Ivory Ghosts (16 page)

We drove back over several rises and down onto a winding floodplain track that turned from Terminalia open woodland to dense acacia forest. It was only noon, so I was glad of Jon's offer of a drive so as not to spend the rest of the day in my barracks.

As I looked out at the landscape, I couldn't help thinking that it was a great day for a flight. I would have loved to have offered to take Jon up in the air, but Craig had asked me not to fly again until he got further international clearance for me to fly into Zambia at night. It turned out that Craig's concerns were legitimate; my night flight had caused some political waves with the Zambian authorities, since my clearance was for daytime only. And not having expected me to see as much as I did in Angola on my first flight, we had to be strategic. If I was seen in the air too much, Geldenhuis might start to keep an eye on my movements, which was exactly what we didn't want to happen. I planned to keep a low profile and not fly again until we did the census.

We passed some broken-down military installations within the trees. I looked out at the concrete rubble. “What happened here?”

“It was one of those last-minute things, just after the South African Defense Force left the area. They didn't want to give Namibia anything, after promising to leave their entire infrastructure in place. Things went sour, and they came up and demolished it all.”

“What a waste.”

“A bloody stuff-up is what it was.”

We drove on, the terrain alternating between forest and open floodplain, until we reached a hippo-filled lagoon where the acacia trees had been heavily eaten by elephants. Jon slowed to a stop.

I looked out at a forest chewed to the ground. He was right. This place was worse than the last. “I've never seen anything this bad.”

“It's particularly heavy near the river. The elephants were never this concentrated. After the eighties, with no more funding by your Hollywood cowboy president and our guys in South Africa, UNITA took to wildlife for their army's sustenance. There was nothing left to eat but the pachyderms back then. But after Savimbi died, it got even worse. Their elephants have taken permanent refuge here in the Caprivi.”

Suddenly, a hippo hooted, snorted, and then hollered in the background. “Come on. It's getting late, and the night belongs to elephants.” He looked at his watch. “There's still time for a quick visit to Horseshoe. I've got a little tree platform I want to show you. The view is to die for.”

We rounded a corner and arrived at the expansive oxbow lake I had seen from the air, the river bending around in a perfect horseshoe, hence the name of the place. A herd of about two hundred buffalo finished their drink and returned to the bush. A baboon troop descended from a sausage tree and ran off bickering and screeching. Several species of lapwing scattered from the water's edge, the metallic, punctuated call of the blacksmith lapwing filling the air.

“Nice spot for a
braai,
hmm? Next time I'll bring along a bit of
flam wors,
maybe a lamb rib?”

“It's spectacular.” I took in the scene as Jon slowly drove around the lake through the deep sand. He stopped in front of a huge leadwood tree.

Jon pointed to a tiny platform about fifteen meters up the tree. “There she is. My solace in the bush.”

I craned my neck to see the platform. “Wow, that's some serious elevation. How did you get it so high?”

“Hell, the view is stunning.” Jon got out and started to climb up a series of bent rebar rungs that had been hammered into the trunk.

I grabbed my backpack and followed him up. “Did you put in this rebar yourself?” My foot slipped on a few of the rungs and my stomach lurched.

“Lots of downtime between month's end and poacher's delight.”

To avoid looking down, I stared out at the floodplain. A lazy hot breeze fed a distant fire, fueling the haze in the late afternoon air. Fires like this marked the end of the wet season when farmers burned their fields after harvest. This fire had spread to a tree island, where one after another the trees were engulfed in flame. But they didn't explode as they had near the border in Angola. This fire wasn't nearly as hot. And the forest wasn't as dense and dry; it was wetter along the river than it was inland along the Angolan border.

I slowly made my way from one rung to the next, having to stretch my legs awkwardly between each rung until I got to the top. The view from the tiny half-split-log platform was breathtaking.

Looking down from the leafy height, I could see two hippos dozing at the base of the oxbow, puffing an occasional blast of air. Another munched loudly on the vegetation next to the river, wearing a long clump of wet grass on its back.

