1An Elephant in My Garden
What was Frankie doing, standing right in front of my gate?
I kept an eye on her – you always had to with Frankie; she was unpredictable. You never quite knew what our feisty elephant matriarch would do. She turned to face the house and took a few steps, tall and proud. It almost looked as if she were walking inside my garden, I thought with a chill. But that was impossible. There were five electric wires laid on the ground across the open entrance carrying 8,000 volts of electricity to keep the animals out. There was no way Frankie could have breached the boundary.
I walked closer for a better view. Was I dreaming? Frankie was indeed in my garden! Somehow, she had stepped over the wires – was the electricity not working? – and she was walking up to my house. Strolling with confidence into this unauthorized land.
My first panicked thought was, ‘Where are my dogs?’ I looked around wildly. An encounter between seven barking dogs and a massive elephant would certainly end in disaster.
I felt hysterical, but kept my trembling voice low, ‘Here Tina … Lucy, Miley, come …’ They can be disobedient little chaps, but this time they caught the urgency in my voice and followed me up to the house, all of us moving quickly and quietly. They ran in and I shut the door and leaned against it, shaking with fear and adrenaline.
‘Come, come, my doggies, ssshhh …’ I said, gathering them to me and stroking them to keep them quiet. My little Gypsy shivered against me. Even the naughty yappy ones, the French poodles, Alex and Shani, were on their best behaviour – most dogs have a sensible respect for the elephants. As for Frankie, she had no love for dogs. In fact, she hated them. Gin is lucky to be alive after he foolishly charged Frankie some years ago, and Frankie gave him as good as she got, charging him back. His feet barely touched the ground as he’d fled.
Through the panes of glass in the flimsy wooden framed door, we all watched Frankie.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! It was July 2018 and Frankie had never come into my garden in all these years, and there she was walking around the place in a very calm, confident way. She wasn’t aggressive, or stressed. It was as if she were taking a little stroll around her own home.
She proceeded slowly towards me, one huge foot after the other, until she was no more than five or six metres from my door. Frankie could have knocked that door down with a little flick of her trunk if she wanted to.
Frankie and I have a special – if rather complicated – relationship. Twenty years earlier, soon after she arrived at Thula Thula with the original herd, she nearly killed me and my husband Lawrence when we surprised her on a noisy quad bike. I have never forgotten the terror of seeing her hurtle towards us, ears back, eyes blazing, her furious trumpeting splitting the air. I thought my last day had come.
We lived to tell the tale, and Lawrence named her after me, saying that she shared my feisty French temperament. Frankie had been more than feisty in the beginning. She had a temper and an unpredictable streak that made us all a bit nervous, especially when we had guests on game drives. As she aged, she became calmer and more confident, but she was never one to be taken lightly. The two of us had a healthy mutual respect.
And now here we were, the two Frankies, separated by a few metres of lawn and a few bits of wood and glass.
The elephant looked at us and seemed to hesitate, and for a scary moment, I was sure she was going to come in. Then she turned away from the door and strolled in the direction of the swimming pool.
Behind her, the rest of the herd were gathered at the fence, all twenty-eight of them, from Mandla, our biggest bull, to little Themba, tagging along behind his mother Nandi. The elephants were as surprised as I was to see their matriarch taking a walk around an area that they all knew full well was out of bounds. Nana, our gentle and dignified old lady, Frankie’s predecessor as matriarch, must have been shocked at this uncouth behaviour.
As the head of the herd, the matriarch shows leadership and demonstrates correct elephant behaviour. Frankie’s job was to set an example to the other elephants and to discipline anyone who stepped out of line. And yet here she was, blatantly flouting the rules herself.
Brendan, her son, decided, ‘Well, if Mum can do it …’. and walked up to the gate. Was I going to have two elephants in my garden? Or even the whole herd, following their leader?
As Brendan stepped onto the wires we heard a crackling, snapping electrical sound followed by his furious trumpeting scream. The wires were definitely working, and he had got a big shock. Brendan backed off.
Frankie continued her tour of the premises for almost an hour, unhurried and curious. She took in the view over the grasslands down towards the dam. Paused to admire the delicate pink flowers on the kapokboom tree. Rested a moment in the shade of the enormous sycamore fig. She raised her trunk and sniffed the light breeze that brings relief on hot summer days. It was as if she was taking stock of it all with a view to purchase, ‘Hmm, it’s a nice house; it might suit me.’
I was beginning to wonder if she had indeed taken up residence, and I was going to be stuck in my house with an elephant in my garden for ever, when she turned towards the gate.
All eyes were on Frankie.
The dogs and I watched through the door, and the elephants watched from outside the fence. What was she going to do? Frankie made her slow and deliberate way to the exit. It was a wonder that she’d got in without an electric shock. How was she going to get out? My great fear was that she would get a jolt, and I’d have a furious elephant on my doorstep.
She raised one massive foot and placed it carefully between the wires. By now, the rest of the elephants were in quite a state, shuffling about and looking on anxiously. Some were trumpeting their concern. Others were pointing to the ground with their trunks, almost as if they were saying, ‘Be careful … Look there’s a wire … Mind, there’s another one … Watch your step Frankie.’
Frankie remained calm, raising the next foot, and then the next, placing each one delicately on the ground, avoiding the wires with an acrobatic elegance you would never imagine was possible from a four-ton elephant.
As she cleared the last wire, the herd welcomed her back with their trunks held high in triumph and celebration. There was rumbling, and someone gave a short blast of a trumpet. You didn’t need to understand Elephant to know that they were saying, ‘You made it Frankie! You’re back! Well done!’
Frankie turned her great head to me, as I cowered behind the flimsy door and clutched my dogs. Her eyes met mine and she gave a small toss of her head, as if to say, ‘Who’s the matriarch now, Madame? I know you thought it was you, but who’s the boss really?’
The following evening, I was home alone with the dogs. They seemed a bit edgy, not settling happily into the sofa as usual. Now, when you live in the bush and your dogs behave in an unusual way, it’s a good idea to check it out because there is often something amiss. Usually, it is just a monkey in the trees, but it could be something more worrying, like a snake at the door. I moved little Gypsy from my lap and got up to look out of the window.
It was night and I didn’t have my glasses on, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the African flame tree that delighted me with its magnificent red flowers in spring, a big dark shape against the starry sky.
Copyright © 2022 by Françoise Malby-Anthony
