I scrubbed the blood and dry dirt off of my dark calloused feet. The tears were still running down my cheeks. I looked at the image in my mind, of the sprawled body of the beautiful animal. “My fault…my fault.” I had told myself at the time, but I have come to the point where I no longer believe that to be true. I had been running through the dry tall grass of what is today the Addo elephant national park, near Port Elizabeth, South Africa. But in the year 1954, there was no limit to where animals were protected. My friends and I would play games and make up our own games to play there. I went to my usual hiding spot for the game my friends and I had played constantly as children, our version of ‘hide and seek.’ I crouched down into the crevice of rocks, holding my breath, as I thought it could give away my position. As I crouched, I heard an alien sound that my ears had never heard. What I would soon know as the sound of an elephant in pain, sounded as if the world had finally come to an end, as the old man in town had always warned of. Her screams echoed against the enclosed rocks. The small, skinny, slightly bony elephant had been caught in a poacher’s trap.

A large metal net with barbed wire was stuck into the tough grey skin and dark red ooze ran from the wounds into the dry dirt creating a new blend of red mud. Getting closer, the elephant stopped its terrible sound, looking me in the eye. I watched in horror as I saw the black eyes get smaller and scared. I took a step closer while the lanky, wounded animal tried to squirm away only to injure itself further. I stopped quickly because I did not want the animal to feel any more pain. I was eleven years old at the time. I didn’t know what to do. I sat down with my legs crossed and we stared at each other. I could see the pain in her eyes. I inched my way closer and closer. Closer. Closer. So close that I was sitting in a pool of red and we were nearly touching. Keeping eye contact the whole time, I reached out my hand and ran it along the dry skin. Tears ran from my eyes and mixed with the blood on her body. She laid her head back and was gone.

I sat there for what felt like hours when I was awoken by the sound of Land Rover engines. This meant that the poachers were coming back to pick up their kill. I scurried back to my hiding spot and waited. Only seconds later the large cars rolled into the rock enclosure and the tall white man in front stood out of the driver’s side window and gestured for the other men to deal with the animal. The other ten or fifteen men hopped out of their cars with their tools. They reached her dead body and bent around her face using their saws and pliers. I sat there, half covered in blood, watching my friend being torn apart. They left as quickly as they had come. I trudged back over to her body. No tusks. I ran away as fast as I could tears rushing down my cheeks. I ran by my friends, “Where are you going Kefentse?” I did not answer. I ran home. I never again saw my dead friend, the elephant.