I was able to get in a couple of days’ rest after the census, which was much needed since transect flying knocked me for a loop. I practically slept the entire first day away before I got back to data analysis. Craig had gone into radio silence. It’d been the longest time we were out of communication since I had arrived in the region and I was starting to worry. He said he was going to Lusaka, but he should have been back by now. Why wasn’t he reachable by phone?
Everyone was pleased with the data and the estimates, despite the unexpected delays in getting back into the air. Upon closer inspection, the WIA plane had needed a major overhaul, so we had to have another plane flown up from Windhoek. That meant two days of waiting, and two more days of me putting distance between myself and Jon. It was extremely hard to do, as he was in such a good mood as we toured the Mahango Game Reserve, which teemed with elephants. But, I made sure we were never alone.
The census revealed that the elephant population was on the rise. The evidence of elephant poaching along the borders of Angola and Zambia was disturbing, yet out of Namibian jurisdiction. But the urgency of the situation put me on edge, and I had to believe that I wasn’t the only one who wanted to get on with the investigation and put an end to the killing.
Gidean and Natembo picked me up at four o’clock in the afternoon, and we headed over to Induna Munali’s cornfield to spend the night in his field. They were expecting an elephant visit that night, because a small group of bulls had spent the entire day browsing within a tree island along the floodplain close to the induna’s farm. Apparently elephants often did this before sneaking into farms at night. And since it was a full moon, the elephants would be especially active.
As we entered the agricultural area across the floodplain from Susuwe, we could smell the smoky fires surrounding the grain huts at the edges of empty fields. A few remaining dried cornstalks and old tree stumps were scattered haphazardly across the barren space. Tree islands dotted the floodplain between farms, with the winding river and forest of the nature reserve in the distance.
The sun sat on the western horizon, turning the ribbons of water along the floodplain a dark pink, while an enormous full moon appeared on the other horizon. The tension felt as thick as the smoke, with drums pounding out threats and elephants roaring as they made their way from tree island to tree island, as if they knew they were about to enter a battlefield. It was man versus beast in an age-old war over food and land.
The women were singing along with the drumbeats—rhythmic and purposeful—as we settled into our post near the induna’s reed-and-thatch storage house, where all the corn was placed after drying on the stalk. The small, round grain house at the edge of the field stood on stilts, apparently to protect from both mice and potential flooding. But while the corn dried after harvest there was nothing but smoke and drums to keep the elephants at bay. The women pounded the grain during the day, poured it into fifty-kilogram bags, and then carried it back to the village. The storehouses were a necessary in-between step in the process.
Laughter from some of the women broke the tension, and the induna’s wife, Lubinda, and her sister, who introduced herself as Nawa, came over to greet us. I was hoping to see Nandi, but apparently she was in Katima for the night. The women offered us each a freshly roasted mealie, the last of the harvest. We gratefully accepted and listened to their stories of how three bulls had been trying to get into their grain house the past couple of nights. The older of the three was particularly troublesome and ignored the shotgun warnings when he approached the house. One of the farmers threw a flaming rag at him and he ran off, only to attack the grain house of a neighbor who wasn’t there to protect it.
I focused on Gidean’s translation and tried to imitate how the women ate by removing kernels of corn off the cob. They rubbed the cobs with their thumbs, and ate the kernels that fell into their palms, handful by handful. They enjoyed watching my novice attempts at something they did effortlessly.
The women said an early good night, as they needed to get back to their drumming posts. Lubinda said that she’d be back later. Gidean motioned for me to put my bedroll in the bed of the Land Cruiser while he threw his bedroll on the ground and built a small smoky fire nearby—a deterrent for both lions and elephants. Natembo had staked out a place for himself at the next grain house about a kilometer downriver.
As I unrolled my bedroll, I wondered how the night would pan out. “So, what happens if an elephant comes? Are you planning to shoot it?”
Gidean shook his head. “I’ve hardly ever encountered an elephant in a field. They are very smart animals. The smell of this vehicle might be enough, I don’t know, but of all the times we’ve slept in fields, rarely have elephants shown up.”
“Really? But the raids seem to happen a lot.”
“I suspect that many of the times that it happens, the farmers are not here to chase them.”
“The women tell me that when they chase the elephants, the elephants charge them. We saw what happened to Moffit.”
“It is true. In this village, it is definitely true that the people are much better at defending their fields. That is why we came here. We want to help the farmers that are trying to help themselves.”
“And so, if one shows up?”
“We’re hoping to scare it. The noise of a .458 rifle is much louder than a shotgun. The elephants know the difference.”
“And what if that doesn’t work?”
“We have permission to shoot an elephant in this area. It might be time to do so.”
“Does that really do anything?”
“Once you get repeat offenders that get used to the taste of corn, it becomes a bad pattern. Especially if there’s no trouble associated with the behavior. And most likely, the older bull has brought the two younger ones with him after having done this before by himself. It’s only a matter of time that the younger bulls will enlist their friends.”
