Slow Dance of The Elephants

The Aberdare Experience

Aberdare Ark is a modern-day machaan, except that it is a building (shaped in an ark) with all amenities afforded to tourists for a comfortable stay! It sits next to a natural salt lick in a clearing within the lush Aberdare tropical forests of Kenya. The Ark has a viewing gallery in the basement where one is level with the waterhole, a terrace which gives one an overhead view and a mezzanine lookout which is barely clear of the tallest elephant’s height!

When we reached the Ark it was approaching sunset, a perfect time for animals to congregate at the waterhole before they called it a day. An elephant parade was lined up, with some African cape buffaloes blending in, almost as though to welcome us. In the awed hush all we could hear was the odd rumble and rustle, an overwhelming assertion of life! Unlike other safaris where we encountered elephant herds browsing and feeding from time to time and took pretty pictures, the Aberdare experience was one to watch elephant behaviour and bonding, intimately, in their natural habitat.

From the terrace, I spotted a cow with a calf huddled by its side; other young ones came to caress and pet it, all the time ensuring that it was well-flanked and protected. Two juveniles from different clans came upon each other, touched and twined their trunks, and indulged in boisterous play for a while. One of the young adults had something hanging loose at the end of its trunk; it took me a while to figure that the trunk itself was mutilated and a part of it was hanging by a lip! It seemed like an old wound and the mammal was able to adapt it beautifully despite the deformity.

Elephant herds of varying strength were trooping in and out of the thicket to the waterhole. One of the young male was wounded with blood oozing from its face. You could see, it was desperately seeking attention and commiseration from others, like a little child. It would go close and try to touch every other elephant that came out of the bush. I was shocked to see that it was being shunned by one and all! To my mind it seemed like a case of adults chiding, “I told you so”, for “not listening” to sane counsel! Or maybe there was some other explanation that we have no way of knowing.

As the day wound to a close, I shifted my observation post to the open balcony by the path where the animals had to retreat into the thick vegetation. There was an embankment of boulders - two feet wide - below the balcony to keep the elephants from straying too close. Every time an elephant approached my side and passed by, it would, unfailingly, lift up its trunk sniffing my presence. But their reactions were different. Some were wary, some baulked and some actually bolted, timidly, tail in the air. I wondered how much of my olfactory signature was imprinted on their memories and if I were to encounter them out in the wild would they recognise me!

The jumbos had called it a day and all the resident tourists too retreated to their cubby-hole cabins for a doze. Being claustrophobic, I had to wait out the night somehow. Somewhere around 2 or 3 at night, I must have drowsed only to be awakened by a sixth sense. I went to the balcony to gulp in fresh air just in time to see a faint trickle of pearly grey masses coming out into the open. In the still moonlit night, for the next hour and a half, a slow dance-drama unfolded - for my eyes only - leaving me completely dazed.

A matriarch with a calf, few females and some sub-adults began confabulating by the pool. Soon the calf lay at its mother’s feet to rest and three-four grown-ups stood in a semi-circle forming a protective cover. 

The mater moved away closer to the water’s edge, sniffed the wind, and kneeled down as though checking the depth of the pool with its probing trunk. It tore away the grass growing at the edges and gobbled it. Soon it had rolled onto its side, raised its trunk, and was contorting its body! My first impression was that this animal was sick; that it might have a tummy problem. For an instant it almost seemed like it was in throes. I hadn’t seen anything so bizarre all my life! The matriarch wallowed and writhed as the herd watched respectfully from a distance, not breaking her trance.

She then strode back to its family by when the calf was up and rejuvenated. Then a slow, deliberate, rhythmic ritual ensued… trunks entangling, twining, and feeling each other. The entire herd stood still in a wedge formation with its trunks touching. After a long while, the formation turned inside out with the bottoms now jostled together. Was it a family get-together where they were narrating stories and anecdotes, trading notes and even, joking?

