Some friends of my family, in the dim and distant past, had a container with walking sticks in the hallway. We used to visit and, as a small child, I was amazed at such an ugly object. I felt a strong distaste for it and gave it a wide berth, for no reason. One Sunday afternoon, a group of friends came together in our garden and were sitting under a tree chatting over the ends of lunch. The conversation went around to hunting (things aren't what they used to be...). The children were scattered about with nothing to do and I was listening in. The particular safari at which that particular elephant had been shot, back in the early 50's, was a particularly cherished memory and recounted at length that quiet and pleasant day. It took time for the imagery to take hold in my head. It is not always easy for children to connect and contrast a personal feeling with a story that comes from such a different attitude in the adults: I ask myself today whether they had forgotten their own childhood thoughts, or whether it is a personal thing you are born with, the dark line in the sand which you will not cross. On that day, inside my heart, I knew that killing elephants was barbaric and sad, and that to take their body parts and turn them into hideous household objects was wrong. So that was a line I would not cross. I was clear from the start, but at the time I had no terms of reference, no context. Today, it sounds like an easy decision to make, but back then it was not without doubts that I approached this thought: the adults all seemed to see that severed foot as an object to be desired or, at least, to be admired. Years later, I had the chance to see elephant skin in its proper place: on a live elephant, in a safari park, in South Africa. The elephants there move in their family groups, in and out of territory that has been theirs for generations and in safety, though their space is invaded by humans on a regular basis. Seeing them up close is difficult and dangerous. Elephants in the wild will attack if they feel threatened and they are fast and agile and determined. But on a good day you can get close enough to see the deep and intricate wrinkles and crevices, the scars and the particular markings that tell of a life of foraging and fending off attack and disease. In the African bush, there is a dustiness in the vegetation and a relentlessness to the heat. The elephants cross these spaces, hide in shadows, wallow, touch one another and determine their course with a steady eyed ease. Their social life is as meaningful and intense as yours or mine. They pass by the other inhabitants of the savannah with equanimity and assurance. The night jar and the lion, the hyena and the vervet monkey share the water holes and the trails and the spiny trees of the elephant habitat. I am different from them. I visit their world and wonder at their peacefulness and economy of effort. I see their skin, and I know we are the same.
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