In the distance, the river snaked down the several-kilometer-wide floodplain, taking a twist here and a turn there as it flowed past scars of old sandy paths marking a time long gone. Downstream, a fisherman poled through the reeds in his
mokoro
. To the south there was a sudden burst of elephant screams and bellows as a large herd broke cover and ran to the water.

I grabbed Jon's arm, and he shook his head, indicating that all was well. “It's okay. This time it's a reunion.”

“That's even crazier than what I've heard at Susuwe.”

“Usually gets that way leading up to a full moon. Loopy as bloody wolves.”

In a few minutes a large family group of elephants emerged from the tree line and approached the water's edge to the south. Having just heard the roaring and bellowing of an elephant being killed, it was a little hard to remember just how vocal the elephants in the Caprivi were in general, and that this noise did not necessarily mean something bad. There were a number of nights at Susuwe when I heard such a commotion from large family groups, and it took me a little while to habituate to the fact that reunions were very noisy affairs.

Carefully, I sat down and got out my binoculars.

“Charismatic megafauna. Isn't it wonderful?”

“It's amazing. One, two, three, four. There're four babies in this group. Is that unusual?”

“We had a great wet season two years back. Elephant babies are the evidence.” Jon looked around, then sat down next to me. “Hell, this is the thing that keeps me going in this bloody heart of darkness. Elephants walking around, remembering the good old days.”

Two young calves were trying to learn how to control their limp trunks, which looked like noodles dangling in front of their faces. One moved its head from side to side, setting its trunk spinning in limp circles while flapping its tiny ears. The other bounced its head up and down, making its trunk move like a useless yo-yo. An older calf came over to stir up trouble with the youngsters, pulling at one of their trunks in play, prompting the victim to bellow loudly. What looked like an older sister jumped in and stopped the bullying, pushing the older calf away.

Two young bulls began a jousting session, while some youngsters tackled each other in the shallows, creating a muddy bath where others were trying to drink. Mothers looked on and kept a close watch on the youngest ones, tucking a stray under a belly as needed.

“Guess you don't get to see much elephant behavior here,” Jon said. “They turn tail and run at the sight of us. What exactly did you study in Kruger, anyway?”

“Had collars on old tuskers. Looked at home ranges. Followed one guy who must not have had any teeth left. He had a little friend that helped feed him. Amazing how bonded some of them were. Also studied their habitat use and demography.”

“Why did you stop all that?”

I put my binoculars down and looked at him. “Didn't take long to feel like studying them was something I was doing more for me than for them. I wanted to do something for them. Protect them somehow.”

“A noble cause.” I could see the expression on Jon's face change as he looked at my hand. “That along with the peace of mind you were looking for?” He reached out and touched my engagement ring. “Or an old ghost?”

Jon's touch shot through me, and I instinctively pulled my hand away.

Jon held up his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Just hadn't noticed a ring before.”

“I didn't mean to be so skittish.” I brought my hand back next to his. “I guess my ghost wouldn't leave me alone.”

“It was a buffalo, wasn't it?”

I nodded, mortified that the story must have gone around. “You heard?”

He shrugged. “Not much.” He looked away. “It's not your fault, you know.”

I shook my head. “I hesitated.” I tightened my lips and looked across the floodplain. “Have you ever felt responsible for someone else's death?”

Jon paused. “Unfortunately, more than once.”

I looked at him intently. “How?”

Jon pushed his hair back, his face revealing a hidden horror. “It was before independence. I was with the South African Defense Force when they occupied the region.” He smiled distantly. “Hell, I had a coupla great blokes in my brigade.” Then he hardened. “I had to make a quick decision. Thought it was the right one.” He turned so I couldn't look him in the face. “Coupla guys later made it clear that it was the wrong one. The place was littered with land mines. I was lucky to get out. Just one other guy and me. That was it.”

“God, that's terrible.”

Jon shrugged. “There's no burying some things.”

