By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
The jeep lurches to a stop with a muffled crunch on cracked, dry dirt. Dust billows upward behind us in an unbroken cloud to the horizon, caught in the parched morning air. Shadows canvas the stark landscape, yet in the distance the earth shimmers in the relentless Namibian sun. Farmers approach the jeep in ones and twos and gather around us with worry etched on their prematurely lined faces. Papa, ensuring he has his usual supply of snuff, unfolds his powerful frame from the confines of the jeep. After a muttered conversation the farmers beckon him over to the village water tank standing nearby, following in the wake of footprints that dwarf Papa’s. Mangled plastic fragments litter the ground and a shard of jagged metal slices upward like a bolt of lightning from the sand. A herd of wild elephants came to the village on their endless quest for water, and in their desperation, dug up and smashed the main water line connected to a farmer’s house. Incidents like these are facts of life for the impoverished farmers of Namibia, yet they pose a greater threat to the elephants. The Namibian government doesn’t realize how few elephants live in Namibia. The more elephants the government believes exist, the more likely they are to approve elephant hunting permits, and the government gives out hunting permits largely in response to angry farmers who’ve had property destroyed. The government estimates the elephant population in the region to be around two thousand, but there are only fifty-two, and Papa has named each one. A short woman in a spotted pink dress begins to yell, cursing the elephants and Papa. I watch nervously, feeling that maybe volunteering to help the elephants with Papa involved more than I had bargained for. Papa just eyes her suspiciously and smiles, flashing his yellow teeth. “How deep you dig pipe? Ten centimeter?” The other farmers begin to shift their feet and grin guiltily up at Papa. He kicks the ruined pipe, his voice thundering through the stagnant air, “I tell you months ago this not enough. Do not blame elephants when you not dig deep pipe.” With an aura of power, and patience learned raising his nineteen children, his smile broadens, and the farmers lean closer as he raises his weather-beaten arms as if to encircle them. Papa stares around at them for a moment, then lets out a deep, booming laugh. The farmers join in and the woman in the pink dress gives an unwilling smile. We continue tracking the elephants as the sun blazes overhead, crisscrossing a dusty riverbed that seems to beg for rain that’ll soon come. I glance at Papa. His well-practiced eyes are scouring the dirt for any sign of their trail, and I marvel at his dedication even on his last day after four decades patrolling. Where does that come from? Other officers in the civil war were brave, or kind, but Papa has something more than bravery and kindness. He must, I muse, since if the rumors are true, he was the only one willing to try and save a child from a lion. Papa brakes suddenly, jolting me back to reality and leaps out the door with the agility of a gazelle, as the jeep rocks like a boat in high wind. “Fresh!” he calls. He sticks his forefinger into glistening brown poop, straightens up, and licks his finger clean, his face shining. “Good!” We telephone the village upstream. They have time to lock away their livestock and prepare for the elephants. We camp beside the riverbed that night, the smooth canyon walls serenading us with the guttural roars of distant baboons. I see Papa sitting on a rock far from camp, long fingers laced, shoulders hunched, brooding, looking as much a feature of the landscape as a part of humanity. I approach him cautiously, not wanting to intrude, but craving answers. His mere presence inspires confidence and his devotion to his life is infectious. Where does that come from? “Baby elephant born today” he says. “How do you feel?” He gazes at me, his dark skin glowing in the setting sun, and at last I understand.