before in real life, but I’d read about them at school and I’d seen them on the David Attenborough documentaries. ‘Well, one day I’m sure you’ll see them for yourself, in Africa perhaps,’ he said, with a patient smile. He put out his hand and I shook it. It was David Shepherd, the artist himself.
‘Ask Mr Shepherd a question,’ my dad insisted. My mind went blank for a moment, before it occurred to me to ask whether or not he had always been a good artist. Mr Shepherd stroked his chin and smiled.
‘Young man,’ he said, ‘shall I show you one of my first efforts at painting?’
I nodded.
David Shepherd turned around and motioned for me to follow him to the corner of the room, where he had some bags and a large plastic folder, which he picked up and opened. He rustled around and out of it he pulled a yellowed piece of paper, no bigger than a normal A4 sheet. He handed it to me. I looked down and my astonishment must have been quite apparent.
‘Not very good is it?’ he said, beaming. I didn’t know what to say. My dad had always taught me to be polite, but there was no hiding the fact that the sketch of some seagulls was in fact pretty bad. I shrugged and looked at the floor in embarrassment.
‘Don’t be shy, young man. It’s terrible. But you know what? I put my mind to it and spent all my time practising until I became good enough that people wanted to buy my pictures, and then I could call myself an artist.’
I looked at the seagulls again. I was pretty sure I could do better than that myself, even at my age, and decided there and then that I wanted to become an artist too, and see for myself the wild elephants in Africa.
A year or so later, I found myself in the steamy coastal rainforests of southern Kenya, on holiday with my parents, surrounded by tall trees filled with glinting fish eagles and bewitching grey parrots. In the middle of the jungle lay a wooden treehouse made of cedar, which jutted into the canopy. Looking down from its beams in the half light of dusk, I could see the murky pools of Shimba Hills watering hole reflecting the tropical yellow moonlight.
The erupting orchestra of bullfrogs and cicadas sang a melody of exotic brilliance across the jungle and a magical scene began to unfold. There was movement below. Shapes teased the eye as blackened, boulder-like forms shifted through the foliage; huge yet silent ghosts seemed to float across the forest floor, gathering at the water’s edge.
Elephants, dozens of them, appeared as if out of nowhere on their nightly pilgrimage to an ancient shrine. To the eyes of a child, it was wondrous and enchanting, and I stood transfixed – my first glimpse of these magical beasts in the wild. I knew they could never be my last. It was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with Africa and its indigenous creatures.
Since then, although I never became an artist, I have travelled the length and breadth of the continent in various guises, and whenever I’ve had the chance, I’ve tried to make time to meet elephants. I’ve been fortunate enough to go on safari in wonderful and exciting countries such as South Africa, Zambia and Zimbabwe, and to trek through wilderness areas and national parks as far afield as the Congo and Malawi.
Over the course of nine months between 2013 and 2014, I walked the length of the great Nile River, from Rwanda to Egypt, hiking over 4,000 miles and witnessing elephants in their natural habitat in Tanzania, Uganda and South Sudan, where I was lucky enough to be invited by the conservation charity The Tusk Trust to see their organisation’s work in protecting this species up close and personal on the ground.
Then again in the summer of 2019, I spent a month in Botswana walking with elephants on their annual migration towards the Okavango Delta, which gave me a great opportunity to see some of the very complex problems facing both local people and conservationists who strive to protect elephants.
As the twenty-first century progresses into its third decade, elephants are regarded as an endangered species. In my lifetime, the elephant population in Africa has halved from around a million in 1982 to only 415,000 in 2019. Between 20,000–30,000 elephants each year are killed as a result of poaching and the illegal trade in wildlife. That’s one elephant slaughtered every twenty minutes. Many more are forced away from their traditional feeding grounds because of encroachment by humans onto wilderness areas, changes in land use, and the ever-greedy market for ivory and animal parts.
Like most people, I find the statistics horrifying, but have tried as much as possible to keep an objective standpoint. I am not an expert in elephant biology, psychology or conservation. I merely profess a deep interest and I hope this book will appeal to those of a similar mindset. Of course, I am limited in scope as to what I can hope to achieve. There are many other books out there by academics and scientists who have spent a lifetime in the field and go into far more detail, and I have included a selected reading list for those who want to learn more.
This book gives an outline of where elephants came from; their evolutionary past, and their place in ecology. It examines the inner and outer workings of an elephant, looking at their biology, their psychology (insomuch as our limited understanding will allow) and how they impact their own environment through feeding and migration. I try to show how the long life and sociality of elephants is key to their success and survival, and yet might also be the foundations of their demise.
After that I explore what impact we as humans have had on elephants, in terms of the ivory trade, hunting and poaching, as well as changes in land use across Africa. In doing so, I hope to summarise how we have allowed elephant numbers to plummet and the influence recent human history has had on the species – in particular colonialism and its aftermath – which has undoubtedly had a major effect on all African wildlife. The policies and prejudices that we are dealing with now all have roots in decisions that were made a hundred years ago.
Finally, I try to forecast the future, in terms of what the world would be like without elephants, and also, on a happier note, how we might be able to coexist with this noble animal. After all, the future is not yet written.
What we do in the next few years will determine the next few thousand years.
Sir David Attenborough’s words will no doubt ring true to many of us as we peer over the abyss at the end of the Holocene. Let’s hope we all make the right decisions. I hope that you will find this book an introductory glimpse into the lives of Africa’s elephants, and that you will go on to play your own part in helping to save them.
We owe it not only to the elephants, but to our planet and ourselves to do what we can to preserve the last giants.
London
October 2019
A Brief History of the African Elephant
The path was littered with dead branches and twigs, and the skeletal spines of acacia scrub poked into our sides like needles. Every step forward had to be done with the utmost care not to make a sound, and we crept forward like hunters sneaking towards their prey. Kane, my local bushman guide, led the way, his rusty old spear pointing forward in the direction of our quarry. I watched as he delicately tiptoed over the litter of foliage as quiet as a mouse. I tried my best to follow in his footsteps, but his stride, though silent, was fast and deliberate.
‘Keep up, and be quiet,’ he halted briefly and whispered, staring intently into my eyes with a passion I hadn’t seen before. ‘One noise, one false move and they’ll
