Love, Life, and Elephants
Page 13
We were soon on to the next experiment, which involved assembling a collection of elephant food plants. Specimens of each were pressed and sent for analysis to the Scientific Research Centre in Kabete, outside Nairobi, where Dr Phil Glover, a botanist who was incredibly encouraging of David’s research, set up a file for each plant species. Samson and Fatuma were an invaluable resource for this research. During the course of one full day David walked with them, monitoring and collecting everything they selected to eat from the moment they left their night stockades, until dusk when they returned. We were astounded that Samson browsed sixty-four different plant species during the course of that one day, and only devoted four hours and twenty-two minutes to purposes other than feeding! To finish off the experiment, we also collected and weighed the output of Samson’s eating, and it took me some time to shake off the smell of the rather fruity paper bags containing all the elephant ‘balls’.
David was interested to know how long food took to pass through an elephant’s gut, so for that experiment we fed Samson a large quantity of oranges. Oranges were his favourite titbit and he gobbled them up greedily, one after the other. We had not anticipated quite such a long vigil, for the first orange took eleven hours to appear in Samson’s droppings, expelled in a very neat half, and the last one did not appear until a full nineteen hours later! This, combined with an analysis of the protein passed in elephant dung, prompted a discussion on the surprising inefficiency of an elephant’s digestive tract.
One of the qualities I admired most in David was that he never expected anyone to do anything that he could not do himself, and his proficiency and competence in every aspect of his work was awe-inspiring, his research findings contributing to reliable and valuable data about Tsavo’s biodiversity. In between gathering evidence from the elephant population, he also managed to find time to compile a checklist of all the birds of the Park, before adding rodents. This entailed night sorties to capture rare nocturnal species for documentation, so exciting mouse hunts after dark became the norm. Unusual specimens were kept alive in boxes of earth on the back verandah of his house, where they could establish their underground tunnels and nests and become the subject of more prolonged scrutiny. Looking after the rodents was added to my list of tasks until such time as they were set free again. Jill and I would do the rounds of the boxes daily to tend to them, giving each a story. Her growing imagination was very attuned to the inner working of the lives of animals.
Nor did David stop there. The office was becoming crowded with frogs, snakes and insects, of which my police prosecutor colleague, ‘Chillicracker’ Childs, was outspokenly disapproving: ‘Things are crowded enough around here without boxes of bloody rats, jars of frogs, bags of puff adders and flies stuck on pins in the drawers!’ he moaned. Meanwhile, David was making new discoveries. He found a soft tick known to carry relapsing fever in a warthog burrow far from any human settlement; a rare species of free-tailed bat with a dead flat head, never before recorded in East Africa but known in Egypt; and a small tree-frog, new to science, which was named Hyperolius sheldricki in his honour, as was a red mite. Such was David’s passion for chronicling the life of the Park that we were often visited by experts who came to share his research expeditions. Alex Duff-Mackay of the Coryndon Museum (now the National Museum of Kenya) was a regular visitor as the first tropical rainstorm heralded the end of another long dry season. As he came up the path to the office in his signature long green wading boots, ‘Chillicracker’ would mutter disparagingly, ‘Oh my God, here comes the frog man!’
Rain – and we had two rainy seasons a year, the unpredictable long rains in April/May and the more reliable short rains in October/November – literally woke up Tsavo’s rich diversity of frog-life, which rejoiced with a vigorous cacophony that filled the night with croaks, squeaks, chirrups and chirps. My favourite were the tree-frogs, whose voices sounded like a thousand tinkling bells. Alex’s arrival meant nights sloshing around in waterholes and puddles trying to catch some of the more interesting species and record their specific calls. Giant bullfrogs emerged only occasionally, in response to exceptionally and unusually heavy rain. They plopped around inundated stretches of land with a loud splash, frenzied in their feeding as their cavernous mouths barbed with ferocious teeth voraciously gobbled up whatever was in their path, be it other frogs, small rodents, snakes, or even huge scorpions which protested with repeated stings from their lashing tails as they were on their way down. When David presented me with ‘Edward’ and asked me to oversee his feeding in an elaborate custom-built enclosure with a pond and everything else a bullfrog could wish for, I declined, backed up by ‘Chillicracker’, who simply enquired of David: ‘Are you bonkers?’
