Available  from

Chapter 2

We heard nothing more for the next few months. I won’t say I forgot about Omar, but he stopped being the thing I thought about first when I woke up. The local authorities had also been searching for him, but they had heard nothing. They never did it seemed. Life at the camp had structure and rhythm, something I needed in my life. Making sure everything went well kept me occupied. This was Africa, and nothing runs smoothly. Little things go wrong. They sent us the wrong size replacement tires for our trucks, a load of vegetables arrived rotted, and insect infected -- the small frustrations of daily life here. I was making myself busy supervising the gardeners one day when Vincent screamed up in the Land Rover with a young local tribesman on board. I looked up; I could tell Vincent was agitated. That was rare for him. Vincent was out of the car as soon as it stopped moving. I asked the question.

“What’s up?”

Vincent wiped his brow, and looked at me. He was upset, and his eyes avoided mine, a sure sign of his discomfort.

“This boy just came in; he says we have a wounded elephant towards the border. He says it’s hurt badly.”

I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath to calm myself.

“Poachers?”

Vincent nodded.

 “Looks like it.”

“Damn it, let’s get Andrew.”

“I’ve already sent a runner for him; he should be at the gate waiting for us.”

I smiled at the boy who had brought us the news; this was the sort of relationship we had worked hard at to develop with the local tribes.

I spoke to the boy in Swahili; most of the tribes understood it, though amongst themselves they spoke a variety of Bantu dialects.

“Jambo, jina lako nani? Una sema kiingereza?” Hello, what is your name? Do you speak English?

He looked at me shyly.

“Johnny, bwana.” He paused, looked at Vincent, gained confidence, and continued. “I can speak English.”

That was some relief; my Swahili was still not good. I smiled at him.

“Good for you. Where did you see the elephant, the tembo, eh? How long ago? Wapi? Where?”

Like Andrew, I mixed up my languages into a weird, eclectic Pidgin English. It became habitual. The boy answered in rapid Bantu. Excited he reverted to a more comfortable language than his labored English. Vincent translated for me.

“No more than half a day ago, South West, maybe six or seven miles. He went back to the village and told the elders, they sent him to tell us. He says the elephant was bleeding badly.”

“Did he see any men?”

Vincent started to translate, but the boy answered. He obviously understood English better then he spoke it.

“No bwana, I see no men. Tembo maybe travel far, but he hurt bad.”

I thought for a second, and asked him another question.

“Does the tribe go to the tembo?”

He shook his head in a no. He bit his lip and then spoke with his eyes down as if it made his words less offensive to his ears.

“They are scared of it; it will be angry and dangerous.”

“Good. Asante for coming. Asante sana.” Thank you. Thank you very much.

I then spoke to Vincent.

“Do you know where he means? I don’t really want to take him out near an injured elephant unless we have to.”

Vincent nodded.

“Yes I know where. We can leave him here safe.”

I called across to one of the gardeners that had been secretly listening to the exchange.

“Please take Johnny up to the kitchens and make sure he gets fed. Make sure he gets ice cream too, OK?”

The gardener nodded, came, and took Johnny by the hand. He led him away, holding his hand, and chirruping away. Johnny looked relieved; he waved his goodbye to us with a smile.

Vincent and I raced down to the gate in the truck, as predicted Andrew was waiting. He had armed himself with a large caliber hunting rifle. I looked at it; I knew it was a necessity even though I didn’t like to see it. Andrew looked grim.

“Wounded elephant eh?”

We nodded and I bought him up to speed. He hopped in the back of the truck and we sped off. It was mid-morning; most of the guests would be relaxing. I knew the camp could run itself for a little while. Vincent drove quickly on the track west. We bounced around like crash test dummies, the tires spewing dust and gravel in our wake. We were silent; each engrossed with his own thoughts. After a while we stopped, Vincent stood in his seat and looked over the windscreen of our roofless Land Rover. Andrew began to scan too; I watched them, their eyes much better in the bush than mine.

Andrew spoke to Vincent.

“You think South West now?”

