A special Mother’s Day story from the African savannah
She was only 25 and had just given birth. It was a long and difficult pregnancy. Her older daughter was nearly six and would be a big help taking care of the newborn. He was precocious, already using his senses to explore his new and strange surroundings.
He didn’t realize at that moment that he would be adored by his granny and aunties. As he grew, he played with his cousins, becoming more rambunctious. His sister would try to protect him, but he would still get some hard knocks along the way. Occasionally, when mother had had enough of the fighting, she would stand between her little one and his swinging, pushing, older cousin. They obediently stopped. The cousin plodded away.
Mother called members of her extended family, and they all agreed to meet at the pool. A refreshing splash would be fun for young and old. Arriving at the same time, all the youngsters walked briskly into the pool. Mother’s little one slipped on the muddy edge and slid on his belly right into the water. He loved it! He would return to that slippery bank and again slide into the water, rolling, splashing, and encouraging his cousins to play. Such fun. Older sister just stood by the side of the pool, watching her brother, lest once again he should begin turmoil with his older cousins. He was always trying to pick a fight, it seemed. Pugnacious, he was.
After a while it was time to leave. Mothers collected their little ones and left, probably to get a bite to eat. Everyone was hungry. Older sister signaled her brother, but he wouldn’t leave the pool. Even though he was the only one left in the water, he was having a blast, splashing and diving under water.
Mother reached for her little one, but he pulled away and kept playing. That’s enough. Mother began walking away, with sister obediently following her.
Brother wouldn’t want to be left behind, would he? He wasn’t afraid of danger. He was getting to be a big boy. He didn’t leave the water, so mother returned and again tried to cajole him to come with her. She was indulgent, intelligent, instructive and innately good. Reluctantly, he struggled up the slippery embankment and followed his mother. He was getting hungry, too.
He didn’t realize it then, but in 15 years he would have to leave his family. Testosterone would be changing his body into a powerful, muscular, and querulous adolescent. He would never be able to run, but he could certainly walk fast. He developed a deep voice. One that, he hoped, the females would be impressed by. But to be honest, no females were interested in him. He was still just a teenager.
He joined a gang of other teen males. Together they would have their rough and tough games, testing their dominance. They would go swimming when they wanted, and they’d eat whenever they were hungry (which was always), and try not to get into trouble. One day, they met a really wise, old adult. He stayed with them and supervised their behavior, teaching them the manners of adults. The teens respected his knowledge of survival. He had been around.
As the years passed, he grew to be prodigious. He carried around two formidable weapons. Few, if any, were game enough to challenge him now.
And the females appreciated his advances more and more. From that enthusiastic, entertaining and endearing baby elephant, he was now King of the Savannah.
From the safety of a blind, near the pool’s edge, Lynn, Bart Wilner and their children, plus friends Debbie and Jamie Buckland and I, watched the elephants, while on Safari in Africa. The parallel between the behavior of elephants and that of humans has always impressed me.