that prohibits any country from limiting the movement of pastoralists. As the Sahara and Sahel continue to move south due to warming patterns and desertification, more and more people are moving, which creates more conflict. Combine population increase and conflicts within neighbouring countries, and the space becomes more confined thereby escalating the problem. People often do not see the direct and obvious correlation between a decrease in natural resources (water, grazing lands) with conflict, serious conflict.

On these trips we meet with local authorities, ministers, traditional authorities, community members, private investors (tourism and hunting concessions), donors (French, EU, on this trip), partnering NGOs...it’s always fascinating.

From the dry north, we made our way through Yaoundé for more meetings, then hopped into a 25-year old yellow Toyota taxi to the coast of Cameroon, the town of Kribi—three hour drive. The roads are pretty good, paved. People sell bushmeat on the side of the road. The beach is lovely, water warm, fantastic fresh fish and a great place for relaxing as well as seeing turtles and other marine species. I am grateful for the couple hours of down time we have on the beach, it feels good to stop and decompress for a little. A deep sea port is being developed just south of Kribi, which will have a significant impact on the town. At night the off-short rigs are bright. Oil comes in from Chad; Exxon won the contract over a French company. Cameroon also has oil. The Chinese (surprise, surprise) are building the port and other infrastructure.

From Kribi we travelled south in a small 4x4 to Campo M’aan, a tropical forest, National Park located on the border with Guinea. Soldiers line the border. They kick back on chairs, some of them sucking on sachets. You know the juice pouches kids drink, the silver ones, with a straw? Well, picture that but filled with whiskey. They are cheap and easily purchased. These were banned in Kenya. Dangerous.

On the way to Campo town we pass pygmy people selling bark for medicine, vast forest on fire—slash and burn practices, and villages dotted across the landscape. The Park has gorillas and chimps and I can’t believe I am in such close proximity to these amazing mammals and will not be able to see them. The forest is so thick that you would not see an elephant 10 feet into the forest. Chimps and gorillas in an area like this with high bushmeat poaching are very skittish, and stay clear of humans. There is a habituation program underway for the gorillas in an effort to encourage tourism.

We visit park authorities, discuss development programs with partners. 200,000 people visit Kribi every year, but less than 150 come to the Park. There is enormous potential. On our way out of the Park its sounds like an explosion under the car. The shank holding the wheels together breaks. Always an adventure. Fortunately we are about 5km from the town. The car crawls into town. We pull up to a mechanic who has a welder. He confirms that he has welded this piece, on this exact car together before. No problem he says. 30 minutes. In Africa usually 30 minutes, means 3 hours, could be 3 days. Shockingly, the car gets fixed and we make our way back to Kribi for some dinner and sleep.

Back to Yaoundé. Our last night we have dinner with a Belgian who is managing a hunting concession. A character, full of stories and ideas. Cameroon has incredible diversity and potential. Mountains, forest, oceans, rivers, savannah. It will be interesting to see how their story unfolds and hopefully we will have a hand in its development.

Baby Lion in Masai Mara

Is there anything cuter than a baby lion... I took these in the Masai Mara, southern Kenya. The last photo is a baby leopard. There were three of them on top of this large boulder, rumbling and playing. Absolutely adorable. You can blow them up by clicking on the.