The calf and the sub-adult were left out of the loop, surprisingly, left unprotected behind their backs! When the calf attempted to pry from behind, curious, the matriarch without so much as a look gave it the boot sending it scurrying out of the charmed circle! With no perceived threats and comfortable in the privacy of their circle, they could now afford to keep the pesky young ones out of their adult “bedroom” conversation!

The herd stood in varied patterns and formations (interminably, it seemed!) and changed positions at intervals. If that one hour could be filmed, fast forwarded and reduced to a 15- 20-minute clip, then I would be witness to a rhythmic gyration, a slow ballet.

Was it a spiritual ceremony or a cult ritual? Or I wondered if the herd was mourning having heard and read so much about elephant’s graveyards and death rituals.

Benson, the in-house naturalist, discounted it saying that in the 40 years of the lodge’s existence no elephant had died or was buried there. He had this to say: “Elephants are highly evolved social creatures and with a lot of research being done on their memory and behaviour, scientists haven’t finished yet. I would think we haven’t begun yet.” 

Also read My Elephant Memories

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS IN THIS BLOG/ BLOGSPOT ARE THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL WORK/ COPYRIGHT

MY ELEPHANT MEMORIES

The news item of the barbaric slaughter of Satao - a rare bull with nearly 50 kg of tusk (each) grazing the ground – by poachers caught my eye and made my heart bleed. Visions of African Elephants - tuskers and matriarchs, calves and juveniles – that I had seen in the diverse ecological habitats of Kenya - from the plains to the forests - swam in front of my eyes. Satao was a Tsavo bull and it was here in the vast historic savannas of Tsavo that I had my initial tryst with the species Loxodonta Africana.

RED ELEPHANTS OF TSAVO

En route from Mombasa to Nairobi early in our Kenya sojourn, we decided to take a detour into Tsavo territory. Tsavo National Park is Kenya’s largest, divided into East and West, East being the wilder and less frequented of the two.

In the lazy noon hour, the park seemed devoid of animals though the bush was buzzing with birds. We had almost given up hope after a few hours when the elephant parade began! Being intimately acquainted with the Indian elephant, which is grey-black, the first sight of (brick) ‘red’ elephants was truly exceptional. It is Tsavo’s rich volcanic soil, ochre in colour, which gives elephants that distinctive hue when they wallow or bathe in mud.

In the blazing equatorial sun, we came upon a “nuclear” family trying to shield them under/near a sparse shrub, barely managing to tuck their heads in! That classic sight was a testimony to the species’ qualities of tolerance and accommodation of others.  

Much later, when we visited Tsavo West, the trails we followed threw up elephant hooves, intermittently, but not their owners. Bare boles of acacias stripped of leaves and twigs stood as signs of elephant ravages, but the perpetrators of carnage were nowhere in sight. That is how it is in Tsavo country, the excitement lies more in the suggestion than in the spotting.

After hours of following the red dirt tracks through the acacia-commiphora woodlands all we could see was a herd of elephants walking into the horizon. Should a small herd of elephants walking away into distance - a pastiche at once of mundanity and mystery - be any less thrilling than an elephant at close quarters posing for a photograph? For me, this is a more intimate portrait, almost as if the elephants were leading me into their private domain, if only I exerted my imagination and followed them there.

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ELLIES OF AMBOSELI!

It was March of 2009; the year of drought in Amboseli. Nyika or African bush is largely treeless and hence can be punishing in its natural elements at the best of times. In such a parched landscape, the scene that stayed with me was this: a long-shot of lumbering herd of elephants with young ones in tow cutting through the simmering heat of the dustbowl in search of water. 

This family would have to walk for miles to get to the receding water sources and it would have to do it as fast or slow as the pace of the youngest calf. We, who simply reach out for bottled water or a can of coke in the middle of nowhere, to wet our lips or soothe our parched throats, cannot even begin to imagine the herd’s predicament. The poignancy of the scene lay in the realization of that harsh reality of life in the wild.

