Born Free Page 4

  Feeding Elsa became quite a problem, for the local fishermen were quick to recognize the source of income which she represented and the price of goats soared. In fact, for some time, she kept the villagers in luxuries hitherto unknown to them. However, in the end, she had her revenge. The herdsmen never guarded their animals, which straggled along all day in the bush, an easy prey to leopard and lion. One evening, we were out on the beach, long after bedtime for goats, when Elsa suddenly darted into a bush; there followed a loud bleat and then silence. She must have scented a lone straggler, pounced on the goat and squashed it with her weight. But, never having killed before, she did not know what to do next and when we arrived she plainly asked us for help. While Elsa held the animal down George quickly shot the beast. As no complaint was made by the owner for its loss, which was no doubt credited to the usual kill of some wild lion, we kept quiet about the incident. Had we done otherwise every moribund goat from a day’s march north and south of the camp would have been left out for Elsa to devour so that compensation might be claimed. We overcame our qualms of conscience with the thought that George had rid the district of its chief goat-eater and also with the recollection of the exorbitant prices we had paid for the most miserable little beasts which we had bought on Elsa’s behalf.

  Towards the end of our holiday George developed malaria; as he was anxious to go fishing he now dosed himself with mepacrine and, before he had given the drug time to work, he went skindiving, with the result that he became seriously ill.

  Returning home one evening from a walk along the beach with Elsa, as I neared the camp I heard an alarming howling and screaming. After securing Elsa in my truck, I rushed to the tent, where I found George limp and collapsed in a chair. He was emitting frightful groans and yelling for his revolver, for me, cursing Elsa and shouting that he wanted to shoot himself. Even in his semi-conscious condition he recognized me, seized me with an iron grip and said that now that I was there he could relax and die. I was most alarmed; the boys stayed a few yards away looking very frightened. Our friend stood helpless, clutching a stick with which he proposed to club George if he should become violent.

  In whispers, they told me that, quite suddenly, George had started to gesticulate wildly, shrieking for me and shouting for his revolver to kill himself. Luckily I had returned soon after he had collapsed. The main thing now was to carry him to his bed and try to calm him. He hung lifeless and icy cold in our arms as we moved him. Although my heart was heavy with fear, I began talking to him in a quiet voice, telling him about our walk along the beach, about the fish we were going to eat for dinner, about a shell I had found, and made fun of his strange behaviour. But all the time I wondered whether he were not going to die. Like a child, he responded to my efforts to soothe him and calmed down. But his temples grew grey, his nostrils fell in and his eyes closed. He whispered that an icy current was creeping up his legs towards his heart, that his arms were equally lifeless and cold, and that when both icewaves met at his heart, he would die. Suddenly he was seized by panic, clutched me with a desperate strength, as though hanging on to life. I poured brandy between his dry lips, stroked him gently and, trying to divert his mind towards some action associated with the near future, told him about his birthday cake which I had brought all the way from Isiolo, and said that we should eat it that night, as soon as he was well enough to get up.

  Before he fell into an exhausted sleep, the night had passed; during that time he had had several relapses, during which his brain worked with frightening rapidity while he uttered senseless words. The next morning I sent to Lamu for a doctor, but the competent Indian who came could do little for George except order sleeping drugs and give him confidence that he was going to recover provided he did not go goggling again.

  When he had sufficiently recovered we returned to Isiolo.

  4. Safari to Lake Rudolf

  One day, soon after our return to Isiolo, I noticed that Elsa walked with difficulty, and was in pain. It was getting dark and a long distance of steep rocky slopes, covered with thornbush, lay between us and home. Soon Elsa could walk no farther. George thought that she might be suffering from constipation and suggested that I should give her an enema on the spot. That meant returning home and then driving to Isiolo to get what was needed. While I did this, he remained with Elsa.

  By the time everything was ready it was dark, then I had to struggle up the hills, carrying warm water, an enema and a lamp. It is one thing to administer an enema in a vet’s surgery, but it is quite another to do this amongst thorn-covered bush and in the dark, to a wildly scratching lion.

