Thoughts on Conservation in the Sahel

The Sahel is an ecosystem on edge. It is transitional in its position between tropical West Africa and the Sahara. It is also at a pivotal point in its history where it could continue to degrade into desert if not managed properly. Despite intense pressure by grazing which are pushing the ecosystem close to the point of irreversible damage, they system seems resilient enough at the moment to come back to its former wholeness with proper care.

This creates a remarkable opportunity to protect one of earth's most fascinating and dynamic landscapes before it is too late. Promising conservation initiatives such as the World Bank's Gourma Biodiversity Project seem especially well timed. The demographic situation in the Sahel of Mali is such that conservation efforts can work for the long-term benefit of the wildlife and the people without excessive change in the short-term for the lives of the people. It is not often that win-win situations are so readily available, but in areas like Banzena the population is small enough that relocation plans with compensation can work. The installation of wells at new village sites outside the core conservation areas will ease the burden on existing wetlands and provide a technical solution that can actually work to improve lives of both people and wildlife.

When I first arrived in the Gourma, like some others involved in elephant conservation, I was skeptical about the proposal of relocating people. But now after spending 2 months in the Gourma at the peak of the dry season, studying the landscape, interviewing chiefs, and watching the people, I am convinced that relocation is necessary and is the best solution for all involved. The people of the Gourma, mostly Tuareg and Fulani, are traditionally nomadic and none have been settled in one place for more than 25 years. They are not bound to their current locations like those in most sedentary societies. The idea of relocating to a good grazing site with a well that provides water throughout the dry season should be an attractive alternative for most. The people are very close to the land and are aware of the degradation in recent years. Many I spoke to embrace the idea of conservation. They are not buffered from environmental change by bank accounts and pension plans like many in western nations. They depend directly on nature, thus interest in improved ecosystem health is immediately and directly related to their interest in their own well-being.

The people of the Gourma are at a pivotal point in their history, just as the ecosystem itself. The current cultural context is compatible with present conservation plans, but the window of opportunity will not stay open for long. Capitalist influences lurk around the corner. There are a few young Tuaregs who speed recklessly around Lake Banzena in their new Landcruiser, purchased by their father who owns 10,000 head of cattle in the southern Gourma. They are admired by other young Tuaregs who may have never been in a motor vehicle, while older chiefs scorn them as bandits who are corrupting the balance. One Landcruiser racing around creates enough stress for the precarious dry-season existence of elephants around Banzena, just a foreshadow of trends that will continue without appropriate intervention.

This leads me to thoughts on elephant tourism in the Gourma – an issue that simultaneously brings serious problems as well as hope for elephant conservation. At present, the Gourma elephants are very much afraid of motor vehicles. This I know from experience. One morning I had walked with my guide Mohammed for 3 km from our vehicle to quietly photograph elephants grazing during the day around Balu, 17 km southwest on Banzena. Toward the end of the morning when I had finished my work, we walked more than a kilometer east of the closest elephants and then Mohammed went to get the vehicle. Shortly after he left, a group of 12 bull elephants moved into the valley below me to eat some trees, approximately half a kilometer west. Then 15 minutes later they all started to run north in a cloud of dust and didn't stop until the next valley. It was a full 10 minutes more before I could even hear the sound of the vehicle approaching from the east. But they had apparently heard the small diesel motor long before I could.

It is perplexing to see such massive animals afraid of something they could crush like an empty coke can, especially after witnessing the passive acceptance of vehicles by elephants in other parts of Africa. But the Mali elephants have obviously been harassed and their reaction is appropriate when you consider their history. The Gourma elephants live in a land traversed by camels, not vehicles. Vehicles are alien objects that alarm children, livestock and elephants alike. The elephants do not often see a vehicle and the only time they do they are being chased by it, by reckless ‘guides' trying to bring tourists for a closer look. There is at present no code of conduct or infrastructure to monitor the behavior of guides and the present harassment of elephants by occasional tourists is a major problem.

Yet at the same time tourism offers income for local people and could become a sustainable alternative to overgrazing by livestock. There needs to be a program that enables responsible tourism while protecting the elephants from harassment. It has been suggested that installing blinds for observation at some of the water holes would be an appropriate alternative for viewing without vehicles. I can see how this could work in Inadjatafane where the area is relatively small, but based on my experience it is unlikely to work well in Banzena where the area is vast and it is difficult to predict where the elephants may come to water. Maybe their movements will change with less competition with livestock, but for now they do not often come to water in the daytime. I think installing a few blinds is a good idea, but in order to offer tourists a predictable encounter with elephants, there needs to be more.

I actually think the elephants need to be habituated to motor vehicles. This would involve elephant researchers or conservation officials in one vehicle gradually approaching herds in the daytime until the elephants accept their presence. For this to work, the approach of all other vehicles will have to be eliminated until the elephants become comfortable with visitors. Then a system of certification and monitoring of tourist guides needs to be installed to ensure educated and responsible behavior. The idea of habituating elephants to vehicle is somewhat of a bold suggestion coming from me, someone who does not like to see industrial influence intrude on natural areas. But one must be pragmatic. The presence of vehicles in the Gourma is inevitable with the construction of a new highway linking Douentza with Tombouctou, cutting right through elephant range. Elephants and vehicles must learn to coexist.

Just as implementing other conservation measures, creating a system of sustainable tourism will take time. But its role in my opinion is essential.

Meanwhile I will do all I can to work with the researchers and conservationists to raise awareness for the special population of elephants and the magical landscape of the Sahel.

