An Elephant in My Kitchen by Françoise Malby-Anthony with Katya Willemsen is the sequel to the international bestseller The Elephant Whisperer by the late Lawrence Anthony, written with Graham Spence.
In An Elephant in My Kitchen Lawrence's widow Françoise writes about what the herd taught her about love, courage and survival both before and after his death. The following extract is from the chapter Silent Killers
Silent Killers of the Bush
The emergency call crackled over the radio just after lunch.
‘Code red! Baby elephant in trouble!’
Vusi ran to the office and grabbed the handset.
‘Vusi here! What’s up?’
‘Marula’s baby has a snare on his face.’
‘Copy that. What’s the location?’
‘Last sighting at Mkhulu Dam. We’re trying to see how bad it is but the herd’s skittish and on the move.’
‘Stand by for assistance. Over.’
Within minutes, the first rangers arrived at the rendezvous point, ready for action. My reserve manager Vusi quickly briefed them.
‘Split into pairs, grab a 4x4 and let’s get to that baby before nightfall. Bring binocs. Go, go, go!’
The men raced off and began to criss-cross the reserve. The herd was spooked and could be anywhere. Calves need to feed every few hours and this little one wasn’t even ten days old. It was a life-or-death crisis.
Snares are the silent killers of the bush. All it takes is some wire and a slip knot. The poacher strings up a noose where an animal is likely to pass – usually at head level – and as soon as an unsuspecting neck or trunk passes through the loop, it pulls closed. The more the creature struggles, the more the snare tightens. Baby elephants are curious and use their trunks to explore and touch everything they see so a piece of wire glinting in the sun is a very tantalizing object.
I felt sick at the thought of the calf’s suffering and his mother’s distress. The herd’s matriarch Frankie would be guarding them both but powerless to help. Her instincts would screaming at her to hide the injured baby to keep him safe.
The hours flew by. The herd had disappeared and time was running out. We didn’t know how long the snare had been around the calf’s face and another night without food could be fatal. Just before nightfall, Siya and Shandu radioed to say they had located the herd near the fence line.
Vusi raced across the reserve in his Toyota pickup truck and as he swung around the corner he saw the herd in front of him. He drove slowly, creeping as close to them as he dared then he killed the engine and trained the binoculars on the elephants. Frankie raised her trunk and swivelled it in his direction. Vusi radioed instructions to the rangers.
'Don't move'
‘Don’t move. Let’s see what she does.’
He waited, hand on the ignition in case she charged. She watched him quietly, the herd clustered behind her. Her ears weren’t flapping and her tail was limp. Marula and the baby were nowhere to be seen. She knew Vusi from his visits with Lawrence but wild animals protecting their injured young can be lethal.
Slowly she began to walk towards him. The herd followed.
He lowered his binoculars and frowned in confusion.
Why were they coming towards him?
Frankie stopped a few metres away. Vusi sensed no anger, no aggression. She fixed him with her expressive amber eyes and from within the herd Marula appeared, her calf sheltered under her massive body.
Stunned, Vusi picked up his mobile phone and took photos for the vet.
Marula’s trunk curled over her baby’s body and gently tugged him out from under her and pushed him towards Vusi. Frankie, wise, brave matriarch that she was, had worked out that the only way the calf would survive was with human intervention and she chose Lawrence’s right-hand man to help.
The snare was gripped around the calf’s face and trunk, narrowly missing the eye. The baby couldn’t open his mouth at all. Marula stood serene and unafraid, her trunk tip caressing her son’s forehead. The baby didn’t respond to her touch. A bad sign. Starvation and dehydration were beginning to take their toll. Frankie hovered near the pair, their trusted sentinel.
Vusi started the engine. He’d seen enough.
The setting sun was slipping away and streaks of vermilion layered the horizon behind the darkening figures of the elephants. It was 6.40 p.m. Within half an hour, it would be pitch-black. He called me with an update.
‘It’s not good. The wire’s over his trunk and mouth so he can’t suckle.’
‘Mike Toft will be here by daybreak. Will the baby make it?’
‘Angazi.’ I don’t know.
My heart squeezed with fear. Every hour the snare prevented the baby from suckling, he was a step closer to death. I sat on my veranda that night with an ochre full moon hovering overhead. I hoped it was a good omen. We had done this kind of rescue many times and I knew we could do it again. I poured love towards the calf.
‘Stay alive until morning, mon bébé,’ I murmured.
During the night, I heard trumpeting. It reassured me because it meant the herd was close by and hadn’t gone into hiding.
At dawn the tak-tak-tak of a helicopter crashed through the silence. Vusi briefed the vet on the herd’s whereabouts.
‘They’re in the same area. Head past the airstrip and Siya will direct you from there. I’ll follow in my truck.’
The chopper soared off. Vusi followed on the ground with his team. Every available man and vehicle was on hand to help. Lawrence would have been right there in the thick of things. Nothing frightened him, especially not if one of his beloved elephants needed help. I don’t have his gung-ho fearlessness to join in, and to be honest, I find it too hard emotionally. What if the baby hadn’t survived the night? I don’t have nerves of steel.
The 4x4s took up position on the dirt tracks and the helicopter flew in low and swung dangerously close to the herd. The pilot was a fearless genius. Off the elephants thundered with Frankie in front, head swivelling constantly, eyeing the chopper above and the vehicles on either side of her.
It’s awful to use a helicopter to force the elephants to scatter but it’s the only way to safely reach an animal needing medical care. The vet took aim and darted the calf with a sedative. Within seconds, the calf sank to the ground, landing beautifully on his belly. Perfect for removing the rusted wire from his face. The helicopter dropped Mike off then shot back into the sky to keep the herd at a safe distance.
The calf was tiny and malnourished with down-like fluff covering the baby folds of his skin. Vusi snipped the snare in several places and he and Mike eased each piece free, then Mike flushed out the wounds and applied a thick coat of antiseptic salve. He checked the calf’s vitals and gave everyone in the waiting 4x4s a broad grin and a thumbs up.
‘He’s going to make it!’
Mike injected the revival drug into the calf and sprinted to the vehicle with Vusi. They sped off and joined up with the others who were parked a good hundred metres away.
The calf was already struggling to his feet, searching for his mother. On cue, Marula broke through the bush, dark streaks from her stress glands blackening her cheeks. The calf wobbled towards her. She explored his face with her trunk. Freed from the snare, his trunk curled up against her belly and his mouth searched hungrily for her teat.
There was silence in the vehicles as the men watched the little one suckle.

An Elephant in My Kitchen by Françoise Malby-Anthony with Katya Willemsen is published by Pan Macmillan..