  I congratulated myself when I had inserted a pint of liquid into poor Elsa, but that was all that she would tolerate and it was, of course, far too little to produce any results, so we had no choice left but to carry her home.

  Again, I stumbled back to the house, where I collected a camp bed, to use as a stretcher, a few torches and six boys to act as porters. The procession then moved up the hill.

  When we arrived, Elsa rolled at once on to the bed where, lying on her back, she showed that she was thoroughly enjoying this queer mode of transport. Indeed it seemed as though she had never travelled in any other way. But as she weighed at least 180 lb her pleasure was not shared by the porters as they sweated and panted, struggling down hill, stopping every few minutes to rest.

  Elsa made no attempt to leave the stretcher, but she had great fun giving an occasional nip on the bottom to the nearest boy, as if to urge him on.

  When, at last, we reached home, all of us – except Elsa – quite exhausted, we were obliged to roll her off the bed, for she had no intention of leaving it voluntarily.

  Later we discovered that hookworm was the cause of her trouble. She must have got infected with it when we were on the coast.

  It was not long after she had recovered that George had to deal with two man-eating lions which, during the past three years, had killed or mauled about twenty-eight people of the Boran tribe. Elsa and I accompanied George on this expedition which proved difficult and dangerous. Twenty-four days passed before he was able to kill the two lions. During this period the paradox of the situation often came clearly to my mind: here we were hunting dangerous man-eating lions by day and by night, yet, when we were returning exhausted and defeated we looked forward to being with Elsa who compensated us for the fatigue and the strain by her affection. Lion versus lion?

  Elsa was now eighteen months old and I noticed, for the first time, that she had, temporarily as it proved, developed a strong smell. She had two glands, known as anal glands, under the root of her tail; these exuded a strong-smelling secretion which she ejected with her urine against certain trees and although it was her own smell she always pulled up her nose in disgust at it.

  One afternoon, after we had returned to Isiolo, we met a herd of eland. Elsa instantly began to stalk them. These large antelopes were grazing on a steep slope and had several young amongst them. One eland cow waited for her and before she got too close to the calves distracted her attention from the youngsters by playing hide and seek with her in the bushes. In this way, she kept her engaged until the herd and the calves had safely disappeared beyond the hillside. Then the eland cow galloped off at high speed, leaving poor Elsa standing.

  Another case of animal diplomacy was fascinating to watch. We had taken Elsa up a hill behind the house, from the top of which we saw a herd of about eighty elephants with many small calves feeding below. Elsa saw them too and before we could shout ‘No’ she went off downhill and, a few moments later, was advancing cautiously towards the herd.

  Nearest to her was a cow with a small calf. Elsa stalked it with great cunning, but the mother elephant was well aware of her intention. We watched, tense with anxiety, expecting a charge, but to our surprise the mother elephant moved quietly between Elsa and the calf, pushing it slowly towards some big bulls, keeping our lioness on the far side. Disappointed, Elsa looked for the next best playmate and used careful cover to join two feedi
ng bulls. But again she was ignored. Then she tried to provoke other small groups of elephants, advancing to within a few yards of them. Still nothing happened. The sun was getting low; we shouted to her but she obstinately disregarded our calls. Finally we had no alternative but to return home without her. She certainly intended to take her time and we could only rely on her intelligence to keep her out of trouble.

  I waited for her inside the enclosure and became more and more worried. What could we do? Chaining Elsa up during the elephant season would only frustrate and infuriate her; indeed, it might end by making her dangerous. We had to let her learn her limitations by experience, allow her to weigh the fun against the boredom, or danger, of playing with these big animals. In doing so perhaps she would come to lose interest in them. By this time she was three hours overdue and I feared an accident, then suddenly I heard her familiar hnk-hnk and in she came, very thirsty indeed, yet before she went to her water bowl she licked my face and sucked my thumbs as if to tell me how glad she was to be with me again. She smelled strongly of elephant, and I could well imagine how close she had been to them, and that she had rolled in their droppings. By the way she flung herself with a crash to the ground, I could also judge how tired she was. I felt very humble; here was my friend just returned from a world that was utterly denied to me, yet she was as affectionate as ever. Did she have any realization of the extraordinary link she was between the two worlds?