As the herd approached our vehicle the calf buckled under sheer exhaustion and lay down to rest: the clan simply stayed put in some sort of protective formation. They stood freeze frame for what seemed like an eternity and we waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. As my son interpreted the scenario, the calf that was resting was the unlikely king, and the family of adults, the servile subjects who had to wait it out. I felt as though the earth had stopped spinning and that instant was IT… for the elephants there was no past, no future; the essence of existence was the present moment – poised between life and death.

The elephant herd would pause for as long as it would take the calf to regain its energy before resuming their long march. We, however, had to move on so as not to overstay safari propreity and had no way of knowing the fate of the calf or of the clan. But, possibly, the entire family would have had to go without water longer than their tolerance threshold, or perhaps I was underestimating their patience and endurance.

DIONYSIUS 

The sight of an imposing lone tusker is worth more than a pride of lions (so to speak!) and we were lucky to see one at a distance near the Olokenya swamp. (Later through the film “Elephants Memories” by Dr. Cynthia Moss we got to know that this was the legendary Dionysius). 

The mammoth, his tusks tending to ground, emerged out of a thicket like a chimera. Surprised or simply gauging our mood as we were trying to sense his, he stood there looking directly at us. Even from that distance we could feel his brute presence, a colossus striding the earth like royalty. Suddenly, contrary to its nature, it darted into nearby bushes and simply vanished before our eyes. It was as though the mask had been ripped off his face and the blinkers off mine as I realized how vulnerable that lone ranger was. No companion, no family, no herd – a persona non grata eking it out in an unfriendly world.

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CLOSE ENCOUNTER AT MANYARA

Even as we had started on our game drive in Lake Manyara National Park in Tanzania, two young frisky elephants feeding by the roadside blocked our path. I was consternated at the sight of one of them fanning its ears menacingly and for once the cocoon of our vehicle seemed vulnerable. What a contrast, I couldn’t help comparing, with Ian Douglas Hamilton’s (Lake Manyara was this elephant-expert’s playing field) bravado in undertaking the hazardous task of photographing elephants with ears spread out, for identification, at times crouching on trees or even on foot!

Not wanting to antagonise them, the driver backed off. Finally, they slipped into the thicket clearing our way. Back at our resort, the hotel staff was emphatic that no game strayed in there as the lodge was outside the National Park, though we had seen some bushbuck stroll below our balcony.

By dusk, after the game drive, elephant blockade fresh in mind, we sauntered into the lodge chatting away walking up to the room. Fellow lodgers - a couple – waved a hello or so we thought; instead they greeted us, saying: “Look there, by the (swimming) pool… Elephants”!

My heart stopped beating as I saw two grey apparitions appear over the curve of the hill. They walked towards the same direction as us, parallel to us, the lodge rooms dividing our paths. Our friends turned to their room leaving us alone to decide our fate. Silently, we kept walking, praying, and managed to reach our rooms safely.  The wind Gods had aided us. 

From the first floor balcony, just in time, we caught a herd of three, including a calf, within whispering distance! I shudder to think, what would have happened if our family of three (me, my husband and son) had come face to face with the elephant trio.

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It was much later in Kenya’s Aberdare forests that I was lured into the secret universe of the elephants where I was witness to their legendary bonding.  

Read Slow Dance of the Elephants


ALL PHOTOGRAPHS IN THIS BLOG/ BLOGSPOT ARE THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL WORK/ COPYRIGHT

Samburu Safari Salama

Every safari is unique; whether you  go to the same sanctuary at different seasons or whether two different people go on a safari to the same park on the same day, the experiences rarely coincide, and in fact, may be poles apart. I have travelled to most major game parks in Kenya, especially the Maasai territories, but the county of the Samburu tribe had eluded me thus far. Samburu National Reserve in North Kenya is an arid scrub, and therefore, an easy arena for sightings, which is part of its natural charm. Many friends had vouched for this safari as notch better than Maasai Mara, more spectacular due to its endemic fauna not found commonly elsewhere. Grevy’s zebra, the largest of the species, with closely bunched stripes; reticulated giraffe with its liver-like pattern of patches; Gerenuk antelopes that stand on hind legs to browse through trees and the long-horned Beisa oryx reside here, exclusively. Our tour of Samburu was not the typical safari that you may read in travelogues, and here's why.    

