A Letter by Adine Roode
A herd of buffalo meets Nandi and me at the waterhole, a herd almost as big as the waterhole itself, stretching across the earth in droves. How many, I don’t know, but I know that their families can reach from 20 up to 1000 in size. Large families like this are not that common in the animal kingdom, but you’ll see it among the elephants too, like a school of fish darting through the water in a synchronized dance. Elephants are family animals and it’s partly what endears me to them.
As Nandi waits in the car, I exit and take slow steps closer to the buffalo. The elephants arrive and Pisa and Mambo beeline for the animals. The naïve bravery of youth in full display. I watch Setombe and Klaserie head down to the water’s edge with Sebakwe close by, Jabulani, a bull as old as my son, is there too. At the back are Tokwe and Fishan, taking it slow, letting their family make their way to the dam first. And in between I spot my Meisiekind, Khanyisa. As much as the herd adopted her, and now raise her, I still feel bonded to her. She is part of my family too. My little one. The buffalo move off, giving in to the earth’s largest land mammals, our herd of 16 elephants, a herd unlike any other, with mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters.
Nandi sits quietly in my car up on the dirt path. She knows the routine by now. Her mother likes to talk to elephants, walk with elephants. And so she has to share her. Nandi grew up alongside Khanyisa. As a German Shepherd, though, she isn’t quite accepted by the bigger herd, who are weary of energetic barking wolf-like hounds. I watch the carers following the elephants and taking a break under the trees. And all I see is the incredible union of one big family and the multiple ways we are all connected, animal and human.
This wilderness is my home and I’ve walked its paths since I was a child. My children who are now adults were raised by the elephants and buffalos, with quiet waterhole outings and walks with the carers teaching them about life. You feel it more in the wild, the sense of connection. The earth has time for you, and you make time for it. The wind talks in rhymes and the trees pass on their lessons, like elders in the herd. The tracks on the ground guide you and the great matriarchs offer their comfort.
Even after my father passed away, I could feel him in this land. My mother and brother share this bushveld home, but our family is far bigger, far more varied. The giraffes and their nurseries of offspring rely on us, as the elephants, both wild and rescued, do. Their lives are our lives.
While the elephants swim and drink at the waterhole, I return to Nandi, and we continue our journey to check on our brothers and sisters, our mothers and fathers of the bush. Just as they check in on us, like a mother phoning her son on the other side of the country to ask him how he is, the impalas dart their eyes our way, “How are you?” Their ears face us to listen to the reply…
Look after family, however big or small, far or near, and it will look after you.
A Look at Kapama's Story - read more in the blog: jabulanisafari...
8 сен 2024
