A knock at the door after dark is generally not a visitor just popping in to say “hi”. This night was no exception. “Mr. Jeff”, the guard spoke, “the elephants are back”.
Like any red-blooded American, Jeff seizes every opportunity to fire a gun. Whether shooting a snake out of a tree or intimidating the orphans (just kidding…), he is quick to grab a weapon. Though we can’t legally shoot the elephants, there is no rule about firing off a couple warning shots, just to give them a scare.
I’m always up for an adventure, so I grab my shoes and follow him out to the orchard. With a gun and a flashlight, I felt pretty confident in our ability to best the intruders. Then the flashlight died. And here’s the thing – it is really dark. Really dark. I mean, middle-of-nowhere-in-Africa-dark. Jeff keeps striding forward, so, unwilling to admit my slight fear of stepping on a snake or getting eaten by a lion under the cover of darkness, I too push on.
The waiting guards motion for us to stop. We listen. Tree branches crack, leaves rustle, and I hear audible breathing. Elephants alright. Massive 2-ton creatures probably no further than 10 yards from where I am standing. And we can’t see a thing. You would think that it would be easy to spot the behemoths, but they are enveloped in the black night. Also, aside from the crunching of branches, they are surprisingly quiet. It’s very disconcerting.
My confidence waivers. Visions of being trampled or gored by an ivory tusk flash through my mind. “Jeff, maybe we shouldn’t fire at them,” I suggest, “I mean, it might just make them angry”. Nonsense, we have to show them who’s boss. The crack of a gunshot breaks the stillness. We listen, all on edge, ready to run at the slightest hint that the beasts may charge. I stand behind the guards, figuring that my best plan is to have some bodies between me and the wild animals. But there is nothing. Just more breathing and munching. The elephants, it would appear, are not the least bit phased by our show of force.
Jeff fires off a few more rounds to no avail. We consider shooting one, to let them know that we’re not messing around, but, as we cannot see the creatures, there is no way to aim. Since we’re out in Africa, firing guns, I decide that I want in on the action. Jeff passes his shot gun to me. “Does it have much of a kick?” Jeff assures me that I’ll be fine, so I point the weapon out over the orchard and fire. Um, yes, it definitely has a kick. As I stumble backwards, clutching my sore shoulder, the guards have a good laugh at the white girl. I’m always happy to provide the entertainment.
Apparently having eaten their fill of guavas and lemons, we finally hear the elephants move further into the farm. Elephants – 1. Americans with guns – 0.