A very interesting visitor was the famous herpetologist C. J. P. Ionides, who made David’s collection of snakes look like those of an inexperienced amateur. ‘Iodine’, as he was affectionately called, was a colourful eccentric, utterly fearless and remarkable in the pursuit of his beloved snakes. In fact he was so passionate about them that he would allow himself to be bitten, sit down to record how he felt, and, when it looked as though he was going under, give himself a shot of snake serum and continue the notes about his recovery. He could whittle out a snake from the most unlikely places, often uncomfortably close at hand. Within half an hour of arriving at the Park, he would be off at a brisk pace with his snake-catching gear – his conical felt hat tipped at a jaunty angle, a cigarette hanging from his mouth – poking about in the bushes outside the office, popping boomslangs and spitting cobras into bags. He unnerved ‘Chillicracker’ more than any other visitor we hosted, much to my amusement.
It was just after David found a rare and beautiful pinkish snake of the ramphiophis family, which Iodine deemed unusual enough to be sent off to the museum in Nairobi, that the anti-poaching campaign entered its final phase. It had come to light that there was a large cache of ivory at Ushingu, north-east of the Park boundary, and under Bill’s command the Voi Force was sent to the area to take a closer look. The country was waterless and featureless, and the heat stifling, so finding elephant skeletons in the endless clumps of thickets was no easy matter. However, from experience Bill knew what to tell his men: ‘Look under any broken candelabra trees,’ he said. The weight of the vultures waiting atop for other predators to disperse having taken their share invariably flattened the soft top of these euphorbias.
After days of searching in difficult and dangerous conditions, involving aggressive elephants and lions confronted at close quarters, the grisly remains of a poacher’s corpse were found, in addition to uncovering over fifty old hideouts, the carcasses of 381 dead elephants and recovering ninety-two tusks.
Following this, David decided to deploy all three anti-poaching units in an area known as Dadimabule, halfway between the Galana and Tana rivers. Once more conditions were hazardous, but again the results of the search were staggering: 352 tusks, totalling 6,604lb of ivory, plus a further 1,589lb of butts and other bits and pieces strewn around in the bush. In all 1,280 elephant carcasses were found, with close on 200 tiny corpses lying beside their slain mothers. It was disturbing to reflect on them, grief-stricken and orphaned, their soft petal ears frazzling painfully to wafer-thin parchment in the scorching Tsavo sun, crying helplessly for a mother who in her dying moments knew all too well the fate that awaited her calf – the terror of lonely isolation and eventual death by dehydration and starvation, or a violent end as a meal for a lion.
In all, an overwhelming 25,719lb of ivory was recovered during the anti-poaching campaign, all of which would be sold at the annual ivory auction in Mombasa to more than cover the costs of the three-year operation. For David this huge amount of ivory served to justify the stern measures he had masterminded to combat the illegal poaching, for a slaughter on this scale could not be left unchecked. There was, however, a negative spin-off from the campaign, for having made the Park more secure for elephants, many more were coming in from outlying areas, especially from places where t
he human population was expanding. It was becoming obvious from our travels around the Park that the elephants were responsible for large-scale destruction of vegetation through their feeding habits and travel patterns. I had seen stretches of the Park near sources of permanent water that were beginning to resemble a battlefield, with twisted debris – mainly of the commiphora myrrh tree – littering the ground and only a few unscathed trees left standing. We had even witnessed Samson and Fatuma making their own contribution, especially after rain, when they became positively exuberant, trumpeting excitedly as they raced around downing every commiphora in sight below the office, a sort of off-Broadway enactment of what was happening on a grander scale out in the Park. Broken and mutilated trees were fast becoming the hallmark of Tsavo East and calls for action were starting to appear in the press: ‘Too many elephants! Something must be done!’ The press had covered the anti-poaching campaign in largely sympathetic tones, so talk now of over-population and irreversible habitat degradation as a result was an acute embarrassment. We were terrified that we would be made to follow the pattern of the South Africans, who ‘culled’ their elephants on an annual basis in order to keep the population at a fixed level and, so as not to waste the resource, processed them in meat factories for sale as pet food. Should this happen in Kenya, how could we possibly explain to the poachers a sudden necessity for having to kill large numbers of elephants when they themselves had been denied doing so?
