Love, Life, and Elephants

by Dame Daphne Sheldrick

  The piglet’s leg healed and, apart from a slight limp, Grunter – as I subsequently named her – grew up to lead a normal wild life and, in fact, became one of the main players in the ongoing warthog drama which taught me a great deal, revealing many things about warthog life unknown then to the scientific world. The drama involved the ‘Ever Hopefuls’, another family comprising a mother pig, her four piglets and a daughter from the previous litter chosen to be the nanny. Warthogs give birth to only four piglets at a time, and for the first three weeks of life they hide their babies away, their presence given away only by the mother’s elongated nipples. What I didn’t know was that as soon as babies are brought out of hiding, they immediately become the target of infanticide by all other warthogs in the area. Despite her slight handicap, Grunter displayed a sinister cunning in attempting to exterminate every new generation of the Ever Hopefuls, hiding in ambush and bursting out to seize, slaughter and eat one of the newborn piglets. Such cannibalistic tendencies came as a somewhat distressing surprise. I knew that as omnivores, pigs like meat as a small supplementary part of their mainly vegetarian diet, but I really didn’t know that it included eating babies of their own species!

  I came to understand that an inexperienced first-time mother is at risk of losing most, if not all, of her litter. However, like domestic pigs, warthogs are extremely clever, and more experienced mothers only expose their babies at a time when there are not many other pigs around. The tiny piglets soon learn that in order to survive they must run in tight circles, which the adult pigs find difficult to negotiate. Assuming they can avoid being murdered during the first few weeks of exposure, things soon settle down and the new piglets become accepted as part of the resident warthog community. Second time around, the wiser mother will select one of her litter, normally a female, to act as nanny to the next litter, to help protect and rear her mother’s new babies. How the nanny is chosen and her subsequent devotion to the task she has been allotted remains one of nature’s most intriguing mysteries. The nanny will even sacrifice her own life protecting her mother’s piglets from others, yet her immediate siblings will be among those bent on infanticide. Once the nanny is mature and ready to breed herself, she will synchronize her heat with that of the mother so that they both give birth to four piglets around the same time. They then share all the offspring, cross-suckling them and caring for them as if their own. Should one of them fall victim to a predator, the other adult will take over all the piglets.

  I named the Ever Hopefuls’ nanny ‘Little Ever Hopeful’, and the mother ‘Fat Ever Hopeful’, and I watched as they successfully reared several litters of piglets and, with my assistance, managed to avoid Grunter. But then disaster struck. One day Little Ever Hopeful appeared in a pitiful state with a wire snare tight around her snout. With the help of Mwangangi we managed to throw a blanket over her head so that the snare could be removed, but in the meantime Fat Ever Hopeful had taken seven of the eight piglets out of their burrow and run into a pride of lions not far from my house. Later bloodstains on the ground remained the only evidence of the tragedy, since the lions had either devoured or carried off the entire family. Meanwhile, Little Ever Hopeful, relieved of the snare around her snout, returned to the resident burrow where the runt of the litter, Tom Thumb, was still in hiding. In due course she appeared with him, whereupon Grunter did her utmost to do him in, but with some help from us he managed to survive and grew up to be both a fine boar and the constant companion of Little Ever Hopeful, his mother.

  When she gave birth again there was no female nanny to call on, so Tom Thumb stood in – albeit reluctantly – something I found extraordinary, since normally males were extremely aggressive towards any newborn piglets. There were many amusing occasions when we could see that he did not exactly relish this new role; days when he quite obviously had second thoughts and would leave the piglets to try to follow his peers, but he would hesitate, turn back and resume his nanny duties, tolerating an exuberant welcome back from his adoring litter – with high-pitched squealing and grunting as they clustered around nuzzling him.

