We left Hwange and flew north to Mana Pools National Park, on
the banks of the Zambezi River. A glorious place, remote and surreal, filled
with enormous trees, floodplains and more hippo than anywhere else in
Africa. And a whole lot more elephantine experiences…
The elephant theme continued on Zimbabwe’s northern border: our
two camps, Ruckomechi and Little Ruckomechi, which lie on the Zambezi River,
have both been adopted by elephants. Well, when I say adopted… this sounds all
warm and fuzzy but actually takes every action, whether managing the camp or
just walking from your tent to the main area, to a whole new level of complexity.
Elephants clearly have right of way here – meaning that they wander through the
camp, between the tents, or indeed right next to your deck, their trunks
snuffling along the wooden slats as they hoover up the ana pods – highly
nutritious and delicious seeds of the ana tree that the ellies love so much,
they tend to get a bit excited when they see one – sort of like me when I see
Cadbury’s Bubbly… where was I? Oh yes, so while they do that, we wait patiently
until they’ve moved past before going about our lawful business. This means
that the statement “I’ll be back in five minutes” should come with the
disclaimer: “This is subject to that elephant over there deciding to move over
to there and not look at me funny. Otherwise it might be a lot longer.”
(Copyright
Dana Allen, photographer extraordinaire, who was at Ruckomechi while we were
there)
So for example, at Ruckomechi, we had been taken to our tent by
manager Dylan and now we wanted to go back to the main area. But an ellie
didn’t want us to. We knew this because we tried tiptoeing one way and then the
other and whichever way we wanted to go, he flapped his ears at us as if to
say, “Naughty, naughty – I can see you…” Eventually Dylan managed to slip past
him and go get a vehicle to pick us up and drive us… a few metres. So one tends
to walk about the camp with extraordinary care, alert for any shady characters.
(As in, they cast shade all on their own and they’re grey – oh never mind.)
Other “things that should take five minutes” included the drive
from Little Ruckomechi to Ruckomechi – officially seven minutes but this became
20 when we stopped to watch a lion pride trying to eat their kill in the mud.
They’d brought down a zebra in the night in one of the muddy channels that
split off from the Zambezi River, so that they were eating with gusto, but
ended being covered in black muck as they did so. The five lion cubs in
particular – just like kids – had big flat black paws and faces, but seemed to
be enjoying it immensely. Mom not so much; her lips peeled back, she was trying
to find a way to feast more fastidiously.
(Copyright
Dana Allen, photographer extraordinaire, who was at Ruckomechi while we were
there)
Mind you, we had seen them trying to get at something the night
before so it was good to see that patience – or rather, persistent hunting –
had paid off. The previous evening we’d watched, peering through the darkness,
as they had tried to manoeuvre themselves around a herd of unsuspecting impala.
Plans went awry when a hyaena walked in front of the herbivores, causing them
to alarm call and scatter. It was amazing to see how the lions then adjusted
the plan: they moved back, clearly hoping that the impala would be scared by
the hyaena and run into their waiting jaws – but the intended prey leapt in
another direction through a gap, and left the cats empty-pawed. One young male,
unwilling to give up, tried to belly-crawl and grab one, but he was too excited
and the impala just sneered at him and ran away. Anyway, it seems that all
ended well that night (for the lions if not the zebra).
On Friday afternoon, when the others had left to go on a game
drive or fishing, I swam with three elephants. Well, not exactly. I was in the
camp pool – glorious in the baking heat of early summer in Zimbabwe (there
isn’t a spring season, unless you think spring is 35 degrees Celsius) – when
suddenly, three ellies came floating – seriously – down the river. Their heads
would pop out of the water, then disappear back under, a trunk appearing
instead, or even a foot as they serenely let the current carry them downstream
until they got to what was clearly their landing point: a delicious
grass-covered island just across from camp. Here, they turned aside and swam
for the bank, heaving their glistening bulks out to graze. Apparently this is
an almost daily activity and clearly they enjoyed their swim as much as I
enjoyed mine.
Birding – my usual “thing” on Shabbat – was somewhat challenging
here, mainly because every time I tried to stop and ID something, I had to
first take a look around to see if an ellie was coming my way. And often as not
there was – ellies were everywhere, scarfing up the ana tree pods or taking a
drink from the swimming pool. Then I would have to decide whether discretion
was not the better part of valour and skip back to my deck – or just sidle
around a tree and try see the bird from another angle.
While this added a certain je ne sais quoi to the whole
experience, I felt honoured to be spending Shabbat with some of Earth’s most
sagacious creatures. And it occurred to me that these immense creatures deserve
their own special mention in Genesis – their own verse that would in my humble
and probably blasphemous opinion go something like this:
And God said, “Let there be
elephants.”
And there were elephants,
great and grey, mighty and dignified, playful, wobbly-trunked babies and wise
and wrinkled elders.
And God saw that it was very
good.
I
took this one from my deck, Ruckomechi Camp
[Mind you, the Mishna Brurah 225:30 in fact does state that when
seeing a monkey or elephant for the first time (in thirty days), one should
make the bracha of Meshaneh HaBriyot. Just saying.]
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