It’s almost dusk when all the elephants come over to my place, hulking, peaceful and quiet. All four legs pumping, their trunks raised as a snorkel, they swim across the lagoon, leaving their daylong chill session in the papyrus and reeds, ready to fade into the gloaming as they feed nearby.
Passing my tented villa, they walk so close that I can hear their stomachs rumbling. Without thinking, I rush onto my patio, clad in nothing but boxer shorts. A small boat floats nearby, carrying fellow lodge guests snapping photos of the elephants and, as it turns out, me. But I don’t care one bit. I’m in a moment of magic. These majestic creatures have cast a spell on me.
Botswana is a special place, in part because of the number of elephants who make this their home — by some estimates, about 130,000 of them, more than you’ll find in any other country. Wilderness DumaTau, the lovely luxury camp where I’m staying, sits right on a migration route for the elephants.
The Okavango Delta here provides a comfortable living space for them. And it also makes Botswana an extremely desirable safari destination, with options to spot wildlife (including hippos and reptiles and very rare antelope) from the water, as well as lions and cheetahs and leopards on land.
But the elephants also pose a problem. The hungriest can each consume more than 550 pounds of vegetation a day. “We’re losing all of our riparian forests, all of our baobab trees,” explains wildlife conservationist Vincent Shacks, group impact manager for Wilderness, the largest safari operator in Botswana. I’m travelling with him this week, visiting three luxury lodges, and at each, we see whole sections of forest just levelled. “They’re destroying the ecosystem, and without that (vegetation), people and animals die,” adds Shacks.
The elephants also represent a more immediate threat, killing more Botswanans than any other wild animal. With no fences, farmers and villagers and livestock and dangerous beasts encounter each other on a daily basis. The abundant wildlife is good for the economy, bringing in high-end lodges that provide jobs, but presents ongoing risk for the community.
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So, on this trip, in addition to the usual, amazing safari stuff — one morning, we saw so many lions that I stopped counting — I’m here to learn what is being done to help address the problem.
Funny and friendly, Shacks is a real-life Crocodile Dundee type who once spent two years sleeping in a tent and researching the ancient reptile. His newly created role is to explore and implement what Wilderness can do to aid the communities near their lodges, as well as the wider regions and even countries where they operate.
One current project is diminishing the negative impacts of the elephants, and a recent solution comes in an unexpected form: locally made beer — but more on that in a minute.
One of the biggest challenges is protecting and creating movement corridors where elephants can follow traditional migration patterns around Botswana and, ultimately, all of Southern Africa. “Elephants need to move, and right now, they can’t. We need to help them,” explains Shacks. Opening more corridors (or “doors”) spreads out their impact on crops and communities.
Wilderness is working with a constellation of non-profits, including Botswana-based Ecoexist, which notes that both elephants and people “require water, food, space and safety” and is determined to find solutions for both. The idea is to limit human-wildlife interactions as much as possible. “We’re supporting the people who live and work at these ‘doors,’” says Shacks.
A big part of accomplishing this goal: making farms smaller and more profitable, and diverting animals away from them. Wilderness has invested heavily in this strategy. The safari company’s initiatives include donating drought-resistant seeds, providing a tractor for plowing, and supporting educators who teach techniques for higher-yield farms. They’ve also drilled water wells, so farmers can cluster their farms more tightly and avoid getting water from rivers — where they would often encounter elephants.
I glimpse these plans in action firsthand. We take a helicopter to reach the village of Gunotsoga, population about 1,000. Looking down, I see domesticated cattle mix with wild zebras. Shacks remembers camping here to do croc research and says lions and leopards routinely wandered through town. “This is really the front lines,” he remembers.
Gathering under a broad tree, the locals welcome us with a dance and share their experiences. A village elder acts out an incident where he was charged by an elephant. The demonstration, complete with a person in an elephant costume, is so realistic that the woman next to me cries out in alarm. For a split second, she thinks it’s real. (Truth be told: I did, too.) We then gather around a woman who demonstrates their new, higher-yield planting and cultivation method.
Another key part of the strategy is making these local farms part of the supply chain for luxury camps and lodges, by encouraging the cultivation of certain crops and buying their products at a more lucrative price than they’ve garnered before.
Which brings us back to the beer. The best-developed example of this model is a high-quality millet. Farmers who agree to follow elephant-aware practices are provided with this grain to grow. The crop is then bought by Okavango Craft Brewery, co-founded by ecologist Graham McCulloch, who also co-founded Ecoexist.
The microbrewery was established in 2019 to purchase millet from these small-scale farmers, to “reward them for their efforts to coexist with elephants” (in the company’s words). The beer is now on tap in dozens of luxury lodges.
The profits have been used to fund important local projects, including the Elephant Express buses that transport kids to school. This saves children from taking long, dangerous walks among elephants and hippos and lions.
On the last day of the trip, I taste the beer right at the source, visiting Okavango Craft Brewery in the town of Maun. A guide named Olerato Ratama tours me around the fermentation tanks and mash tuns, while detailing the local impacts: the safer conditions for both people and beasts, and the ability for farmers to send their kids to school, with books and uniforms, because of their boosted income. “The more we increase production, the more we buy from the farmers,” says Ratama.
Settling into a seat at a table, I try a whole flight of beer, and then opt for more of the light, bright lager. As I wait for my wood-fired pepperoni pizza, I hope this delicious solution keeps growing. For the moment, I’m just happy for my frosty pint, and so many treasured safari memories.
Tim Johnson travelled as a guest of Wilderness, which did not review or approve this article.
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