It is a round world after all! And you can't walk to the ends of the earth and fall over – rather difficult to believe, as you look at eternity from the edge of a hill, into an abyss of green and brown; trees and hard rock. You skid, stumble and grip air to halt your fall, watching as the tiny rocks at your feet, disappear down into oblivion.
“Bump!”, you land on your behind. The vacant expression on your face is gradually replaced by a concoction of confusion, realisation, panic and relief, as you turn away from the edge. There is a flash of a camera and you know your comical look will soon be plastered and viewed across the world on too many social media sites.
Cautiously, you attempt to stand and move further away from what could have been the world's infamous edge (which no longer lives to its treacherous reputation) and meet the concerned but laughing faces of fellow adventurers.
You sit down and slowly, as you sip on some water and make sure your precious camera is not damaged, a certain normalcy returns: your fingers stop trembling, your feet come alive from their dead-log stupor, you believe in science again and manage to put aside questions about the gravity of the situation.
I look at the craggy drop, barely an inch away from me, and nestle closer to the rock I am hiding behind. How different things look now, from back then. In-fact, the drop below is almost comforting. The people after me will kill me and worse still, the death they offer me will be more painful than what awaits me at the bottom – if there is one – of this fall. I make up my mind: if they find me I will jump.
My one hope is that I have learnt how to cover my tracks – I still have a chance of staying undiscovered. But, even if I stay hidden from them now, would I make it through the night? This isn't exactly a safe haven. I stubbornly contain my anxiety and hopelessly check my phone for connectivity - Murphy's Law is a bitch - my phone battery is dead. I crouch deeper into the earth wishing it would swallow me up, continually grateful for the cloud cover that prevents me from creating enemy shadows.
I stay dead-still as I hear their voices and sense the threat in their foreign words. I have good reason to be terrified. I have seen these men kill. I have seen them slaughter innocent creatures: commit murder more than once. These men are dangerous and they are cowardly. They attack unfairly and kill an unarmed, innocent enemy. I am ashamed to know they are human and therefore kin. I am proud that I have captured their crimes on my camera. I am petrified that I may not be able to expose them - aggrieved that I was helpless to stop them.
Over the last year, I have spent alternate weekends in this beautiful landscape. My camera (nothing fancy – just a small digital friend), backpack and food are my only companions. There is a consummate sense of peace amidst these lush hills and listening to the river flowing, unmoved by my presence or lack of it, is surprisingly comforting. Who would believe that such muddy waters could look so beautiful? It is beautiful and is made even more breath-taking as I catch a glimpse of big swaying ears, gliding to and fro; smaller, giant feet come into view and graceful trunks playfully dip, pick and spray water everywhere. Every herd I see as precious as the previous one; I can watch these elephants forever.
How grand! How magical! How tranquil - I remember that feeling now and watch as the killers pass me. I dare not breathe and send silent thank you messages to a God I have never prayed to. I watch as dark clouds turn ominous, and one by one, heavy rain drops cover the earth around me. I tuck in my knees and hug my backpack, protecting it best as I can, as I cower in the downpour.
Camouflaged behind the shrubs, I see the ripple of grass ahead and it attracts my attention simply because it seems out of place. I doubt a human eye could spot me and I feel proud as I dwell on that. It's the impossible shriek that stirs me out of my self appreciative thoughts. I look ahead to see the herd in chaotic movement and there is another nightmarish cry as one of the bigger elephants falls lifeless to the ground. I am stunned. A pride must have attacked the herd - As horrific and rare as this is, it is the first possibility to strike me. I snatch my camera and rapidly capture photos. I cannot stop as the scene ahead of me unfolds. I am numb and feel the tears roll down my face. I hear a scream coming down from somewhere in the pit of my stomach; I do not understand how I have contained it.
The rain has finally stopped and I stand up. The rain was a blessing in disguise but I know I must leave here immediately. I turn eastwards; I will make my way to the lodge and from there, to Nairobi. I am not naive and know the chances of escape are low. I do not know where these men or their spies lurk, but this plan is my only hope! I look up and see the first star appear, as I take my first step towards help and away from the destruction I had witnessed.