  Of all animals, giraffe were undoubtedly her favourites. Often she stalked them until both sides became tired. Then she would sit down waiting for the giraffe to return and sure enough, after a time they would approach again, advancing slowly step by step, facing Elsa, looking at her with their large sad eyes, while their slender necks arched in an inquisitive way. Then usually, browsing at their favourite acacia seeds as they went by, they would walk peacefully away. But, sometimes, Elsa would drive them in proper lion fashion. After spotting them, she would turn off at right angles down wind, crouching with her belly close to the ground, every muscle quivering, until she had encircled the herd, then she would drive it towards us. No doubt we were expected to wait in ambush and kill the victims she had so cleverly rounded up for us.

  Other animals also attracted her attention; for instance, one day she sniffed the air and then dashed into a thick bush. Soon afterwards we heard crashing and snorting coming straight at us! Quickly we jumped out of the way as a warthog thundered past, with Elsa hot on his heels. Both disappeared at lightning speed and for a long time we heard them breaking through the woods. We were very worried for Elsa’s safety, as the warthog has formidable tusks which he can use to kill, till she returned. The winner of the chase rubbed her head against our knees and told us about her new playmate.

  Our next safari was to take us to Lake Rudolf, a stretch of brackish water, some 180 miles long, reaching to the Ethiopian frontier. We were to be away for seven weeks and most of the time we should travel on foot with pack donkeys and mules. It would be Elsa’s first experience of a foot safari in the company of donkeys and we could only hope that both sides would accept each other. We were quite a party: George and myself; Julian, a Game Warden from a neighbouring territory; Herbert, who was again our guest; as well as Game Scouts, drivers and personal servants; six sheep to feed Elsa on the way; and thirty-five donkeys and mules. The pack animals were sent off three weeks ahead to meet us on the shores of the Lake, while we travelled the distance of about 300 miles by motor transport.

  It was a big convoy: two Land Rovers, my one-and-a-half-ton truck with Elsa in the back of it, and two three-ton lorries. The latter were necessary to enable us to carry, as well as the men, sufficient food and petrol for the weeks we should be away, also eighty gallons of water. Our first 180 miles led us through the sandy, hot and dusty plains of the Kaisut desert. Then we ascended the volcanic slopes of the Marsabit mountain, an isolated volcanic mass rising to 4,500 feet out of the surrounding desert. Clothed in thick, cool, lichen-covered forest, and often enveloped in mist, it presented a welcome contrast to the hot arid country below. It is a game paradise and harbours elephant carrying some of the finest ivory in Africa, besides rhino, buffalo, the greater kudu, lion and lesser game. Here was the last administrative post.

  From now on we made our way through practically uninhabited country and were cut off from any contact with the outside world. Nothing broke the monotony of the sand gullies and lava ridges. The only incident was a crash which nearly broke my car in half. One back wheel left us and we came to an abrupt stop. Poor Elsa; it took hours to repair the damage and she had to spend the time inside the car, since it provided the only shade from the fierce sun which she hated. However, she was most co-operative and although she did not like strange Africans, obligingly put up with the jabbering crowd of our people, who pressed close to the car trying to be helpful. When we were mobile again, we climbed up the most shocking track into the Hurri hills on the Ethiopian border. These are desolate and, though higher than Marsabit, attract less moisture. An enervating gale blows across their slopes and, in consequence, they are barren of forest. Elsa was quite bewildered by the fierce wind and had to spend the night in the truck, well protected with canvas curtains from its icy blast.