As gleaned from newspaper reports, Samburu, to my mind, was notorious for its drought and for bandits from across the border in Somalia waylaying tourists. Two years back, a large part of the park was engulfed in flash floods in which few lodges were washed away and the tourists had to be airlifted to safety. This notoriety made Samburu seem like a distant, mysterious land. This December, unprecedented rains resulted in the flooding of the Ewaso Nyiro river on the edge of the park altering its ecology and climate, drastically. We were not sure if it would be prudent to go ahead with our visit, but a week-long dry spell was enough for me to stay on the original course.

Devastation wrought by flooding of Ewaso Nyiro river

Post-deluge, Samburu wore a green garb that was against its true nature. The desert of Samburu became an oasis, the sweltering savannah had become green and cool such that resident rangers had not witnessed in the past 30 years. The forest roads were dry river beds carved out by flooding waters of the fortnight before and at other places, sandy, with the soil swept down the eroded hillsides. Grass tussocks sprouted where the wheels of safari vehicles skirted the road centre. Dudus (insects) - bugs and beetles - buzzed at ground level, butterflies flitted about the white flowers bedecking low foliage, and birds - starlings and weavers - weaved in and out of trees and trailed skywards breathing life into the landscape.

The lodge where we camped for two days was severely undersubscribed; subsequent to Kenya’s military engagement with Somalia, tourists had been steering clear of the North-eastern circuit. There were just two other families apart from us, the turnout of security guards was at an all-time low, the police force was conspicuously absent and the resident doctor was on year-end leave!  The premises were not fenced (many game parks in Africa are not fenced as they are built to be in harmony with the natural surroundings and the wildlife) and at night an askari (security personnel) with a rungu (club) accompanied us to the dimly-lit dining area; it was not economically viable for the lodge to be comfortably lit up. In the pitch black night, with just the askari’s torch to feebly light up the ominous trees and bushes, we could only hope that we would survive the bush adventure. When asked how the askari protected himself from straying wildlife, this is what he had to say: “Usually elephants come by and when they approach us or are too close, we simply hurl the rungu at them and they disappear. We retrieve the rungu in the morning, and meanwhile, replace it with another.” I dared not contemplate the eventuality if the club were to miss the target or the gesture, itself, were to backfire!

Superb starling

Red-billed hornbill

Thicknee or Stone curlew

Vulturine guinea fowl

When daylight dawned, I stepped on to the verandah to greet the open plains, when an exotic-looking bird, identified later as the red-billed hornbill, made bold to land within a foot of me. As the day wore on, I realized that there was no getting away from hornbills - red-billed, yellow-billed or African grey - that hovered around us ubiquitously.  In Samburu, it is possible to take birds as tame but this perception is misplaced; they are as wild as nature designed them, it is just that they have been so protected and undisturbed here that they have come to trust humans totally. Add to that their own curiosity quotient for this strange two-legged creature and you’ll see why they are checking you out at close quarters. It appeared to me that Samburu resembled verdant Tsavo this season, where birds were more prominently visible than mammals. It is here for the first time that I saw the vulturine guinea fowl, country cousin to the helmeted guinea fowl, more abundantly observed in most other parks. Striking in its cobalt-blue plumage, the red-eye peers fearlessly into the camera. Similarly, a Thicknee (also called stone curlew) pattering by the roadside, stops as I reach out for my camera, faces me, and poses unafraid.