I looked out at the smoky floodplain. “Life seems so random sometimes.”

The sun now hung like a giant blood orange over the floodplain as the fire worked its way through the rest of the tree island in the distance. We sat up and watched the blazing orb sink toward the fiery river.

I took in a breath. “Nothing like an African sunset.”

“One day I'll have to see what it's like somewhere else. Less of a bloodbath, I should imagine.”

I dug around in my backpack and took out the two plastic cups I had packed and held up a tonic. “G and T?”

“How about just the T?” Jon yawned. “Extra dose of quinine never hurts in mosquito country.” Jon propped himself up the trunk of the tree and stared out into the distance.

I cracked the tab on a tonic water and poured Jon a glass and then made myself a stiff drink. I handed him his glass and took a sip of mine.

There was another burst from the hippos. Whatever had startled them caused a huge bellowing commotion far below, sending the elephants running silently off. I looked through my binoculars and saw a group of four people walking in the waist-high water.

I shook Jon's shoulder. “Hey Jon, look at this. There are tourists in the river!”

“Bloody hell!” Jon sat up, looked down at the people in the river, and made a quick descent. He yelled from halfway down, “Hey, get out of the water!”

I dumped my drink, grabbed my bag, and climbed down awkwardly behind him—the rebar stabbing at my palms and slipping underfoot as I tried to maintain my grip.

The group heard Jon's voice and came running toward us, desperate hands waving over their heads. “Help! An elephant attacked our vehicle! It is following us!”

I could hear from their accent that they were German. They all looked completely panic-stricken. I couldn't imagine what had happened.

Jon started the truck and I jumped in the back as he raced down the sandy track. He stopped at the river's edge, got out, and ran into the muddy water to usher them out. They were caked in grease, and one had a deep gash in his forehead.

“We were overturned by a mad elephant!” The German had wild eyes behind tiny mud-splattered glasses. His gray goatee was dripping with engine oil.

“Are you all right?” I went to check behind Jon's seat for a medical kit.

The man nodded nervously. “She kept smashing the vehicle with her tusks. Then she turned us over.”

A round woman wiped her khakis with a zebra-patterned scarf. “We were afraid to get out.”

Jon nodded. “Smart.” He offered them some water, which they gratefully accepted. “But why in the river?”

“The elephant was crazy. We waited for a long time to get out. All the crank case oil leaked out.” The third German held out his oil-soaked khaki shirt. “We thought the river was safer.”

Jon shook his head in amazement. “
Jislaaik!
You're lucky the crocs didn't get you.”

I found Betadine and cotton balls and approached the man with the gash. “Here, let's clean this off.”

The wounded man accepted the stinging yellow cotton. “Ouch!”

“Where are you staying?” I hoped it wasn't too far.

“Liadura Lodge. Far from here, no?”

Jon looked at his watch. “Come, we'll take you there.” He opened the tailgate and helped the Germans into the back. “Hold on to the roll bar. We're going to have to pass through some thick elephant country. And it's their witching hour.”

After driving about fifteen minutes we reached a mutilated white Land Rover. It was upside down and badly dented with puncture wounds from angry tusks. I was in awe of an elephant's rage. “What was she thinking?”

Jon teased me. “They are the enemy. I told you.”

“There had to be a motive.”

“There you are, playing your detective routine again. Come on, Catherine. They're wild animals. They don't need a motive. They've been shot at so many times, I don't expect them to act civilized.” Jon continued to drive in and out of tree islands and across the open floodplain. No sign of elephants yet.

Just before entering the last tree island we heard the wailing of elephants as they headed toward the river. Jon revved the engine and leaned his head out the window to warn the others. “I'm afraid we've got company. I'm going to have to blast through this next forest, so hold on tight.”

I held on to the door handle and looked at the terrified tourists through the rearview mirror. I put my seat belt on and gripped the dash as we raced through the forest with elephants roaring their objections on all sides. “Elephants don't like you to drive fast.”