Vincent agreed and we left the track, slowly traveling in that direction. I had no idea how they knew where to look. It was difficult going; we had to negotiate through virgin bush, avoiding tree stumps, and broken ground. Vincent drove on, finally stopping and taking the keys out of the car.

“From here we go on foot. Too dangerous to go on by car now, we could be on it before we know. We don’t know how bad it is -- we could be charged at any point.”

We got out. Vincent would lead and Andrew follow behind him with the rifle. I would come last; I was the third man in this bush-trained duo, the extra wheel. I had to ask, even though I felt stupid.

“How do you know we’re close?”

Andrew clapped me on the shoulders and laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, just one of honest amusement.

“Well look up and you might see vultures circling about, above that thicket of trees. Look around and you won’t see any other animals, they’ll stay away until the elephant dies. Then the scavengers will come, and none of the grazing animals wants to be around. You English are all the same man; you need to look around as well as straight ahead. You’re so bloody proud, that your necks won’t bend, eh?”

I blushed; it didn’t make me feel any better that they classified me like that. I thought myself more of a bushmen than my countrymen at least. I just had to remember to be patient with myself, I hadn’t been born to this life, I was still learning about it. Vincent was more politic, but he also wanted to protect me from myself. He spoke to me.

“James we will need to move quietly, no more talking. We need to keep on our toes; a wounded bull can be dangerous. You want to come with us or stay here?”

Andrew looked at me inquisitively.

“Of course I’m coming; I’m as much part of this as you two!”

Andrew threw his head back and laughed.

“Come on then my little Englishman, let’s go, and see what we’ve got.”

We started in towards the ticket, walking slowly and quietly. I hoped the elephant wasn’t gut or lung shot, an elephant can live a long time, but be in terrible pain from a shot like that.

Vincent stopped and knelt, he signaled us to drop down to make us less conspicuous. Andrew went forward on his haunches. He pulled his battered old field telescope out of pocket, expanded it, and studied the scene. I could see little at that distance. I could make out a small stand of acacia trees, but I could see nothing more. Andrew shook his head then handed the telescope over to Vincent.

“Please tell me I’m wrong.”

I could tell from Andrew’s voice that he was furious. He spoke in low volume, but there was a ferocity to his voice that sent my heart racing. Vincent looked for a few seconds, and then dropped his head towards the ground and sighed.

“No, you’re right. It’s cow, and she has a very young calf.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“They shot a cow for Gods sake?”

Andrew looked around at me like I was an alien, I could the vein in his neck pumping, and I knew he was trying to keep his temper under control.

“Yes, it’s a lung shot OK! I can see the blood frothing at the wound. She must be in agony. Those low down, filthy bastards -- can’t they tell the difference. She only has a little ivory on her.”

He spat in the dust, and sat down. He took his bush hat off, banged it on his thigh, and sighed. Vincent sat down too. I guessed we were planning our approach. Andrew spoke.

“This is not going to be fun. We have to shoot the cow and quick. She is going to come out charging as she has a calf in tow. The calf is going to follow her and as soon as the old girl goes down, we’re going to have a distraught baby on our hands. She is going to start screaming her pretty little head off.”

I asked Andrew, but Vincent answered.

“Can we save the baby?”

“No James, it is too young to survive. We will have to kill it too.”

“Godammit!” I was tearing up in frustration. “Why can’t they just leave them alone?”

Andrew stood up and delivered judgment.

 “They never have, and they never will. It is the way of Africa. I want to get close; I want a nice clean kill. You two stay here.”

It was an order not a request.

Andrew began walking forward. I saw him cram a round into the chamber and hold his rifle at the ready across his chest. I went to follow him, but Vincent held me back.

“No James, leave him be. If he has to worry about us too, it makes it harder for him. Andrew knows what he’s doing; he’s a much better shot than me.”

“You trust him don’t you?”

“Absolutely, he’s the best man around for miles for this job.”