  During my writing assignment for the Wildlife Clubs I had to read many scientific papers, and due to my first-hand field experience I discovered that some of the content was definitely flawed. I attributed this to the fact that science precluded researchers from interpreting animal behaviour in an ‘anthropomorphic’ way, and as such they came up with complicated explanations as to why an animal was behaving in a certain way, when, in fact, the answer was pretty simple. One simply had to compare it to the likely response of the human animal if subjected to the same set of circumstances.

  Just before he died, David had cooperated with Simon Trevor in making a documentary to highlight the extent of the poaching menace in Tsavo. Simon had been one of our assistant wardens but had since become a documentary maker. Now Somali ‘Shifta’ gangs armed with AK 47s were gunning down entire elephant herds within Tsavo, one of the victims our precious orphan Bukanezi, who died alongside sixty other wild elephants slaughtered en masse in the Voi River Valley, not far from the Voi Park Headquarters. I was even more upset to learn that Eleanor was being driven to the roadside and made to stand beside the busy tourist routes so that her corrupt keepers could extract rewards from passing tourists. Tsavo, like all National Parks, was fast becoming a ‘no-go zone’. Tourism had all but evaporated as the situation became more desperate.

  To Simon, and to those of us who cared about Tsavo, there seemed just one course of action left and that was to sensitize the new President, Daniel Arap Moi, to the catastrophe that was unfolding on a daily basis. We knew, of course, that Simon’s film, Bloody Ivory, would be controversial, since it highlighted the failings of the new Government department in charge of wildlife, but we also knew it was our duty to reveal what was taking place and that David would expect no less of us. With help from Richard Leakey, who was then in charge of the National Museums and knew President Moi personally, an interview was arranged at State House.

  Simon had kindly agreed that his film be the fledgling David Sheldrick Memorial Appeal’s first fund-raiser, dedicated to saving Kenya’s black rhinos from extinction. As David had predicted, the thirty rhinos we had left in Tsavo, who used to drink regularly at the Voi Safari Lodge, were now no more, their horns in far-off lands. There had been around 8,000 rhinos in Tsavo out of 20,000 countrywide but by now they were mostly all gone, with just a few outliers holed up in thickets widely separated from one another, effectively a dying breed. Being fiercely territorial, the few remaining isolated survivors would never meet up to be able to perpetuate the species, so something needed to be done rapidly.

  Peter sought overseas funding to establish Kenya’s first ring-fenced official rhino sanctuary, electrically fencing Lake Nakuru National Park, which had recently attained National Park status as a flamingo and water bird spectacle. Made secure, it could duplicate as a rhino breeding sanctuary to accommodate the few black rhino survivors – those that could be captured and relocated so that they could come together and breed successfully. On the appointed day we gathered at what was now State House, where Eleanor had walked when it was the official residence of Kenya’s colonial governors. Richard introduced us and the President welcomed us warmly. He was a tall man with striking amber eyes. The film certainly made an impact on him, for he hailed from a small tribe around the shores of Lake Baringo, where rhinos and elephants had long been extinct, so it was apparent that he knew very little about either species. However, he listened attentively and we left feeling that our mission had been accomplished, because not only did he agree to attend the première of Bloody Ivory as our guest of honour but he also provided a fitting statement for inclusion in the programme.

  I dreaded the première. Not only did I fear public speaking, but I just did not know how I could cope when faced again with moving images of David, how I would be able to hold back the tears seeing my Tsavo home and garden, with scenes of Shmetty, Bunty, and the other garden orphans, as well as
Eleanor and the elephant and rhino orphans. The ordeal took on even more momentous proportions when our guest of honour failed to turn up and the audience became restless. At first we were told that the President had been delayed, but eventually it became obvious that he would not be able to get there in time.