“How sad that it has to be that way.”
“And since the villagers are not allowed to kill an elephant, it seems only fair that we try to address a few of the problem elephants. And the people appreciate the meat as well.”
“I guess that would be a big bonus.”
I put a wool sweater on and crawled into my bedroll, not wanting to think about eating an elephant. The canvas of the bedroll was stiff from the cold, but it cut the draft that had just begun to bite at the air. I laid my head down on my pillow and looked up at the brilliant moon. The stars were dim because of the moonlight, but still visible all around, particularly near the deep blue horizon.
Just underneath the sound of the drumming, I could hear a cracking of branches in the distance. And then a bellow from a young bull. The elephants were on the move.
Suddenly, the noise of a shotgun firing twice in rapid succession broke the silence. An elephant bellowed. Another let out a piercing shriek as a cannon blast cracked open the night and echoed across the floodplain in the crisp air. That had to have been Natembo’s .458. And the intervening silence had to have meant one dead elephant.
There were voices in the distance and then running, just as the drumming resumed. I sat up to see Gidean standing with his rifle at his side, leaning next to the grain house with the induna’s wife, listening. He looked at me and put a hand up, not wanting me to leave the vehicle.
The urgent high-pitched clanking of pots arose all around as women yelled angrily in the direction that Natembo was stationed. Another shotgun rang out close by, followed by an elephant scream. He must have been hit, as he kept roaring, running in our direction, then crashing into the forest before he was close enough to view.
I could see Gidean tensing his thighs, bracing himself. There was nothing worse than contending with an elephant full of lead that knew it was in enemy territory. It would attack anything it could. Gidean was going to have to act quickly if the elephant came our way.
It was silent for so long that I decided there was enough time to make it safely into the cab so I could use the truck to back up Gidean if needed. Also, I knew I would be safer there. If the elephant decided to charge the truck, I was totally exposed in the truck bed and could get crushed under the bull bars if he rolled it. When I got into the cab, I reached for the key, but it wasn’t in the ignition.
I looked up to see Gidean holding the keys out to me. But then there was a sound in the bush, and Gidean froze, holding his hand up for me to be quiet. Lubinda ran behind a tree.
Gidean and I watched the space between each other and the bush on the other side of the grain house. I noticed that it was not just a single noise now, and I assumed that everyone knew what was coming. All of us waited to see where the bull would charge.
It came out of nowhere, exactly as it had in my nightmare. A mountainous gray force materialized in front of Gidean and snatched him up in his trunk before Gidean even had time to lift his rifle. The wounded bull threw Gidean about twenty meters away. I sat frozen in place as the bull turned and ran back into the bush.
When the bull was gone, I called out to Gidean as I opened the cab door, got out and ran toward him.
“No, Catherine, no! Get the rifle!” Gidean gasped from the ground, not able to get up.
My head was spinning as I stopped midstep. Of course. The rifle. I needed to get the rifle.
I turned and ran toward the grain house to find Gidean’s rifle lying on the ground next to the stilts. Where should I go? Would the elephant come again? Where would it come from? Should I go to Gidean? Stand near the truck and aim?
As soon as I picked up the rifle, I wished Natembo hadn’t gone to another farm. It was me against a wounded elephant and I had to make a plan and commit to it. I thought of Sean in those final moments, and my mind was full of uncertainty. “Gidean, where should I go?”
“Stay right there!”
And sure enough, there it was again, the demon of my nightmares looking for his revenge. I had only seconds to compose myself, aim, and shoot. I could do this. I had to do this.
I got down on my knee and aimed just as I heard Natembo’s voice calling to Gidean in the distance. He’d never get here in time. I aimed just below the honeycomb at the top of the skull, in between the eyes, just as Jon had taught me.
KRUGER NATIONAL PARK, SOUTH AFRICA
I was kneeling down, revolver in both hands, frozen in place. Then I watched in horror as the buffalo crushed Sean’s chest against the fence, lifted his blood-encrusted horns, and stared at me with wild eyes.
As I fired the pistol into his head and neck, the beast stood there, unmoved. His nostrils twitched. His ears flicked. And finally, he bellowed and ran off.
I ran to Sean. I knew he was dead, but I couldn’t believe it until I cradled his crushed body in my arms. I closed his faraway eyes, that signature twinkle now gone.
As the giant raging beast bore down on me, I adjusted my aim and squeezed the trigger, feeling my ghost pass through me from back to front.
Though my body was perfectly positioned to absorb the shock, the blast knocked my shoulder so hard, I fell backward. The gray mountain was damaged but still in motion. I sat back up to take another shot, adrenaline raging through my body. I knew I had to do this.
I squeezed the trigger again and just as the behemoth fell, there was a second shot. The elephant collapsed just ten feet in front of me in a cloud of dust. The dust settled, revealing Natembo behind me with a rifle at his shoulder. He had me covered. But had he shot a moment sooner, my conscience would have felt cleaner. I had just killed an elephant.