 

Kirk's Dik Dik

While the change in weather served us Nairobi-residents well, the weed that swarmed the acacia woods and hid the game was a spoilsport. The very sparseness of African savannas or woodlands affords unhindered viewing and enables easy sighting of wildlife. Dry weather or desert conditions also mean that the wildlife congregate or head towards water bodies, that predators and prey lurk around specific trajectories and can be trailed or tracked. But with plenty of rains and fodder, the animals disperse over a larger range making spotting a challenge. For a long time, all we saw were the dainty dik-diks and the gargantuan elephants. Doe-eyed dik-diks cavorting on the paths would jink in a sprightly manner and disappear in the bush at our advance. Kirk’s Dik Diks, often found in pairs, are so devoted to each other, that when one of them dies the other ‘commits suicide’. “When one of the pair dies, its partner gets so traumatized that it deliberately exposes itself to a predator,” says my son who is a better guide than the best ones I have come across!

Mousy-looking Gerenuk gazelle

In the African ‘jungles’ whether you see the big cats or not, whether you tick off the Big Five or not, you cannot miss the zebras.  But Samburu’s special species of zebra seemed to have crawled into the weed work! Grevy’s zebra were conspicuous by their absence and four game drives could not elicit their presence. We did see the mousy-faced Gerenuk antelope, but the glut of food meant that the antelopes had no need to stand on their hind legs and extend for out-of-reach foliage  - a quintessential  Samburu snapshot. A herd of Beisa Oryx, a desert species, presented itself but looked out of place in the prosperous veldt. Even as I was wowing the black stripes on their grey muscular bodies and their spear-like elongated horns, the guide hurtled past in unusual hurry. He had been alerted of lionesses nearby. Unknown to the Oryx, a lioness was stealthily stalking them and a tense drama was building up. “The lioness has to tackle the Oryx skilfully; any wrong move can result in the Oryx goring the lioness to death,” informs the guide. Why then, I wonder, does the lioness bother to hunt the Oryx when it can settle for an easier prey.

After a long interval sensing that it wasn’t going to be easy to hunt the herd through the thick tall foliage, the lioness relaxed and gave up the chase. In this park, at one point of time, a lioness and an Oryx had a strange association which has come to be a legend. More than a decade back, a lioness adopted an Oryx calf and took it under its wings. The lioness’ motherly instincts toward the Oryx were so strong that after the calf died due to starvation, it went on to adopt another, this time allowing it to go to its biological mother for suckling! Of course, the calf fell prey to a male lion, as was bound to happen.   

Perhaps, the most memorable Samburu scene would be that of a leopard, at dusk, resting nonchalantly, silhouetted against an olive tree. It is a fitting finale that where the foliage had swallowed all animals away from sight  we should see the ever-elusive and reclusive cat openly dangling in air. But above all, Samburu is a land of elephants. We saw waves upon waves of elephant clans, contentedly, foraging through the greens, so close we could have touched them if we wanted to!

Note: Safari Salama is a greeting in KiSwahili which translates as "Bon Voyage" or "...Good trip".






All Photographs in this blog and website are the Author's Original work/Copyright. 

Concrete and the Jungle

Nairobi National Park... in 20 Frames

As I set foot in Nairobi three years back, the first sight to greet me on the way from the airport to my new home was giraffes on the horizon strutting in their slow motion gait oblivious to rush-hour traffic. If that got the pulse throbbing, imagine the excitement of seeing the city skyline from across the divide through the eyes of the game. After many safaris and becoming wiser in the ways of the African bush and its beasts, I come home to the Nairobi National Park (NNP) to experience the thrill of a wild world co-existing with human habitation of a capital city. Where on earth will you find urban wilderness and cacophony trailing intimately the silence of the savannas!

On a holiday, with little traffic, it takes us less than 30 minutes to reach the park and we are instantly ushered into a parallel world just 10 kms off the City Centre!

NNP has a phenomenal diversity of birdlife with nearly 500 bird species. But to see birds one must be geared for that and in fact, follow certain walking trails to maximize sightings. We were on a game drive and hence got to see only guinea fowls, fish eagle, secretary bird, this lark and of course, ostriches.