  Somehow I managed to stumble through my speech and endure the film, closing my eyes to maintain my composure when David or the garden orphans appeared on the screen. Afterwards, in the foyer, people crowded around me, many in tears. I responded to their kind words as though from the depths of a dream. It was only when David Read, David’s best friend from his Second World War years in Abyssinia and Burma, came and hugged me that I felt stronger. Now that he was Nairobi-based, he had decided to make it his mission to cheer me up. David Read had been a frequent visitor to Voi, and I never tired of hearing him talk about his incredible childhood, running wild with his Masai peers while his mother struggled in a small shop at Narok in Masailand. His first language had been Masai, and his best friend a Masai boy who was now a tribal elder. He had a twinkle in his eye and a ready smile, providing a precious link with my David.

  Some months later, there came another surprising development. A cardinal from the Vatican approached the Kenyan Government proposing a visit from the Pope, adding that the Holy Father would like to bless an elephant while in Kenya. With the Tsavo orphans in mind, the Director of Wildlife asked for my help. As no young elephant was available at the time – Eleanor was now grown up – I saw this as a golden opportunity to highlight the rhino’s predicament instead. Furthermore, I knew of the perfect recipient of such a blessing – a newborn orphan rhino at Lewa Downs, near Isiola in the north of the country. My advice had been sought when she looked as if she might die, having been wrongly fed on cow’s milk rather than the tried and tested formula that I had in fact already passed on to the management at Lewa. It surprised me that they had chosen to take the advice of their local vet rather than mine, since I had already successfully reared four orphaned rhinos on Lactogen without any difficulty.

  The Director approved of my suggestion and told the visiting cardinal, who promised to get back to us. However, five months passed before he did so, by which time the Lewa rhino had trebled its size – rhinos develop twice as fast as an elephant and live half as long. Nevertheless, on the assumption that she would be as docile as our Tsavo orphans and that the Pope would simply fly to Lewa and perform the blessing there, I figured it would be fine. Not so: I was told in no uncertain terms that the Pope would bless the rhino not at Lewa, but rather in the Masai Mara, Kenya’s showcase tourist attraction. My heart sank, for this would entail moving the young rhino under sedation, always a risky business, and although I protested, the Director was adamant that this had been determined at a high level and he was banking on Peter and me to make it happen.

  Peter was by now in charge of the Wildlife Department’s rhino programme, so together we drove to the sanctuary at Lewa, where we were introduced to Samia, the soon-to-be-blessed orphan, and the lady who had raised her, Anna Merz, to whom the rhino was firmly attached. We knew from our own experience that unaccompanied baby rhinos feel severely threatened without the protection of a ‘mother’, as they risk being killed by the wild rhino residents until known by scent, and that rhino orphans tend to bond with the person that feeds them – in this case, Anna Merz. I had learned the hard way that it was prudent to get an orphaned rhino attached to several people, and I could see that Samia was extremely jumpy when Anna was not actually physically with her.

  Just two weeks remained until the papal visit, during which time Samia would have to become a great deal calmer if she were to be trusted in the presence of the Holy Father. As she was, she was far too feisty to risk close contact with the Pope and his entourage. After a great deal of discussion, Peter and I decided that there was just one course of action – to separate Anna from her rhino immediately, fly the calf to the Mara and install a surrogate Pope, clad in white robes, to set about getting her used to that sort of presence for the big day. Understandably, this suggestion was greeted with outrage, so it was under a dark cloud that we nevertheless left by air, along with the sedated Samia and a vet in attendance.

  As soon as we arrived in the Mara, an officer from the Wildlife Department, dressed in a white sheet, began the process of training and taming. I trebled Samia’s milk ration and gave the papal substitute ample stock of rhino treats to reward for good behaviour. It was with mounting anxiety that we went back home, anxious for daily feedback as to how things were going. At first the trainer had to be pretty agile to avoid being flattened, but after a few days the increased milk rations made Samia more replete and she became a lot calmer. Within a week she was much less jumpy around strangers and, most importantly, calm around the white-clad figure whenever he approached, anticipating both her milk and a reward.

