Another place, another bull

The blog shows one more aspect in this ongoing genocide against elephants. I may not yet know how, but all of us from nations across the world must find a way to first, stop China’s bloodlust for ivory; and two, pressure the African countries to arrest and imprison the elite that allow this genocide to continue.

Mark Deeble

Chota

I woke to the sound of heavy breathing – and lay still. Next came grass-ripping, followed by the sound of sliding cloth – first loud and rough, then soft and slick. I knew that the grass-ripping would be Chota, our ‘camp elephant’, feeding close to our tent. The other sound puzzled me. I kept my eyes closed, delighting in the mystery of what it could be. I knew he was feeding within a few feet, but there was something else going on. The noise came again. I gave up. I opened my eyes. Chota’s huge bulk blocked the moon, and cast a shadow over the bed. He was up against the tent, much closer than usual – pulling grass from beneath the flysheet – where daytime shade and the occasional drizzle-drip has kept it slightly greener. With each trunkful, he’d raise his head – as he did, his tusk tips…

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