M e e t O u r H e r d
From a life controlled—
To a life her own.
But all of them remain
D u k D i k
She came from multiple zoos and tourist camps.
From a young age, she was trained to perform —
under bright lights, smoke, and constant noise.
She was also taken overseas for performances,
where the same system of control remained.
Some of the behaviours seen today did not begin here.
They were learned long before
she arrived.
That past left visible effects.
Her eyesight is impaired, and her trunk sometimes trembles —
the result of intensive training, including the use of electric prods designed to leave no external wounds.
When she arrived,
she required immediate medical care.
There were untreated infections , including parasitic infestation in her reproductive area.
Care began there —
not with interaction,
but with treatment.
The first time she saw the river,
she ran straight in and played alone —intensely, almost uncontrollably.
Duk Dik is highly social.
She seeks contact, attention, and presence.
During the COVID years,
without visitors for an extended period,
she became withdrawn
Even now, she seeks human presence —
Not because she is asked to perform,
but because she chooses to engage.
I n H e r O w n W a y
K i t c h e n I n c i d e n t
She does not always accept what is offered.
Familiar fruits may be refused,
set aside without interest.
Not out of resistance,
but because repetition does not hold her.
She is drawn to what is different.—
One day,
while walking past the kitchen with guests, she paused.
A cake was being placed into the refrigerator —
prepared for a guest,
meant for the following morning.
She saw i t.
And left it where it was.—
Sometime in the night, when no one was there,
she returned.
She does not always wait.
And sometimes, she chooses her own way.—
By morning, a locked refrigerator no longer stood in place.
The kitchen, once in order, had been entirely undone.
There was no meal prepared that day.
No alms offered that morning.
It was not for her.
And yet, she returned for it —
in her own time.
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A S l i g h t L i m p
She once had a reason.
Not long before guests arrived,
she was stung by a scorpion—
a sudden pain that left her leg swollen.
That day, she did not go out to meet them.
While the others left together, she stayed behind.
For two weeks, she rested.
Her leg was treated, and she was given time to recover.
During that time,
she was sometimes offered fruits she did not usually have—
always quietly, away from the others.
And still— whenever guests arrived, she would call out, watching the others leave without her.
She wanted to go.
When she had fully recovered,
both the mahouts and the veterinarian agreed—
she was ready.
So she returned to work.
And then, something changed.
When no one was watching,
she walked just fine.
But the moment eyes turned toward her—
she began to limp.
Carefully. Convincingly.
Just enough to be noticed.
At first, it seemed uncertain.
Then, undeniable.
Until one day, we chose not to react.
No special treats.
No change in routine.
She walked on.
Straight. Steady. Certain.
Without a trace of the limp.
And from that day on,
it never returned.
Not every injury is what it seems.
And sometimes—
she knows exactly what she is doing.
S h e M a d e I t I n T i m e
There was a time when elephants would wait at the front, flowers in hand, ready to welcome arriving guests.
On that day, every elephant had taken their place.
Except her.
Her name was called, once, and again. No answer—
Then , suddenly— she appeared.
Running.
Not led,
not guided.
She had slipped free of her rope.
and made her way forward,
arriving just in time.
Her mahout at the time,
startled awake, ran after her —
still trying to catch up.—
By the time anyone realised,
she was already where she was meant to be.