The anti-poaching campaign closed on a fitting accolade for David, who was awarded the MBE in the Queen’s Birthday Honours of 13 June 1959. Even more significant than this, however, was the sudden surrender of none other than the legendary poacher Galogalo Kafonde himself, who strode into the Malindi police station and asked to be taken to Bwana Saa Nane. He arrived at Park Headquarters handcuffed and under police guard, and yet I could see at once that he had about him the same tangible aura of authority that characterized David. It seemed he was disillusioned, tired of being constantly hounded, and wanted to pay his penalty and live in peace. And as he answered David’s questions simply and with quiet truth, I was struck by his inner conviction. At the end of one session he fixed his steadfast gaze on David and said, ‘The elephants are finished. Rich people wanting more and more are responsible. Like you, I fear the demise of the elephants, for they are at the core of our culture and our daily lives. Always the Waliangulu have lived among elephants and have hunted them honourably as true men, only targeting large bulls and never killing cow elephants or their babies. Now “others” who do not care about them kill them clumsily for mere gain. I want no part of that and I swear I will never hunt an elephant again.’ David replied simply, ‘I believe you.’ From that day to this, no Waliangulu tribesman has ever been found poaching in the Tsavo National Park.
Towards the end of 1959, with poaching within the Park and its immediate environs now under control, it was time for the two Game Department units, Makindu and Hola forces, to be disbanded and for colleagues to return to normal duties. The farewell party at the Voi Hotel was the usual riotous event, but despite the revelry there was a thread of sadness running through the evening. We had forged unlikely friendships and strong bonds during the campaign, overcoming adversities, experiencing highs and lows together, and it was with deep regret that we parted. I was especially fond of ‘Chillicracker’, with whom I had shared an office for so long and who, as the recipient of many practical jokes, had been such a good sport. He returned to police duties only briefly before leaving for England and regretfully our paths never crossed again. I have thought of him down the years and wondered if he knew of the legacy of his work, the tangible contribution he had made to the conservation of the elephant population of Tsavo that lives on today.
Now that the campaign was over, David had to decide how best to employ senior members of the anti-poaching team. David requested that my brother Peter now be officially put in charge of the northern area, where a rustic but very attractive cottage was being erected on the slopes of Ithumba Hill. Here, a crystal-clear spring provided a good source of permanent water, and the view across to Kimathena Massif, which marked the Park’s northernmost boundary, was spectacular. Peter would be in control of the ongoing development of the northern area, the custodian of some of my most favourite corners of Tsavo, as well as the giant elephants of the Tiva sand river. Like David, he had the challenge of taming the region yet keeping it wild, and I knew Peter would apply the meticulous standards of perfection that he had inherited from our father. I was very fond of my brother and was pleased he had been given this opportunity. While he was popular and outgoing on the surface, inside he was more unsure and introverted and I felt proud that he had achieved this promotion.
That was Peter taken care of, but what of Bill – and by extension Jill and myself? One clear-skied morning David came into the office and handed me a note. He asked me to type it up and send it to the National Park’s director, Mervyn Cowie. This is what it said:
I have been given a lot of credit for the anti-poaching work in the National Parks Annual Report and I feel very much of it is undeserved. I would like to point out that any successes we have so far achieved in the field have been mainly due to the efforts of Bill Woodley. He has been quite tireless in his efforts to break the poaching racket and has infected everyone in the field with his enthusiasm. He has gone to endless trouble to obtain information and to get to know the country in which the poachers operate. The methods used by Bill and the forces under his command were adopted without question by the two other forces engaged in anti-poaching with spectacular results. His knowledge of the Waliangulu people is unrivalled and his advice invariably sought by the other Force Commanders when dealing with the Waliangulu. In view of this, I should be grateful if tribute could be paid to his work as I am anxious that his part in the campaign should be duly recognized.