I sat back down, and watched Andrew continue walking forward. He was about one hundred yards away now, seemingly very close to the trees where our elephant was hiding. He started moving forward very slowly, taking miniature steps. He had the gun up in his shoulder; he was expecting to use it very shortly. I heard the warning trumpet of the cow and flinched. It was a high shriek, like steam under pressure, the warning shout of ‘stay away.’ Andrew stopped for a second and then took a step forward. He waited a few seconds, and then took another tentative step.

I looked at Vincent.

“Why doesn’t he shoot? He’s putting himself too close; he’ll be in real danger.”

“He wants a clean shot, if he shoots through the trees, there’s a chance it won’t be a clean kill. So close to her, he won’t have time to reload if he doesn’t nail her immediately.”

Vincent shrugged. For him that explained everything. I watched the drama unfold.

Andrew took one more step, the rifle cocked and ready. I heard a shriek of pain and anger from the cow and saw the trees shake. She was coming out to fight her last stand. Suddenly she came crashing out the trees. She was slightly to the left of Andrew and no more than fifty feet away from him. She was running fast, trumpeting, and thrashing around with her trunk. I could see the blood on her flank, some of it dried and old, and some fresh pink lifeblood frothing on her flank. Andrew stood his ground, looking for the moment for the head shot when he could stop her cold. The earth shook with the charge of the elephant and I started to curse.

“Jesus, shoot already!”

Elephants had mocked charged me before in my travels, but this was no threat. That cow was not going to stop; she intended to run right through him. The calf came now; it was a little baby no more than a few weeks or so. It was charging too, making high pitched, tinny little shrieks. I saw the recoil of Andrew’s rifle followed by the loud crack of the report. The sound echoed across the veldt. He cycled another round in the chamber, still sighted on the cow. I saw the cow falter, take a few more steps, and then drop to her knees. She fell and rolled onto her side no more than ten feet in front of Andrew. He swiveled to take aim on the calf. The calf stopped and began a series of painful bellowing shrieks of rage and grief. The calf nudged at its mother, trying to encourage her to her feet. Andrew’s rifle barked again, the sound once more echoing around the veldt in witness of this atrocity. The calf dropped and went silent. I watched Andrew lower the rifle and kneel. He looked like he was crying. I stood and made to join him.

Vincent held my arm in restraint and shook his head.

“No James, give him the moment. It is a terrible thing he had to do. Give him time to pull himself together. He will call us when he’s ready.”

Andrew and Vincent had developed a real rapport. They understood each other, black and white born of the same African soil. I saw Andrew shake his head as if to clear it and then stand. He cycled one last round into the breech and edged forward. If the cow wasn’t dead, she had the strength in her trunk to smash his bones like matchsticks. He edged forward, moving to the back of the fallen elephant to be out of reach of any revengeful trunk. He leaned over and looked at the head; he looked over to the baby and then turned.

He called out to us.

“They’re dead, you can come over.”

Vincent and I walked over; it was a horrific sight. Andrew had made good clean kills, but whoever had tried earlier had riddled the cow’s body with an automatic weapon. Andrew was silent. I mumbled.

“How could they? They weren’t even aiming at the heart or brain, they just sprayed her and hoped she’d fall over and die.”

Andrew spat, his low voice low and angry.

“Because they’re filthy terrs who like to ambush. They have no skill, just stupidity and a gun.”

I asked them both, I didn’t know.

“What do we do now?”

Andrew looked at me wearily; his eyes were gritty and red. He would have blamed the dust but I knew better.

“We have to cut out the ivory.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll come back for it, and that way if they get it, they win.”

“How are you going to do it?”

“With a chainsaw man, how do you think?”

Vincent was already walking back to the car. I assumed he was heading to get the chainsaw.

“Andrew, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can watch this.”

“You don’t have to. It’ll be a bloody and messy job. Vincent and I will do it. You take a walk.”

