Remembering Ukuthula’s Grave & The Elephants Who Died In The Kruger Park
That night, Mayafudi slept like a log. In the early evening he was faintly aware of lions roaring, and, in reaction, the nervous blowing and barking sounds of the congregated impala, kudu, zebra and wildebeest in the vicinity. From the reeds along the hippo pool a few gruff snores were sounded. Then he was in dreamland, for a night’s rest without recriminations – an unknown bliss.
The next morning when he woke, he saw in the sandy bed of the river, four giraffe. He actually only saw four pairs of thighs as these peace-loving tall creatures bent their knees in order to reach the water. For these inquisitive bush dwellers, Mayafudi always had a soft spot. Their struggle to bend those long necks low enough, made his morning start with a smile. Mayafudi Confronts Kruger National Park Perpetrators Who Were Obviously Amateurs and Cowards
On his agenda for the day was to follow the last steps of Ukuthula. He moved in-land in an easterly direction towards the N’waswitshaka water hole on the S65. That was where she sank down, tired to death, to breath her last breath. The exact spot was engraved in his memory.
Mayafudi grazed as he went along. The restlessness that urged him on in the past, had left him. Without much difficulty he reached the spot. Almost like a human being, he stood for a few moments, his head bowed in reverence.
After a while he spotted the indistinct trail. It twisted to an isolated little hill. That was where the young bulls in Ukuthula’s tribe carried-dragged her skull and later on, the other bones.
That was Ukuthula’s last resting place. Her “grave” in the veld.
His attention focussed on the withered white jawbone among the loose stones. He touched it softly with his trunk and feet, rolled it over and followed the lines carefully. The contours of his mother’s face became a clear memory. This visit became a golden moment of recall and deep emotion, nostalgia, melancholy and soul stirring.
Mayafudi was amazed that he could view things dispassionately, without hatred or rancour. Ukuthula’s values had eventually won the day – or did it not?
It was late afternoon when Mayafudi again reached the Sabie. He stopped directly opposite the Lisbon Estate and stared over the water. The citrus trees were covered with young fruit. Suddenly the aroma of orange peel invaded his nostrils and the taste of ripe orange his palate – an elephant’s vivid imagination. Mayafudi Goes Back Home And Why Elephants Love Autumn!
To round off the day he went searching for water and grass, bark and roots. Then he was ready for the night – strangely even more at peace than when he had woken that morning.
On the eastern horizon a full moon was gliding through the first branches that had shed their leaves for the winter. Mayafudi resolved to remain awake longer. The bush was bathed in bright moonlight – an enchanting sight. He wanted to drink it in. Full moon had always filled him with grateful fascination – although the opposite could have it’s own attraction: a pitch dark wood with a sea of bright stars – near enough for an elephant to feel that he could pluck them one by one with his tusk.
Somewhere near Mayafudi a frog indaba was in full swing – probably the last before a long winter. It would last for hours, he knew – without pause and always son the same pitch.
Above the monotonous droning, rose the shrill chatter of bush babies from all directions, as these agile little animals crawled out of the dense leaves or holes in tree trunks, ready for their nocturnal escapades. Night jars and thick knees called melodious messages to one another. A hyena gave a shrill laugh.
These were sounds which gave life to the African night – to man and beast. To Mayafudi it sounded like an old-world symphony. With the music in his ears he dozed off.