It was. When Colonel Cowie came to Tsavo East to congratulate all who had contributed to the success of the campaign, he singled Bill out and offered him promotion – the job of Warden in charge of the Aberdare and Mount Kenya National Parks. As Bill shook his hand and people around us smiled, I felt the blood drain from my face. Nyeri was some 300 miles away. Living there would mean leaving Tsavo and David and my mind was in turmoil, even though I was proud that Bill’s contribution to the success of the anti-poaching campaign had been recognized. But at that moment, I felt as though my heart would break. I slipped quietly from the room and, once outside, fled in disarray.
I needed to be entirely alone to martial my thoughts in the solitude of a wild place. I only had to walk a short distance before the nyika engulfed me. Sitting at the foot of a gnarled old commiphora tree, I wrestled with the dilemma that now confronted me until I ran out of tears and my jumbled thoughts began to cohere. I knew that it would not be fair to Bill to live a lie, for I would never be able to erase David from either my heart or my mind, but at the same time I was deeply aware of the stigma attached to divorce at that point in time, for it turned one into a social pariah and impacted on all who were close. David had always made it clear that he would never contemplate marriage again, so I could not expect a future with him, however passionately I felt. But at the same time guilt assailed me, for were I to leave Bill, Jill would be deprived of her father. Moreover, she and I would have to move to Nairobi so that I could take on secretarial work to cover our expenses. I knew that I would not be able to depend on Bill for help in this connection.
The thought of having to go back to work in Nairobi terrified me, for I could not imagine either Jill or myself in a city environment. Tsavo was our spiritual balm and I longed to live here for ever alongside the man who was undoubtedly my soulmate. How could I bring myself – even for the sake of my precious daughter – to turn my back on Tsavo and David in order to endure a union that had grown as cold as the mists of the high altitude where we would now be expected to live?
And then, with a clarity that startled me, I knew that I had to make a break, whatever the cost. I woul
d return to my family, find a job in Nairobi, settle Jill into school and get on with life, returning to Tsavo from time to time whenever I could. By now darkness had fallen without me even being aware of the passage of time, and I knew I must get back to Jill. I heard a soft footfall beside me and instinctively I knew that it was David. Confused and embarrassed, I buried my face in my hands and began to sob all over again. His voice was gentle: ‘Daphne,’ he said, ‘it’s for the best. Your future is with Bill and Jill, not here in Tsavo with me. In time you’ll forget that I ever existed and I know you will grow to love the mountains, just as you did Tsavo.’
I was aghast, my dreams shattered: ‘How did you know I was here?’ I spluttered through the onslaught of tears. ‘Go away! I hate you!’ But David took me in his arms, holding me against his chest, and as he stroked my hair, he murmured: ‘It would be easier for us both if you did.’ His bush jacket smelled of tobacco and soap. Desperately I clung to him, but he untangled my arms and took me back to his house, where he handed me a brandy. When I felt calmer, he drove me home, apologizing to Bill for keeping me so late.
Back at home, dishevelled and desolate, I sat down on the sofa. Bill sensed at once that I was in some sort of crisis. He said, ‘Talk to me, Daphne. We must sort ourselves out,’ and somehow I found the courage to tell him what I had in mind – that I would not be coming to Nyeri with him but instead wanted a divorce. For a moment Bill looked away, but then he told me that he had known for some time that my affections lay elsewhere and he blamed himself, as he had been no angel. We talked late into the night, especially about Jill, and then about our plans for the future. We decided we would carry on pretty much as normal until the time came to leave Tsavo and that meanwhile, I would break the news to my family. We spoke without bitterness or recrimination, understanding the bond of friendship that existed between us and how necessary this decision felt. I could only think how lucky I was that Bill was so stoic and dignified. In fact his acceptance of our separation not only lessened the trauma for Jill but also cemented an enduring, lifelong friendship between us. As sleep eluded me later that night, I thought of Granny Webb and how much I missed her – she had predicted this outcome, but I knew she would have counselled me wisely on the uncertain next stage of my life.