I did. I felt a little ashamed, but I had not been born to the harshness of this country. I wasn’t used to the blunt close-up focus of blood, disease, and death as Africans are. I walked over to the stand of trees where the elephant had hidden. I heard the chainsaw rev up into life behind me. I didn’t look back. I followed the cow’s trail; it was easy enough for a blind man to see it. I could see the heavy footprints where she’d charged; see the fresh bright blood she had spilt and I could only imagine the agony she had suffered. . I walked further into the stand dodging the cruel ‘wait-a-minute’ thorns of the acacia trees. The land dropped away shallowly at first and then ended at a small cliff. This was where the cow had hid; there was dung and blood. She had smeared one tree with bright blood; she had obviously leant against it. I looked over the edge of the cliff, and I saw the carcass of another elephant down there. I could see immediately that they had cut the tusks from the carcass. I swore in anger. I had to get down the cliff somehow to see if there were more. What damage had they done and did they realize what they were doing?

I turned to go back for help but Vincent was right behind me. He must have followed me, always watching for my welfare. Vincent stood looking at me, covered in blood, dust, and sweat. He looked light a nightmare.

“It is done,” he said.

I gestured over the cliff and Vincent looked. He shook his head in disgust and spat on the ground in that African way of expressing disgust.

“Wait here. I’ll go and get some rope. We need to see if there’s more…or if we have a wounded one to deal with.”

I sat in one of the few areas free of dung or blood with my head in my hands, pondering the vagaries of life here. This country was founded on blood, the abuse, and the rape of her resources. I looked at the sun; it was already early afternoon. I knew this was going to be a long and gruesome day. Vincent came back accompanied by Andrew. Andrew looked even worse than Vincent did. The debris that the chainsaw threw up had coated him in a fine spray of blood and bone. He looked like a monster rather than the considerate man I knew him to be. He grunted; it was habitual for him.

“Another eh?”

He looked over the cliff. He made his comment.

“Bastards.”

He spat. He had the rifle slung on his back. He tied off the rope to a tree and threw it over the cliff.

“You guys stay here and I’ll see what I can see.”

He was gone ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I heard him climbing back up the rope grunting and cursing at the effort. He pulled himself over the lip and back up to join us. We looked at him in question; we all knew each other so well that there was no need for words.

 “Another cow, riddled with bullets. They’ve taken the ivory. No other around, but there’s signs that it was a big herd. I don’t think any of them were hurt though.”

“Is that why this cow stayed here.” I wanted to understand.

“Probably. Maybe that’s her sister or her aunt. She wasn’t old so she wouldn’t have had much tusk. Whoever this was, it was a bloody amateur outfit.”

“Locals?”

“Local or terrs, who can tell?” Terr is the local derogatory name for terrorists. “Come on we better head over to the army camp and give them a heads up.”

We left and made our way back to the car. The guys were sensitive enough to skirt the cow’s carcass so I only saw it from behind. The vultures had already arrived and I saw the shapes of hyenas slinking across the plain. Nothing would go to waste. When we reached the car, I saw they had draped blanket to cover the majority of the elephant’s tusks in the back seat. I could see the bloody roots sticking over the side. I said nothing. I had nothing to say. I only spoke to break the ominous silence. I knew it was a dumb question, but it just fell out of my mouth.

“We can’t do anything for the bodies?”

Andrew and Vincent laughed; it brightened the moment a little. Andrew turned to look at me.

“That would be a bloody big grave to dig don’t you think?”

Vincent smiled at me.

“The scavengers will be here soon, it is the way.”

I sat in the passenger seat, resigned. If we had poachers back in the area, it was going to make the game shy. That was nothing I wanted as a camp owner. We drove the fifteen miles to the army camp to report the kill and to hand over the ivory. I hoped the authorities would destroy it, rather than it find its way back onto the black market as I feared. It was all I could do to silence the cynic in me from asking how they hadn’t heard the shots.

Vincent took on the bulk of the reporting and the paperwork. He spoke their language better than we did and had more patience with the cumbersome procedures. Eventually we had everything finished -- signed, witnessed, and countersigned. They were going to send out a patrol to try to track the poachers. Andrew pulled me to one side.

“Would you miss me if I went with them for a few days?”

“Eager for some action, getting bored with us no doubt?”

“Not so much, you’re a constant source of amusement.” He laughed to take the edge of the barb. “I just want to make sure it’s done properly, not half-assed.”

I considered it.

“OK but no more than a week, or I’m sending out a search party.”