NNP also has large number of the endangered and rare black rhinos. There are two species of rhinos – white and black. Black rhinos are browsers unlike the white who are grazers. We did spot the elusive black rhino, but true to its shy nature, it scurried for cover before we could get a good look at it. The ‘white’ rhinos are grey and not white; they have a wider jaw and it is believed that the descriptive “wide” got distorted as “white”. Here is a pair of white rhinos who are so unlike their brethren!

It was here for the first time that I could take pictures of the eland – the largest of the antelope species – comfortably. Elands are another of those shy creatures who slink away at the slightest sight of humans. We have come across elands on many safaris earlier but they are so quick to take to heel that it is difficult to get within comfortable distance for a good picture. The elands of NNP are pretty bold and one strode right next to our vehicle. The proximity to human habitation may have something to do with this altered or acquired trait.

The grassland savanna of NNP resembles a mini-Mara dotted as it is with all kind of game. Burchell’s zebra, Coke’s hartebeest, wildebeest, impalas and gazelles mingle with birds – ostriches, secretary bird, bustards - the size of mammals in a stunning mosaic. The game seems rather easy-going and relaxed; may have something to do with the presence of fewer predators.

Lions are still the royalty here, though their numbers have plummeted over the years. There have been incidents of human-lion conflicts, when the predator has picked on grazing cattle of the Maasai. The Maasai, for whom the cattle is everything, stalk the lions in vengeance and either spear them or cruelly bait them by  poisoning the cattle carcasses. A decade back, 11 lions were killed in a single such episode! Two nomadic young males strolled into our viewfinder on this somnolent sunny morning much to our delight.

Lions, leopards, and even cheetahs, grace the environs of NNP; the only missing element here is the elephant. But there is an Ivory Burning Site inside the park, a monument to Kenya’s commitment to halting ivory poaching. In a brave public display, in 1989, President Moi on the advice of then Director of Kenya Wildlife Service, Richard Leakey burnt tons of confiscated ivory preventing it from re-entering the market.  This symbolic gesture was to set a precedent which, ironically, not many nations have followed ever since! The following picture was taken on an earlier visit hence the lush green grass.

The grassland savanna gradually gives way to sparse acacia woodlands. There are the whistling thorn trees and yellow-bark acacia patches which are primarily giraffe habitat.

Stick figures stride the savannas swaying gently as they trot and canter. The giraffes are aptly called the Maasai Giraffes due to the lean and lanky attribute they share with the tribesmen. 

An impala herd – a male with its harem - is waiting to cross the road so we pause too. But for a while, both watch each other warily without making a move. The male, distinctive, with its antlers, leads a harem of females numbering anywhere between 10 and 50, sometimes, more. Before the males of my species rejoice at this “dame luck” let me recount what my naturalist friend, Richie (based in Tsavo), had to say about the impala male. It is the male’s duty to protect the females and calves, not only from predators but other males, too.  The dominant male is constantly looking over its shoulder to see that no female strays or falls prey to the charms of an adversary. The relentless task of guarding so many females and having to feed at the same time puts undue stress on the male; this in turn takes a toll on his health in the long run. Such a weakened male is easily replaced by another young male.  The impala on the road in the picture below is a female, though.

The city skyline stays with us for a large part of the game drive, but this once the wildlife is posited against the  magnificent Ngong Hills. Ngong Hills are the ubiquitous backdrop in Karen Blixen’s opus “Out of Africa” and they overlook her house and coffee garden that stand even today. The former is now a museum, and the latter, a café, the coffee plantations having long gone.

We nearly miss the well-camouflaged waterbuck and would have continued onward but on second thought reversed to get a clear look, and were we glad!  The male common waterbuck…

In 1906 Nairobi railway station was completed and it was this project that saw human habitation grow around what was largely swampy, marshy land. Indian dukas and make-shift offices of the colonial administration marked the beginnings of what was to become the centrestage of a capital city. In those historic times, wild animals were known to roam the streets freely come darkness confining  people indoors.Today, the lions and leopards are still around. This, to my mind, is one-of-a-kind "wonder of the world", indeed.