As the lions became increasingly aware of their strength, they tested it on everything they could find. For instance, a groundsheet, however large, had to be dragged about, and they would set to work in proper feline fashion, placing it under their bodies and pulling it between their front legs, as in later life they would drag a kill. Another favourite game was ‘king of the castle’. A cub would jump on to a potato sack and keep her attacker at bay until she was suddenly dethroned by the other sister coming up from behind. The victor was usually Elsa who, seeing the other two locked in combat, made the most of her opportunity.
Our few banana trees were also regarded as delightful toys, and very soon their luxuriant leaves hung in tattered fringes. Tree climbing was another favourite game. The little lions were born acrobats, but often they ventured so high that they could not turn to come down, and we were obliged to rescue them.
When at dawn Nuru let them out, they shot out of doors with a whole night’s pent-up energy, and this moment could be compared to the start of a greyhound race. On one such occasion they spotted a tent in which two men who had come to visit us were staying. Within five minutes it was a wreck and we were wakened by the cries of our guests who were vainly trying to rescue their belongings, while the cubs, wild with excitement, dived into the wreckage and reappeared with a variety of trophies – slippers, pyjamas, shreds of mosquito netting. We had to enforce discipline that time with a small stick.
Putting them to bed was also no mean task. Imagine three very naughty little girls, who like all children hated bedtime, but who could run twice as fast as those who were in charge of them and had the added advantage of being able to see in the dark.
We were often obliged to resort to subterfuge. One very successful trick was to tie an old bag to a length of rope and drag it steadily towards and then into the pen – usually they could not resist chasing it.
Outdoor games were all very well but the cubs also developed a fancy for books and cushions. So, to save our library and other possessions, we were eventually obliged to ban them from the house. To effect this we made a shoulder-high door of strong wire on a wooden frame and placed it across the entrance to the veranda. The cubs resented it very much, so to compensate them for their lost playground we hung a tyre from a tree, and this proved to be grand for chewing and also as a swing. Another toy we gave them was an empty wooden honey barrel which made a resounding boom when it was pushed. But best of all was a hessian bag. We filled it with old inner tubes and tied it to a branch, from which it dangled invitingly. It had another rope attached to it, and when the cubs hung on to the bag we pulled and swung them high up into the air; the more we laughed the better they enjoyed the game.
Yet, none of these toys caused them to forget that there was at all times a barrier in front of the veranda and they often came and rubbed their soft noses against the wire.
Late one afternoon some friends had arrived for a sundowner. Intrigued by the sounds of merriment inside, the cubs soon turned up, but that evening they behaved in a disciplined fashion, there was no nose-rubbing against the wire, all three kept a foot away from it. This exemplary conduct aroused my suspicion, so I got up to investigate its cause. To my horror, I saw a large red spitting cobra between the cubs and the door. In spite of the presence of three lions on one side and of ourselves on the other, it wriggled determinedly across the veranda steps, and by the time we had fetched a shotgun it had disappeared.
No barricades, cobras or prohibitions made Lustica give up her intention of entering the house; repeatedly she tried all the doors. Pressing a handle proved easy enough, even turning a knob could be done, only when we quickly fitted bolts all round was she defeated, and even so I once caught her trying to push the bolt aside with her teeth. Thwarted in her purpose, she had her revenge upon us for about this time she tore the laundry off the clothes line and galloped off into the bush with it.
When the cubs were three months old they had teeth big enough to make it possible for them to eat meat. So now I gave them raw minced meat, which was the best we could do to imitate their mother’s regurgitated food. For several days they refused to touch it and pulled grimaces of disgust. Then Lustica made the experiment, and found it to her taste. The others took courage from her and soon there was a fight at every meal. This meant that poor Elsa, who was still weaker than the others, had little chance of getting her fair share, so I kept the titbits for her and used to take her on to my lap for her meals. She loved this; rolling her head from side to side and closing her eyes, she showed how happy she was. At these times she would suck my thumbs and massage my thighs with her front paws as though she were kneading her mother’s belly in order to get more milk. It was during these hours that the bond between us developed. We combined playing with feeding, and my days were happily spent with these charming creatures.
They were lazy by nature and it needed a lot of persuasion to get them to move from a comfortable position. Even the most desirable marrow bone was not worth the effort of getting up, and they would roll into position to get at it by the easiest way. But best of all they liked me to hold their bone for them while they lay on their backs, paws in the air, and sucked at it.
When the cubs went into the bush they often had adventures. One morning I was following them, for I had given them a worming powder and wished to see the result. I saw them a little way off asleep. Suddenly I noticed a stream of black soldier ants approaching them. Indeed some were already climbing up their bodies. Knowing how fiercely these ants will attack anything that lies in their path and how powerful their mandibles are, I was just about to wake up the cubs when the ants changed their direction.
Soon afterwards five donkeys approached and the cubs woke up. This was the first time they had seen such big animals, and they certainly showed the proverbial courage of a lion, for they all charged simultaneously. This put them into such good heart that when, a few days later, our forty pack donkeys and mules came near the house, the three little lions fearlessly put the whole cavalcade to flight.
