the big squeeze

We sleep in the shadow of elephant gallows. 

This is not quite correct, for the elephants in Etosha National Park were killed on the ground and not hanged: they were first tranquilized with darts, then shot. But the structure, erected to hoist and then butcher huge inert bodies of the largest mammals still walking the Earth resembles oversized gallows of old. 

Viewed from a lofty ramp leading to a new thatched hide, which provides a comfortable setting for tourists wishing to watch animals coming to a new and ecologically sound waterhole, the tall structure looks incongruous and otherworldly. It has a name and is called, rather grandly, Olifantsrus Field Abbatoir. And it rises not just above the soft red soil of this lovely campground and its neat structures housing a reception, a small museum and ablution blocks, but also above the vast plain of the park, its golden winter grasses and its many denizens whose shapes we can sometimes discern when we look hard and long. The structure is beginning to rust and, come evening, the rust blotches start to resemble dried blood.

What happened? I learn that 525 elephants were killed and butchered here in the early 1980s. A well lit display in the camp's museum tells me the animals were culled officially and legally, with all rubber stamps firmly affixed to whatever reports needed to be prepared and signed.

The display explains that as poaching of elephants accelerated in Northwest Namibia, many pachyderms sensed the danger and migrated to the safety of the park. But since 1983 was a terribly dry year in Etosha and its grassy cover shriveled and died, the management decided to remove a percentage of the park's largest herbivores. It already happened in the Kruger in South Africa, and in other national parks. And it was to be done for very good reasons: to slow the process called desertification of the environment, which would endanger all animals living here, including the black rhino, a standard bearer of Africa's endangered species. 

And it was to be done better than anywhere else. The workers, hired to perform the job, had to adhere to three main points. Entire herds -- appropriately called family units -- had to be killed to avoid dispersal of upset and confused survivors. All butchered elephant parts had to be utilized and delivered to markets, with no waste left behind. And the maximum amount of scientific data had to be obtained.  It was all done, documented and even photographed. And since a picture of a hoisted elephant body was perhaps not available, an artist rendered the scene in soft pastels. A lifeless gray bulk with its dangling trunk, suspended on a steel cable from the tall white frame against the pale African sky. It comes to me in my dreams. 

I do not accuse anyone here. We all know that as our human population grows, we need -- and take -- more room. Room to grow our crops, build our shelters, factories and roads, utilize our water supplies, extract our minerals and fossil fuels. When Etosha  -- meaning 'Great White Place' -- was proclaimed a game reserve in 1907, it covered approximately 30,000 square miles and was at that time the largest natural protected area in the world. Today, after many adjustments and trims, it has been reduced to about 8,500 square miles. It is still grand and beautiful, and it could easily cover half of Switzerland, but it already feels the big squeeze of human population relentlessly pushing against its borders. 

And it is not just the shrinking of its size. We sometimes hear the whoop of helicopters patroling the park and looking for rhino poachers. Yes, there is a tall fence surrounding the park to prevent animal migrations from damaging farm fields and water pumps and other infrastructure, something African pastoralists around the park rightly fear. But poachers dig under the fence or cut it, sneak in, kill a rhino, cut off its tusks, and most often vanish. 

There are also many waterholes with parkings for tourists, where much of the wildlife of Etosha must come during these hard dry winter days to survive. We see many herds of antelopes, zebras and giraffes -- family units all -- eagerly approaching the water but often stopping, hesitating, backing off, trying again, and at times turning and sinking into the surrounding bush without a sip. Sometimes it is our presence causing their retreat. Sometimes it is other cars rolling in and out, with eager faces bright in every window and excited voices spelling out surprise and joy. In and out. Kicking up dust to see the show. Going for night safaris, with guides shining lights on animals. In and out.

It all adds to pressure.

And so it goes, not just in Etosha but in every corner of the world. As our population grows, the ranks of wildlife diminish to the point that frequent visitors to nature reserves call animals they know by names they bestowed on them. Oh, we do want to protect these creatures, and see them live their magnificent wild lives. But since we do not want to give up anything we need and want -- we squeeze them. More and more. Day after day. 

Tonight we will sleep in the shadow of elephant gallows.    © Yva Momatiuk