A Close Encounter

I met an elephant in Namibia last week, and his tired eyes looked deep into mine.

I have seen many elephants during my nine safaris in southern Africa. I have visited several times an elephant orphanage in Kenya where I sponsor three orphans. I have long felt a particular affinity for elephants. Their intelligence and compassion amaze me. But the experience I had with this tired-looking old bull elephant is unlike anything I have ever experienced, and it is impossible to find the words to adequately explain my feelings.

It was early evening when we spotted him standing alone (as bull elephants often do) behind some dried plants. It was obvious he was aware of our presence, but he stood still, making no attempt to walk away. It also was apparent that he was in musth, a time of dramatically increased hormone levels in healthy adult male elephants. This bull, whom I call Mutara (I have no idea where I got that name), was secreting a hormone-rich substance called temporin from a  temporal gland on both sides of his face. Musth bulls can be irritable and aggressive, but this bull was very calm. To me, he seemed tired.

After a bit, he took a few steps, which showed a very obvious limp in his left front leg. His tusks, which should have been much longer, had been broken off, perhaps more than once. Our guide estimated his age to be around 50 years. Elephants can live 70 years, but with habitat loss, conflicts with humans, and poaching, many do not make it that long. 

We waited quietly in our safari vehicle, cameras clicking, in awe that we were able to be so close to this magnificent animal. Gradually he started munching on some dried weeds, which appeared to have no nutritional value. 

Then he did something that still brings tears to my eyes. He turned directly toward us, and I swear he looked into my eyes and deep into my soul. Not only did he know of our presence, but he, I believe, was making an attempt to reach me. Knowing how old he is and that once an elephant has worn out its six sets of molars it will no longer be able to chew its food, it seemed that he was telling me goodbye.

I don't claim that I can communicate with animals. I don't pretend to be able to peer into their thoughts and their feelings and into their souls. But something happened between this old bull elephant and me. We connected, we two beings that were brought together by a chance encounter that lasted just a few minutes. 

I don't know whether the four other women in my group had the same feeling as I did. But I do know that everyone was awed by the experience of spending time with this magnificent bull.

I am in awe of the beauty of leopards. I admire the speed of a cheetah. I have always loved elephants. But never have I had such a deep, visceral connection with a wild animal as I did that evening.

My thoughts have returned to this elephant numerous times since our meeting. And every time, tears well up in my eyes and I silently wish him a good, happy, pain-free life, for however long that may be. Whether this truly was a connection between members of two very different species, I will never know. I will never know what this magnificent animal thought about our encounter. 

But I do know this: For a few brief moments, on an unknown level, we connected. And for that, I will be forever grateful.