Time has stopped. I am unable to take more photos. I can see and smell the vomit next to me and make a futile attempt to move away. A more powerful and permanent smell starts to fill my nostrils - blood. I watch the men, their faces imprinted in my mind, carry the ivory they have hacked off my jumbos to the Land Rover. I see their guns, their machetes. They are unfazed by the horrific sights they have created. I yearn to look away, I cannot. None of the herd has escaped. The big tuskers had no chance and the others have been slaughtered, as they bravely tried to protect each other. I have never seen such devastation. I must help – and yet I am unable to move. I do not know what to do: ahead of me are endless beheaded figures, around me bandits who will kill me. I see them picking the last of their stash now and uncaring, they begin their exit.
I knew it was a mistake to move. It was that slight movement, yonder, that decided me. I wasn’t sure if my eyes had been playing tricks on me. Then it was there again, a plaintive movement: It was a baby, alive and wailing next to its decapitated mother. I crawled out from behind the shrub and as the Land Rover began to drive away, I pressed onward. I must help – it was the only thought I had. I got closer and saw tears run down its normally smiling face. I had watched this herd for days and knew this baby calf. I had seen her come to life. She is patchy with her mother's blood now and distressed. I am almost next to her. I hear the car and turn around; I am not sure why they are back. All I know is that I have to get away. There is a great deal of shouting as they see me. I push the little calf down as hard as I can, crying, hoping she would understand that she should not move. The massacre around me is what saves me. The car cannot pass through and by the time these heartless men are on their feet I have retreated into the thicket. I run hard and pay no heed to the scratches on my body. I frantically try and keep a sense of direction. I know I must try and reach people. These cowards would not harm me in front of others and risk exposure – would they? I keep going. I hear them sometimes, as the tears continue streaming down my face – It is the sickness of it all. Seeing this carnage has left me broken - fast and completely. I stumble on and reach the edge of a hill and see the rock. It is my time to hide. It is my time to do anything I can to show the world that these men deserve punishment – that they deserve death.
It is barely eight hours later. I am being followed. I do not slow down,and maintain my course, close to the main path. The presence behind me doesn't feel harmful – It is in harmony with the sounds of insects and birds surrounding me. There is no moonlight and my progress is slow, but I am hopeful and happy not to have met any lions or leopards (I am unprepared for more adventure). I curse my stupid thoughts of hope as I spy two amber eyes and then four and then too many to count. They are right here - I have walked into a pride. I am tired and scared– what was I to do? I crumple, gracelessly to the ground
There is a movement. I see the silhouette of a lioness stand and walk towards me, pausing and analyzing me – am I a threat? Am I a meal? I catch the swish of her tail. I wish she would understand that I am in trouble and that I must take my photos away from here. I am here to help. I watch her approach and try to maintain eye contact. I can feel her move towards me – the pride behind her are alert. Then, I feel it on my shoulder and I struggle to keep my composure. I am pushed aside, albeit gently, as the lioness steps back and turns away, shrugging off her interest in me with supine haughtiness.
I know we don't have much time before the pride realises that the calf is alone. And in a beautiful moment I realise she isn't alone: she has me and I have her. Perhaps, she does know, in her own sense, that I want to help. I gather myself together and move to the open road with renewed belief. I walk quickly with Tumaini (Hope, as I have named her) by my side. Her sorrow is obvious from the tears still running down her face, her head is drooping and that ever present hint of a smile – so part of an elephant - is missing. But her walk is steady and determined, and we press on.
It has been three months from that day now and I am at the lodge again. I still have trouble sleeping. I will never be the same. There are camera men and journalists around me. My pictures and story have been published on a special edition of National Geographic. I have exposed the murderers: four of them are now in prison. The park has more patrols, and elephant herds here are now protected by rangers, day and night. It is a very small victory considering the massive problem. I am not proud; I am barely moved. But I am humbled, and I am glad I have a small victory to help me do more. Mostly, I am privileged to have a new friend – I look up and see Tumaini, lingering at the edge of the lodge. Her new family begins to walk majestically away but she is looking at me and raises her trunk. I look into her eyes. It is a promise we have made together– a promise to help in any small way!