Andrew grinned and shook my hand.

“A week it is then bwana.”

I laughed with him.

“Anymore than that and I’m selling your share of the camp to the highest bidder.”

“Sure, sure and the baboons won’t steal your vegetables if you put salt on the fence.”

I looked at him, baffled. I had no idea where he got some of his phrases, but they confused me.

“I figure that means something like when pigs fly, eh?” I hated that I was picking up his terrible intonation.

“Ja, lions won’t bite if you cross your fingers, and other such stuff. Things we used to say when we were kids is all.”

“We grew up in different places -- lions and baboons weren’t a common point of reference for us.”

“Your loss. Anyway, can you send one of the boys over with my kit?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

He rattled off his kit requirements, all simple, everyday stuff.

“Done -- we’ll head back and I’ll send it over. We have to get the commander’s approval here for you to tag along of course.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“So you weren’t really asking then, were you?”

He laughed a big booming sound.

“Nah, not really.”

I leaned close to him.

“No bloody heroics though! I’ll be pissed if you get yourself shot.”

“Hasn’t happened yet and I’m not got any plans that way.”

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they all say.”

He walked off with a big self-satisfied grin on his face. Andrew was never happier than when in motion.

Vincent and I drove back to the camp. I looked at Vincent as he drove; he was brooding.

“What is it Vincent? Do you feel something?”

Vincent tuned into the rhythms of Africa somehow, he had the gift of foresight, though he never thought of it that way. Vincent shook his head.

“No, I was just thinking about the poachers. It is not a simple problem, James. Someone gives them a gun and offers them more money than they will see in years of work, just to get them tusks. They are a poor people; it seems like an easy option. They see many elephant and think one less is not a problem. It is not the man with the gun who is evil; it is the man who gives it to him. The people are poor and it looks like an easy choice for them.”

“You’re thinking about Omar then?”

“Omar and his type, yes. There have always been Omars in Africa, men who trade on the people’s needs and the easy pickings. It has been the English too, in their day, James.” He paused and then looked reproachfully at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like an accusation, but there have always been people robbing Africa of its riches.”

I slapped him on the shoulder.

“No offence taken Vincent, and you are right. All the developed countries have been guilty of the same sin, but now we are getting wiser, maybe…” I grinned; I wasn’t so sure about that. “We’ll have to speak to our army friend in Maputo though; we need to step up patrols around here. It is alright for Andrew to go this time, but I don’t want him out running vigilante patrols all through the season.”

Vincent nodded; he was still thoughtful and I left him to his silence. We drove on. We crested a rise and he stopped. Before us lay the expanses of Lake Cabora Bassa looking like a pool of golden lava under the bright red of the setting sun. We sat in silence for a few seconds, in awe of the natural beauty of this land. Vincent broke the moment by restarting the car’s engine. I asked Vincent.

“Will there ever be peace in Africa my friend?”

Vincent shook his head ruefully.

 “Not in our lifetimes, I fear.”

We drove back the last few miles with that judgment resonating in our minds. I watched the herds of eland part for our crossing, the russet topi grazing, and the zebra watching us like little old men. How much longer would we have their gift in our lives I wondered?

It was tricky running the camp without Andrew for a few days; it forced me to take over his hosting duties. I was nowhere near as gifted as he was, and I knew the guests that had bonded with him missed his presence. Andrew staggered into the camp five days after I had last seen him. He had obviously seen some rough traveling; he was filthy, unshaven, and tired. I asked him a single question before I sent him to rest and clean up.

“Did you catch up with them?”

He shook his head.

“Nah, we got close, but they slipped back over the border when they figured we were on their tail. Until we get inter-country co-operation we’re screwed. They just hop in and out over the borders. You can never catch them in one country before they slip into the next.”

I nodded in understanding, but a grain of an idea had lodged in my mind like a grain of sand in an oyster; I hoped it could produce a pearl.

(Chapter Continues)

Visit my blog at The Daily Clairity

Send mail to info@stuartford.com with questions or comments about this web site.
Copyright © 2003 Stuart Ford