  George’s purpose in visiting these hills was to examine the game situation and to see whether there were any signs of poaching by the Gabbra tribesmen. After a few days spent in patrolling the country we turned westwards, crossing the most depressing, desolate lava country, where sharp rocks jerked the car mercilessly, and Elsa had a tough time as we pushed the vehicles through deep sandy river beds or ground our way carefully between boulders, jostling against the large stones. At last we came out on to the Chalbi desert, a dry ancient lake bed some eighty miles in length, with a smooth fairly firm surface on which a vehicle can travel at full speed. Mirages are the most remarkable feature of this area: great expanses of water with palm trees reflected in their surface appear but swiftly vanish as one approaches them. Here, too, gazelles assume the proportions of elephants and appear to be walking on the waters. It is a land of thirst and grilling heat. At the western end of Chalbi lies the oasis of North Horr, where there is a police post, and where thousands of camels, sheep and goats belonging to the Rendile tribe come to water. Another remarkable sight to be seen there in the morning is that of thousands of sand grouse flying in to drink at the few pools. Soon, as there was nothing to keep us at North Horr, we filled our water containers and continued on our way.

  At last, after two hundred and thirty miles of hustling and bumping, we reached Loyongalane, an oasis of fresh-water springs in a grove of doum-palms near the south of Lake Rudolf. Here we found our donkeys waiting for us. We took Elsa at once to the lake, which was two miles distant. She rushed into the water as though to throw off the strain of the journey and plunged in right among the crocodiles, which are very plentiful in Lake Rudolf. Luckily they were not aggressive, but all the same we tried to scare them away. During our safari, their floating, horny shapes, silhouetted all along the shore, were to make bathing, at least for us, a dubious pleasure.

  At Loyongalane we established our base camp and spent the next three days in repairing saddlery and packing donkey loads. Each load weighed approximately fifty pounds, two to each donkey. At last all was ready. There were eighteen donkeys loaded with food and camping gear, four with water containers, one riding mule for anyone who went weak or lame, and five spare donkeys. I was worried about what Elsa’s attitude towards the donkeys was going to be. She watched all our repacking with restrained interest, then when we started loading she had to be chained up, for the sight of so much lovely meat braying and kicking and rolling in the sand in an endeavour to throw off unwanted burdens, with shouting Africans rushing about trying to bring order into the chaos, made her tense with excitement. The main cavalcade started off in the morning and we followed with Elsa later in the day when it was cooler. Our march was northwards along the shore line. Elsa was very excited and rushed like a puppy from one to the
other of us, then she dashed in among the flocks of flamingoes, retrieved a duck we had shot, and finally went swimming in the lake, where one of us had to cover her with a rifle on account of the crocodiles. Later, when we passed a herd of camels, I was obliged to put her on the chain; this made her furious and her efforts to meet these new friends nearly pulled my arms off. I, however, had no wish to see a stampeding, panic-stricken herd of camels falling over each other, bellowing, gurgling, legs intertwined, and Elsa in their midst. Fortunately these were the last livestock we met along the shore.

  When night fell, we saw the fires of the camp by the lake. Again I put Elsa on the chain for fear that she might have enough energy left to chase our donkeys. When we arrived we found camp already pitched and everything laid out for dinner. While we had a belated sundowner we decided that at dawn each morning the lion party – George and I, Nuru, a Game Scout as guide – and Elsa would start off, while camp was being struck and the animals saddled and loaded. In this way, we would benefit by the cooler hours and the animals would follow at a safe distance, dispensing us from any need to keep Elsa on the chain. Then about nine thirty, we would look for a shady place where we could rest during the heat of the day and where the donkeys could get some grazing. As soon as these were sighted, we would put Elsa on the chain. In the afternoon we would reverse our routine, the donkey party leaving two hours before the lion party and pitching camp before dark. We kept to this routine during the whole safari and it worked out very well, for it kept Elsa and the donkeys apart, except during the midday rest, when she was chained up and very sleepy. As it turned out, both parties soon learned to take each other for granted and to accept that everything which formed part of the safari must be tolerated.

  We found that Elsa marched well until about nine in the morning, then she began to feel the heat and kept stopping wherever a rock or bush gave shade. In the afternoon, she was reluctant to move before five; after that, once her pads had hardened, she could have gone on all night. On an average she trotted from seven to eight hours daily, and kept in wonderful condition. She dipped herself in the lake and swam as often as possible, often only six or eight feet from the crocodiles; no shouting or waving on my part would bring her back till she felt like doing so. Usually we reached camp between eight and nine in the evening; often the donkey party would fire Very lights to guide us.