Day 48 - Udawalawe and Colombo

I think I smell a human...

On thursday afternoon I watched three-and-a-half legged Namal get strapped into a harness that will suspend him for the next couple days, restricting his movement to only a few steps in any direction before he is swung back to the middle. His cruel albeit hilarious ensnarement is required because his stub is showing signs of infection. While Vijitha and Malaka treat the re-opened wound, they cannot allow Namal to put weight on it. While documenting his predicament I noticed signs of mobilization from the staff and made my curiosity obvious. No doubt recognizing my inquisitiveness as a poorly masked attempt to goad an invitation to wherever everyone was going, the doctor interrupted my questions and asked if I wanted to come along for the translocation of an elephant in the southern tip of Sri Lanka. Woohoo!

I DO smell a human!

Two hours later we arrived at a harbor, still under construction. Square-faced trucks swarmed the dirt roads around us with beds full of gravel and dirt and enormous windmills blocked the view of the water. Vijitha explained that the area only became industrialized recently - traditionally it served as one of the last remaining nonofficial wildlife refuges int the South. Elephant/human conflict is a common problem when wild lands become rapidly inhabited in Sri Lanka and this was no exception. Both elephant and human deaths have occurred as workers and their families have flocked to the area and the danger has intensified with the recent introduction of an on-site sugarcane plantation. The "an elephant never forgets" expression was likely inspired by the pachyderm's loyalty to one or a couple territories. When environmental conditions like droughts or human pressures force elephants away from their grazing site of choice, they will make regular returns until the land is once again hospitable. Elephants will travel hundreds of miles to  reach a specific waterhole, motivated by some intense associations made in their youth. Therefore, moving an elephant is often a temporary solution. Even at the elephant orphanage here in Udawalawe, desperation occasionally compels full-grown adults to ramble back to their childhood corrals, more than a decade after their release to distant national parks (this requires crossing streets, villages, and electric fences.)

The trick is moving the elephant to a place with a stable and content population, decent security, and one that is far, far away from where he was removed from. It is a multistep process and I witnessed only the first - though it took nine hours. First, the offender (a large male that, most recently, had killed a young girl) was located and a dozen members of the Department of Wildlife Conservation and Dr. Vijitha pursued him, armed with the tranquilizer, firecrackers (used to scare the animal into a safer trajectory), and shotguns. I was left with the driver until the animal was subdued and the chance of lawsuit was minimized. An hour later I got the call and the driver took me to the side of a highway where some Sri Lankan news crews were already gathering. Here, I met up with the ragtag Special Task Force that comprised of about thirty people. They were charging into into the forest along the highway with giant ropes and axes to rendezvous with Vijitha's team. It was their job to clear paths to the downed animal and assist with it's restraint. When I reached Vijitha, the elephant was unconscious and everyone was frantically trying to fix ropes around his legs and secure them to trees. The goal is to keep the animal under the effects of the tranquilizer for as short a time as possible. To bring down a bull elephant requires potentially heart-stopping chemicals and the sooner he is secure, the sooner the "wake-up" antidote can be administered. Once he began to revive, he was injected with a sedative. Nothing that would knock him out like the tranq, but would reduce his struggles against the ropes. More than once the elephant attempted to stand despite being hogtied. Each time, the entire Task Force would sprint away, yelling until they were reassured by Vijitha's staff that he was down again.  I have never heard a sound like those ropes creaking as 10,000 pounds of elephant pulled on them.

The leader of the STF, Jemela. "Oh you're American? So is my M-16!"

At sundown, a bulldozer arrived to clear a runway wide enough for the elephants removal. The next day, a truck would back down the path made by the dozer, a ramp would be installed, and the elephant would be heaved onto the bed for transport three-hundred miles to the northeast. Vijitha has since told me the operation went swimmingly (at least for now).

Attaching the tracking collar

On Friday, my landlord's (Ajith Perera) mother died at age eighty in Colombo. While he sped off that night, the Mankada staff and I waited until Saturday morning to rent a van and join him. The open casket funeral was held at Ajith's older brother's home. I soon learned that this brother was a big-time politician - the secretary to the head of the opposition party in Sri Lanka. Therefore, it was an extravagant affair with hundreds of attendees. Occasionally, a particularly significant couple showed up to pay their respects and everyone stood and watched them make their way to the casket. As is traditional in Sri Lanka, everyone wore formal white clothing. Everyone except Ajith, who wore his signature black t-shirt.

Ajith introduced me to his daughter who is studying architecture at university. She spoke candidly (and loudly, though in english) of the ulterior motives behind each guest's presence. Gold moguls, police chiefs, and charity heads were among the who's who of Sri Lanka hoping to speak with the secretary. Our conversation was interrupted by violent sobbing sounding from the
room housing the casket. It was the first sign of open emotion that day and Ajith sent his daughter to investigate. She reported it to be Ajith's sister and my t-shirt clad landlord walked briskly into the room. He did not go in to comfort her though. When he returned, he told me that his sister had no right to cry: "She doesn't help my mother for twenty years and then, in forty-five minutes, she can produce a shower."

The van ride to the funeral was a very somber affair.

His sister's husband was not happy. He ran over to Ajith, whispering harshly at him and poking his chest. Ajith just smiled, emboldened by a group of familial support behind him. Ajith further dramatized  the event during the Buddhist monk-led ceremony. In response to his sister's continued tears, he walked out of his central role in the ritual and only reappeared while the body was loaded into the hearse to kiss his mother's cheek.

Kalinga took it the hardest 

After the body was cremated at the cemetery, Ajith invited me to his Colombo house before driving us back to Udawalawe. We had ice cream, he showed me a karate routine from his black-belt days, and we drove the five hours home.