Desert thunder
Damaraland, Namibia
I AM STARING at elephants foraging near my Land Rover in Damaraland, Namibia. Such huge, amazing creatures, walking precisely, deliberately, in search of the next bush, or bough, or tree, with a trunk as dexterous as my hand.
I have seen elephants many, many times yet I am always surprised to see them do something new, something I’ve never witnessed before. I’ve seen elephants throw sand, or mud, or dust, or water over their backs. I’ve heard them trumpet. I’ve seen them nurse their babies, encircle the young ones protectively, walk head-to-tail in a matriarchal group. I’ve seen elephants, big and ungainly, swim effortlessly across a river. I’ve seen an unborn calf move in its mother’s hugely distended belly. Today I see an irritated mother repeatedly push her large calf away as it tries to nurse, when she herself is trying to eat in peace.
I snap photos and take little videos. Elephants of the Namib desert are uniquely adapted to their harsh environment. Standing on their hind legs, they grasp leaves and branches from the tallest trees. Other elephants don’t do this. They don’t reach into trees. I have so many photos, so many videos, no one is as enchanted by these animals as I am, no one will want to sit and watch these snippets of elephant life, oohing and ahhing endlessly. But that’s okay. I love to relive my moments with them.
I stop photographing as the elephant in front of me is moving around, searching for the closest buds and leaves within reach. Her butt is squarely in my view. All of a sudden, she lifts her tail and I hear a mighty whoosh. It is loud and unmistakeable. I break up. I am hopelessly, raucously, laughing out loud. I can’t believe this random occurance. And of course, “video” is not running on my phone.
I have just heard an elephant fart.