At five months they were in splendid condition and getting stronger every day. They were quite free except at night, when they slept in an enclosure of rock and sand which led off from their wooden shelter. This was a necessary precaution, for wild lions, hyenas, jackals and elephants frequently roam round our house and any of these might have killed them.
The more we grew to know the cubs the more we loved them, so it was hard to accept the fact that we could not keep for ever three fast-growing lions. Regretfully we decided that two must go and that it would be better that the two big ones, who were always together and less dependent on us than Elsa, should be the ones to leave. Our African servants agreed with our choice; when asked their opinion they unanimously chose the smallest. Perhaps they were influenced by visions of the future and thought: ‘If there must be a lion in the household, then let it be as small as possible.’
As to Elsa we felt that if she had only ourselves as friends she would be easy to train, not only for life at Isiolo but also as a travelling companion on our safaris.
As a home for Lustica and the Big One, we chose the Rotterdam-Blydorp Zoo and made arrangements for them to make the journey by air.
Since they would have to leave from the Nairobi airfield, which was one hundred and eighty miles away, we decided to get them accustomed to motoring, and took them for short daily trips in my one-and-a-half-ton truck, which had a wired box body. We also began to feed them in it, so that they might get used to it and consider it as one of their playpens.
On the last day we padded the car with soft sandbags.
When we drove off, Elsa ran a short way down the drive and then stood with the most mournful expression in her eyes watching the car in which her two sisters were disappearing. I travelled in the back with the cubs and had armed myself with a small first-aid kit fully expecting to be scratched during the long journey. However, my medical precautions were put to shame, for, after an hour of restlessness, the cubs lay on the
bags beside me, embracing me with their paws. We travelled like this for eleven hours, delayed by two blow-outs. The lions could not have been more trusting. When we reached Nairobi they looked at me with their large eyes, puzzled to know what to make of all the strange noises and smells. Then the plane carried them off for ever from their native land.
After a few days we received a cable announcing the safe arrival of our cubs in Holland. When I visited them, about three years later, they accepted me as a friendly person and allowed me to stroke them, but they did not recognize me. They live in splendid conditions and, on the whole, I was glad to know that almost certainly they had no recollection of a freer life.
2. Elsa Meets Other Wild Animals
While I was absent in Nairobi George told me that Elsa was very much upset, and never left him for a moment; she followed him around, sat under his office desk, where he was working, and at night slept on his bed. Each evening he took her for a walk, but, on the day of my return, she refused to accompany him and sat herself down expectantly in the middle of the drive. Nothing would move her. Could it have been that she knew I was coming back? If so, to what animal instinct can one attribute such foreknowledge? Behaviour of this kind is difficult if not impossible to explain.
When I arrived alone she gave me a great welcome but it was heartbreaking to see her searching everywhere for her sisters. For many days to come she gazed into the bush and called for them. She followed us everywhere, evidently fearing that we too might desert her. To reassure her we kept her in the house, she slept on our bed and we were often woken by her rough tongue licking our faces.
As soon as we could make the necessary arrangements we took her on safari in order to break this atmosphere of waiting and distress and luckily she took to all that safari means and loved it as much as we did.
My truck, packed with soft luggage and bedding rolls, was ideal for her to travel in, since, from a comfortable couch, she could watch all that was going on.
We camped by the Uaso Nyiro river whose banks are lined with doum-palms and acacia bush. In the dry season the shallow waters flow slowly down to the Lorain swamp, passing some rapids and forming many deep pools, which are full of fish.
Near our camp there were rocky ridges; Elsa explored their clefts, sniffed among the rocks and usually ended by settling herself on the top of some rock from which she could survey the surrounding bush. In the late afternoon the sun turned the country into a blaze of warm colours, then she blended into the reddish stone as though she were a part of it.
This was the most enjoyable part of the day: everything and everyone relaxed after the great heat; the shadows lengthened and became a deep purple until, by the rapid sinking of the sun, all details were extinguished. A faint bird call died gradually away, the world grew silent, all was in suspense, awaiting the darkness and, with it, the awakening of the bush. Then the long-drawn call of the hyenas gave the signal and the hunt began.
I remember one particular evening I secured Elsa to a tree in front of the tents and she started to chew her dinner while I sat in the darkness and listened.
Pati hopped on to my lap and, nestling comfortably, ground her teeth – a habit which I knew indicated that she was happy. A cicada chirruped near the river where rippling waters reflected the rising moon. In the soft darkness above, the stars sparkled brilliantly – and in the Northern Frontier they always seem to me to be twice as big as anywhere else – now I heard a deep vibrating sound like that of distant aircraft – this meant that elephant were making their way to the river. Luckily the wind was in our favour; and the rumbling soon ceased.
Suddenly, the unmistakable grunts of lion became audible. At first they were very far away, then, gradually, they grew louder and louder. What could Elsa be thinking about all this? In fact, she seemed utterly unconcerned at the approach of her own kind. She tore at her meat, gnawing slices off with her molars, then she rolled on her back, all four paws in the air and dozed off, while I sat listening to the chuckling of hyena, the yelping of jackal and the magnificent chorus of the lions.
