The previous edition of Field Notes was all about neonate orphans — the extraordinary commitment they require, and how it takes the absolute dedication of our Keepers to shepherd them through their first months.
But as the orphans grow up, there is a changing of the guard: the shepherded become the shepherds, protecting the people who raised them in the wild world where they now reign.
– Angela Sheldrick
From Elephant Orphans to Guardians
It is difficult to do animals justice through human language. Our lexicon is built upon qualities and values as we understand them; thus, the creatures outside our realm defy true characterization.
But within the constraints of our dictionary, I would describe elephants, in a word, as a benevolent species. Of course, they are still hardwired for survival and driven by biological needs — a bull in musth cannot be trusted; a herd will reluctantly abandon an ill or injured member for the safety of the group. But there is an inherent goodness in elephants, to use another human quality, that is the foundation of their very being.
Researchers designate elephants as a prosocial species: in all the animal kingdom, they stand tall among a select group of creatures that show extensive compassion, empathy, and cooperative behaviour. When one of their own is distressed, they console them; when they see brethren in need, they try to help them. They celebrate life, mourn death, and do everything in their power to protect those they love.
When elephants sense danger — whether from predators, poachers, or even the mysterious tremors of an earthquake — the elder members of the herd immediately and instinctively gather around the young, forming a defensive circle with the most vulnerable at the centre. They stand facing outward, ready to confront whatever nefarious force threatens them head-on.
People all over the world have marvelled at the selflessness and bravery of elephants when witnessing such moments. It is extraordinary — but not at all unusual. This is the very essence of elephants. A noble altruism runs through their veins and is wired into their brains.
This love and loyalty is not confined to their own kin or even their own species. Elephants don’t define family on a genetic level; their definition of family is much more complex and nuanced. For the orphans rescued through our Orphans’ Project, that family includes a very special group of people — the Keepers who raised them.
Over the years, so many stories — both extraordinary accounts and small, everyday actions — bear testament to that fact. As the orphans grow up and go wild, they seem to realise that the torch has been passed. While their Keepers raised them through their infancy, they are now the leaders in the wilds of Tsavo. Just as their human family protected them through their most vulnerable chapters, it is time for them to step up as the guardians.
Joseph Sauni, Head Keeper at our Voi Reintegration Unit, has so many stories to share in this vein. Voi sits in the vast, open plains of southern Tsavo East. Lions are a fixture here, playing their natural role in a balanced ecosystem. Our Keepers are well-versed in life alongside Kenya’s predators — but still, the orphans cannot help but step up as their guardians.
During Emily’s reign as Voi matriarch, there was a harrowing afternoon when lions prowled towards the herd. She responded immediately and unprompted, organising the orphans in a tight circle that entirely enveloped the Keepers. Working as one united front, the elephants formed a thunderous defense, kicking and trumpeting and thrashing their trunks, until the lions slunk off.
Another time, tragedy struck when a pride of lions honed in on the water hole and snatched a little orphaned zebra we were raising. Tundani, who was eight years old at the time, was positively heroic. The moment he saw the Keepers moving in to ward off the lions, he came barreling down the hill to join their efforts. Tundani lost his best friend, Nelion, to lions, and the memory obviously still haunted him. Despite knowing full well what the cats were capable of, he ran to support the Keepers without a moment’s hesitation.
While all the orphans are thoughtful about their Keepers, some take their custodianship to extraordinary levels. Lima Lima, at our Umani Springs Unit, is one such elephant. Entirely of her own accord, she has appointed herself the Keepers’ bodyguard. Even now that she has her own baby to look after, she makes it her business to protect her human family. If there is a leopard lurking on a branch or buffalos hiding in the bushes, Lima Lima will be the first to alert the troops. Sometimes, she can be a bit over-zealous in sounding the alarm — a few months ago, she came rushing over in a dither. The Keepers duly scanned the area to see what she had discovered, only to realise it was a harmless rock hyrax. Still, she has notified them of so many valid dangers over the years that they know to always heed her warning.
Lima Lima isn’t just a bodyguard, but also a first responder. One afternoon, a Keeper fell and hurt his eye. Lima Lima responded immediately to his shout of pain, dashing over and then trumpeting loudly to share his location with the rest of the team. As they waited for the others to arrive, she patted him with her trunk as if to console him and calm him down. Later that evening, Lima Lima was concerned to find the Keeper absent, as he had been taken to town to treat his eye. Before settling for her bottle, she went up to each and every man in green, trying to find her injured friend. For an elephant as milk-obsessed as Lima Lima, this was the ultimate sacrifice!
Our orphans also act as ambassadors, teaching wild elephants that this select group of humans can be accepted among their brethren. My mother, Daphne Sheldrick, had a remarkable encounter with an elephant she mistook for an ex-orphan. As she recounted in her memoir, Love, Life and Elephants: An African Love Story:
The elephant took a pace backwards, swung her giant head and, using her trunk to lift my body, threw me like a piece of weightless flotsam high through the air with such force that I smashed down onto a giant clump of boulders some twenty paces away. I knew at once that the impact had shattered my right leg, for I could hear and feel the bones crunch as I struggled to sit up. I could see too that I was already bleeding copiously from an open wound in my thigh. Astonishingly, there was no pain — not yet, anyway.
My friend screamed. The elephant — I knew for certain now that this was not Eleanor — rushed at me, towering above my broken body as I braced myself for the end. I closed my eyes and began to pray. I had a lot to be thankful for, but I did not want to leave this world quite yet. Inside I began to panic, jumbled thoughts crowding my mind. But suddenly there was a moment of pure stillness — as if the world had simply stopped turning —and as I opened my eyes I could feel the elephant gently insert her tusks between my body and the rocks. Rather than a desire to kill, I realized that the elephant was actually trying to help me by lifting me to my feet, encouraging me to stand. I thought: this is how they respond to their young.
But lifting me now could be catastrophic for my broken body.
"No!" I shouted as I smacked the tip of the wet trunk that reached down to touch my face.
She gazed at me, her ears splayed open in the shape of Africa, her eyes kind and concerned.
Then, lifting one huge foot, she began to feel me gently all over, barely touching me. Her great ears stood out at right angles to her huge head as she contemplated me lying helpless, merely inches from the tip of two long, sharp tusks. I knew then that she did not intend to kill me — elephants are careful where they tread and do not stamp on their victims. If they do intend to kill, they kneel down and use the top of the trunk and forehead.
And it was at this moment — with an astonishing clarity of thought that I can still feel within me to this day — I realized that if I were to live, I needed to fulfil the debt I owed to Nature and all the animals that had so enriched my life. For even as I could feel the broken bones within my crumpled body, feel the fire of pain now engulfing me, and even though it was one of my beloved creatures that had caused me this distress, I knew then and there that I had an absolute duty to pass on my intimate knowledge and understanding of Africa's wild animals and my belonging to Kenya.
I thought: if I survive this, I will write. This will be my legacy. I will set down everything I have learned in my efforts to contribute to the conservation, preservation and protection of wildlife in this magical land.
My mother was true to her word, using her voice to speak for these remarkable creatures who do not share our language yet manage to eclipse all that we define as ‘good.’
And now, I carry on her legacy. Elephants operate on a different wavelength, existing in a purer world than ours. They are governed by principals we will never fully understand but should certainly contemplate. And that can start by appreciating the depth of love that elephants are able to give, so intrinsically and unreservedly.
Field Notes, Volume I
We recently released Field Notes, Volume I — a collection of our favourite stories from this newsletter series. Filled with stunning photos and captivating tales from the frontlines of conservation, this limited-edition book offers a behind-the-scenes look at the Trust’s renowned work.