Melissa Haynes - Learning to Play with a Lion's Testicles

There are no other signs of human life for as far as the eye can see. There are no buildings, no traffic, no streets and no congestion—only God’s landscaping. The reserve is cut into a valley at the base of the Landberg mountain range. The mountains stand tall and still like soldiers clad in dark blue uniforms, topped in white fur caps, guarding this kingdom of paradise that has been held hostage by drought for more than a hundred years. Snow covers the peaks in the African winter, teasing the dry, parched valley below, where it will never reach.

The valley is covered in golden grass and spotted with baobab and gum trees imported from Australia. A few Jurassic Park-sized aloe plants scatter the landscape, whose winter flowers are now in full bloom, and resemble red, orange, and yellow fire pokers. The wind dances through the fynbos and thatch reeds, playing tricks on my eyes, so they look like big cats.

The abundance of blue sky stretches far beyond my sight, and is as endless as last night’s black sky, going on without boundaries. The African sun’s rays stretch over the mountain range and tickle my face, warming it instantly. Moments ago, we were trapped in a tiny tent camp, now we are living within the pages of a National Geographic magazine that has sprung to life. There is a sense of openness, timelessness, and peacefulness that fills this valley. No thoughts of yesterday or tomorrow—only this moment, so far away from everything.

In the distance, I see two gigantic elephants. “Look over there, Melanie,” I whisper, “ellies!”

“Oh my! How cute! Look how that one is standing over the other one. How adorable.” Melanie begins snapping photos with her expensive journalist’s camera.

“Those ellies are not cute or adorable. They’re killers,” Gerrit grunts.

“Killers?”

“Killers. They killed a rhino just last month.”

“Why?”

“Could be an on-going turf war, or maybe it’s just because those ellies are plain mean.”

“They’re mean? I didn’t think ellies were mean-natured.”

“These don’t like people or anyone else, for that matter, except Shaka. They don’t try and kill him, but they won’t let anyone else in their camp.”

“Who’s Shaka?” I ask.

“Shaka’s an Eland. He was hand-reared. He’s as big as a horse now and has horns over a foot long, but he still thinks he’s a baby. If we release him onto the reserve, the wild Elands won’t accept him, and a cat will eventually get him, so he lives here with the ellies. He’s always breaking into the tent camp or the common area to steal food. So if you see him, remember that he’s harmless.”

Too bad he didn’t steal those brownies out of my tent before bedtime last night.

“Where did the elephants come from?”

“They were brought here from a training camp. They were trying to train them to be safari tour guides so tourists could ride into the bush, but they’d have no part of it. Every time a human got on their back they’d throw him off and try to trample him to death.”

“So why are they here?”

“It was a matter of finding a place to retire, or be culled, so the reserve stepped in and offered to take them. The male’s name is Selati, he’s the one on the ground. The female is Kittibon, she’s the one standing over him. She’s the most aggressive, meanest ellie we’ve ever seen, and she especially hates women.”

“As much as you do?” I whisper under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“How did they kill the rhino?” I ask. “Don’t these electrical fences keep them separated?”

“Oh no, no, no, no” he scoffs, “these fences are just a mental block to the wildlife. They can get through them quite easily. The ellies and rhinos are always pulling them down.” To punctuate the point, he waves in the direction of our tent camp.

“You mean that fence? The fence around our tent camp?” Surely he wasn’t pointing at our tent camp, was he?

“Yes.”

“So, does that mean they have to go through our tent camp to fight each other?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that put us in a slightly precarious position?”

Gerrit goes quiet again, his stare fixed on the horizon.

“Hello?” Am I the only one who sees the insanity in this?

“We’re treating the male rhino for aggression, it seems to be working. There haven’t been any battles lately. It’s a new drug hormone therapy. I believe in your part of the world it is quite common to treat the woes of women with hormones.” He begins to laugh.

“Funny. What about the lions on the other side of our camp? Will they run through an electric fence, too?”

“The lions won’t pull down a fence,” he reassures me.

“Thank God.” My whole body relaxes, and Melanie and I share a relieved smile.

“They’ll jump over it.”

I wait for him to laugh, or to say “ha ha, just kidding,” but he does neither. I feel Melanie stiffen beside me, and decide it’s best to no longer discuss the ease of accessibility these animals have to our tent camp.

“What does the name Kittibon mean?”

“Kittibon is Xhosa for ‘I have seen.’ Elephants are intelligent, social animals. They’re emotional. They get attached to one another in life, and even through death. They bury each other’s remains and visit the graves of their loved ones the way humans do. They don’t forget each other, or events. Kittibon was orphaned very young when her herd was killed by poachers. She was the only elephant who survived. They found her surrounded by dozens of mutilated ellies with their tusks cut out.”

“That’s terrible, the poor elephant.”

“Yeah, that’s why she hates humans, and no one can get close to her except Harrison.”

“Harrison the truck?”

“No, Harrison the elephant groom. He lives in the elephant stable with them. You’ll meet him later today.”

“And what does Selati mean?” I ask.

“Selati is Xhosa for sugar. Selati is sweet like sugar, he is gentle, except when Kittibon gets aggressive, then he fights alongside her. But he doesn’t hate people the way she does.”

“Why do they need a stable to sleep in? Elephants don’t sleep indoors in the wild.”

“They were both orphaned young. Selati was found in a farmer’s field. No one knows his story, but poachers probably killed his herd, too. They are creatures of habit now. They come in at 5 o’clock and know there will be food, branches, and fresh water waiting for them. If things aren’t just the way they like them, they will let us know in a hurry by breaking a pillar or kicking down their stable walls. We’ve rebuilt the stable twice already. As long as we keep the ellies happy, they won’t try and kill us.”

Holding up my camera I ask, “Can we get a little closer to take some pictures?”

“Later, when they’re in the stable. It’s not safe to go into the elephant camp when they’re out in the open. They charge trucks and try to attack them… probably reminds them of poachers.”

We continue down a long bumpy road pitted with large stones and potholes so big a small car could be swallowed whole by one. The door swings open many times, forcing Melanie to hold it shut with one arm. I keep an arm around her shoulders to keep her from rolling out.

Finally we arrive at the star attraction of the reserve; the lion camp. The first gate opens slowly and Harrison edges forward and waits until it closes before the next gate opens even slower in front of us. Melanie’s body stiffens and she leans in closer to me, pulling the door with her. Her arms are rigid and covered in goose bumps. The lion camp is more than a hundred acres; nothing lives in this camp except for the lions. I search the tall grass, anxious to see the giant predators, but find nothing.