It is very hot at that season, so Elsa spent part of the day in the water; then, when the sun made this uncomfortable for her she would rest in the reeds, at intervals rolling lazily into the river, where she landed with a great splash. As we knew that crocodiles were plentiful in the Uaso Nyiro this caused us some concern, but none ever approached her.
Elsa was always full of mischief; sharing her fun with us she would splash us whenever she found us off our guard, or she would jump quickly out of the water, pounce on us, wet as she was, and we would find ourselves rolling in the sand with our cameras, field glasses and rifles pressed down by her heavy dripping body. She used her paws in a variety of ways. She would use them in gentle caresses, but she could also deliver a playful well-aimed smack at full speed, and she knew a little ju-jitsu trick which unfailingly laid us flat on our backs. No matter how prepared we were for the act, she would give just a small twist to our ankles with her paw and down we went.
Elsa was very particular about her claws; certain trees with a rough bark provided her with the means of sharpening them and she scratched away, leaving deep lines, until she was satisfied with the result of the operation.*
Elsa was not afraid of the sound of a shot and she grew to know that ‘bang’ meant a dead bird. She loved retrieving, especially guinea fowl, whose quills she crunched, though she very rarely ate the flesh and never the feathers. The first bird was always hers; she would carry it proudly in her mouth till she found this uncomfortable, then she placed it at my feet and looked at me, as though to say, ‘Please carry it for me,’ then, so long as I dangled it in front of her nose, she trotted good-naturedly after it.
Whenever she discovered some elephant droppings, she at once rolled in them. Indeed it seemed that she regarded them as an ideal bath powder. She hugged the big balls and rubbed the perfume well into her skin. Rhino droppings she also found attractive, in fact, she liked the droppings of most herbivorous animals, but preferred those of pachyderms. We often wondered about this behaviour – could it come from an instinct to disguise her own scent from the animals that, in a natural state, she would kill and eat? The habit, common to the domestic cat and dog, of rolling in excrement is no doubt a degenerate form of the same instinct. We never saw her roll in the droppings of carnivorous animals.
Elsa was very careful in placing her droppings always a few yards away from the game paths where we usually walked.
One afternoon Elsa rushed off into the bush attracted by the noise of elephant. Soon we heard loud trumpetings and screams and the cackling of guinea fowl as well. In great excitement we awaited the outcome of this meeting. After a while the elephant noises ceased but to make up for it, the guinea fowl raised a most alarming clatter. Then, to our amazement, Elsa emerged from a thicket closely followed by a flock of vulturine guinea fowl who seemed determined to chase her away, for, whenever she made an attempt to sit down, they chuckled and cackled, so that she just had to keep going. Only after these bold birds became aware of our presence was she allowed some peace.
During one of our walks Elsa suddenly froze in front of a cluster of sansevieria bush, then leapt in the air and retreated hastily giving us a look which seemed to say, ‘Why don’t you do like me?’ At this moment we saw a large snake between the pointed sword-sharp sansevieria leaves. It was well protected in the impenetrable thicket of blades and we thanked Elsa for her warning.
When we returned to Isiolo, the rains had started. The country was covered with little rivulets and pools. This provided fine fun for Elsa, she splashed in every one of them and, greatly invigorated, proceeded with pouncing leaps to cover us with what she evidently considered to be heavenly mud. This was beyond a joke. We had to make her realize that she had grown too heavy for such light-hearted flying jumps. We explained the situation to her by the judicious use of a small stick. She understood at once, and thereafter we very seldom had to make use of it, though we always carried it as a
reminder. By now Elsa also understood the meaning of ‘no’ and she would obey even when tempted by an antelope.
Often, it was touching to see her torn between her hunting instinct and her wish to please us. Anything moving seemed to her as it would to most dogs, just asking to be chased; but, as yet, her instinct to kill had not fully developed. Of course, we had been careful never to show her her goat meat alive. She had plenty of opportunity of seeing wild animals, but as we were usually with her when this happened, she gave chase merely in play and always came back to us after a short time, rubbed her head against our knees and told us with a low miaow about the game.
We had animals of all kinds around our house. A herd of waterbuck and impala antelope and about sixty reticulated giraffes had been our neighbours for many years; Elsa met them on every walk and they got to know her very well and even allowed her to stalk them to within a few yards before they quietly turned away, and a family of bat-eared foxes got so used to her that we were able to approach to within a few paces of the burrows of these timid animals while their cubs rolled in the sand in front of the entrance holes, guarded by the parent foxes.
Mongooses also provided Elsa with a lot of fun. These little creatures, no bigger than a weasel, live in abandoned termite hills which, made as they are of cement-hard soil, constitute ideal fortresses. Standing as high as eight feet and built with many air funnels, they also provide cool shelters during the heat of the day. About teatime the mongoose comedians leave their stronghold and feed on grubs and insects until it becomes dark, when they return home. That was the hour at which our walks often made us pass them. Elsa would sit absolutely still in front of the anthill besieging them, apparently deriving great satisfaction from seeing the little clowns popping their heads out of the air funnels, only to give a sharp whistle of alarm and disappear like shadows.