  On the big day, as the Pope and all the attendant dignitaries flew to the Mara to enact the blessing, Peter and I were nervous wrecks, glued to the radio, hoping against hope that nothing would go amiss. Mercifully, the blessing was an enormous success, although the Pope was advised to stand behind, rather than in front of Samia. The ceremony was televised worldwide, so the plight of the rhinos received the intended publicity, though the downside of the operation was that Anna Merz never spoke to me again, even though her rhino arrived back a lot plumper and calmer.

  Meanwhile, as I had feared, Jill’s marriage to Alan Craven had not worked out and they had separated. She returned to Kenya to be with me, and with the help of friends we erected a small rustic hut for her near my Timsales home. It meant a great deal to me to have Jill back, not only for the congenial company she provided, but also because she was equally dedicated and committed to the wildlife cause, happy to lead a simple eco-friendly existence surrounded by nature. She got a part-time job with a friend who operated a safari business, devoting the rest of her time to the many orphans I now seemed to be acquiring – in particular two baby duikers, retrieved from wheat-fields up-country during the harvest period. Elspeth’s Huxley’s novel The Flame Trees of Thika was about to be made into a television series, and the cast for the film included wild orphans as well as a host of domestic animals. We were asked to loan our little duikers for the duration of the film, and we agreed on condition that Jill could be on hand to look after them. This resulted in her being offered the job of general animal supervisor, and so our duikers were set to make their on-screen debut.

  The filming was a transformative experience for Jill, for not only did she have to look after chameleons, chickens, a rooster, dogs, cats, oxen, mules, horses, a goat and wild birds in cages, but she also became extremely attached to the Frenchman who was in charge of the props. Communicating by means of a dictionary and a lot of improvised sign language, she realized they had a lot in common. When the filming was over he invited her to France, and because Jill had never left Africa, this seemed like a wonderful opportunity to see some of Europe. Having returned the duikers, along with a bare-necked rooster known as the Baron that she didn’t want ending up in the pot, she left for an extended overseas holiday.

  In the meantime Angela had completed her secondary education and was now studying graphic art at Cape Town University. She had blossomed into a stunning beauty, taking great delight in fashion and enjoying urban living. Angela easily excelled at all she undertook, from sport to anything artistic. I often wondered how David and I had managed to produce such a sophisticated daughter who coped so easily in a city situation.

  No sooner had Jill left for France than I received a call from the Director of Wildlife asking me to help with two orphaned baby elephants that had just come into the orphanage at the Park Headquarters, both victims of the rampant poaching that now gripped the country. I was flattered to have even been asked, and after the experience of Shmetty I felt more confident of success, so I promised to do my best. Armed with the formula that had succeeded previously, I drove to the orphanage taking with me a large wine bottle, an e
gg whisk, scales and a spoon, vital components for preparing feeds for any baby elephant.

  The two little elephants had already been named: the baby bull was Juma and the little female, Bibi. Both were no more than a couple of weeks old, their little bodies covered with baby fuzz. The rangers at the orphanage were not terribly enthusiastic about the three-hourly milk feeds throughout the day and night that would be necessary, nor about cleaning the babies’ bottoms after runny stools that had to be immediately covered with earth. I requested that clean hay be laid on the concrete floor of two adjoining compartments and that the elephants be taken out during the day to exercise in the yard, at all times accompanied by an attendant.

  I soon realized that if there were to be any chance of success, a great deal of hands-on supervision would be needed, especially for the night feeds. Baby elephants are difficult feeders when newborn, and in this respect there were still lessons I had to learn about this particular aspect of their upbringing. At the beginning the rangers, or myself, plus the bottles and their milk, were often sent flying, and endless patience was needed just to get the right quantity of milk down for them to be able to thrive. Hence, every three hours throughout the day and night, I drove the twelve and a half miles to the orphanage to supervise the feeding and be on hand to inspect the fallout at the other end. Baby elephants are extremely fragile, prone to diarrhoea and stomach disorders. They can be fine one day, and dead the next, so these calves needed very careful monitoring and the benefit of experience. As days passed into weeks, and then months, both thrived.