Road Home

Saturday morning we loaded the truck, said goodbye to the chief and friends, and left Banzena. When we passed Douentza, the sand track turned to pavement. We had exited the Gourma and elephant territory was now behind us. When we started down the narrow strip of asphalt toward Mopti, fatigue descended on me in a way I had not known in my time here. The elephants were deep in forest en route to Burkina Faso and I was headed home. As the truck gained speed, my body downshifted into a lower gear for the first time, and I sank into the seat.

When I awoke a half hour later, the Gourma seemed far away. It is curious the way perspective changes when working in a place like this. You begin the journey with foreign eyes and everything appears new and different. But with time it all becomes normal. The exotic landscape becomes home. Strange foods become routine. The mysterious men behind turbans become simply men. The people you know as driver, guide, guardian, or chief shed their labels for names and become friends. And the elusive elephants that made your heart race when seen from a distance become familiar subjects you approach with steady pulse. What shifting perspectives does to my ability to capture the essence of a story, I am not certain. Surely there are benefits to adjusting comfortably to a new environment. But losing the eyes of an outsider may also cause one to overlook sensational elements or symbols that are important to sharing a story with a foreign audience. Perhaps keeping record of that which captures your attention on first glance is a good tool for allowing one to step in and out of any particular way of seeing.

The road home from the Gourma, the straight black line fringed by streaming hues of amber sand, continued to hypnotize my eyes and turn my gaze. Looking back, I started to recall all the pictures I had made as well as the ones I missed. I began to measure my progress in what is currently the most comprehensive still photographic documentary of the Sahel elephants. I also caught my mind starting thoughts with “next time…”, and I am sure I will be drawn back to finish what I've started.

It has been a privilege to work here in Mali and I gave thanks to all who helped make it possible. In particular, U.S. Ambassador Vicki Huddleston, Vance Martin and the Wild Foundation, Iain-Douglas Hamilton and Save the Elephants, elephant ecologists Richard Barnes and Hemma Emmanuel, Matthew Miller, and Elmehdi and the DNCN of Mali.

Dune Camp

I faced the fact that my documentary of the migrating herd was now finished and went back to the dune to consider the options. There were still some elephants in the Norahé forest as smaller groups continued to come from the north, so we spent the next two nights on the dune. I was able to document two groups of elephants, which will be useful to the research team, but they never came into the open plain by daylight for the aerial perspective. I enjoyed the dune camp, nonetheless. There was something powerful and symbolic about the wall of sand that physically divided the landscape (it is the actual boundary between the region of Mopti and the region of Timbuktu) and also marked the transition to the end of work documenting this phase of the migration.

Near the dune I also spent some time with Fulani herdsmen. It was a good compliment to my experience with the Tuaregs by Banzena. The Fulani chief was a kind man named Hama Allé and the village was named after him. He was born there and has been settled there since the installation of the well just over 20 years ago. His herd of cattle now numbers one thousand heads. It was quite nice to see him take tea with Mohammed, my guide and chief from Banzena. Men of different race, they have so much in common. Both formerly nomads, their lives have been shaped by the Sahel. They have been settled for the same number of years and they have both witnessed the same environmental changes which have made the nomadic life more difficult. Both recall when gazelles, giraffes, lions, and hyenas abounded and the sand was covered with grass. Both continue to live with elephants. Both have numerous children who will inherit a land with an uncertain future.

Missed Opportunity

The wind came and then the rain came and it did not stop. The gale force gusts tore my tent and snapped a fiberglass tent pole. I stayed in the tent for shelter and to keep in from blowing away, but hardly slept. There was no way to know what the elephants were doing until the morning. At 5:00 am, Mohammed and I traversed the dune looking for tracks. I hoped they were still in the forest below and would give me another chance. But less than a kilometer west of camp we saw their path. It seemed that all the elephants had made the passage in the night. We went after them, but they had already entered the vast Inané forest, which stretches south for more than 25 km. They are practically unapproachable there and if the rains continue they will remain in the forest for as long as a month before moving south into Burkina Faso.

Frontier Possibilities

I sit at the crest of the Norahé hondu, or dune of the Norahé forest looking north into the Gourma. There is a great plain that starts at the base of the dune some 25 meters below and runs 2-3 kilometers to the forest where over one hundred elephants are now browsing. I can see two at the edge. The rest are hidden. To the west the sun is 40 minutes above the horizon. To the east gray skies suggest rain, which will be the determining factor in what unfolds in the coming hours. With rain, the elephants should comfortably move into the plain and eventually cross the dune to enter their southern range. Without rain they will wait in the forest for the rain to come. If the water in the forest dries before the next rain, they will move back to Banzena. I hope the rain starts soon and then stops before nightfall. This will give me a chance at an aerial view of elephants moving into the open plain. The wind is now flapping my tent and the temperature is dropping. Time to prepare.

Migration

Sunday night it rained again. So Monday morning I sent a man on a camel to check whether the elephants had remained in Tabarac-Barac forest or had continued south. Upon hearing the news that the all tracks led south out of the forest, we packed up camp and prepared to follow the herd.

Mohammed had an idea of where they were headed, so we took a different route and intersected their tracks about 15 km south of Banzena. When we caught up with them, they were still on the move, now dispersed into smaller family groups spread over several dunes, but still moving south. Again the wind was coming from the same direction as the afternoon sun, so I had no other option than to photograph them backlit against the yellow hills. Before the sun had set, more than 100 elephants had passed before us. We made camp nearby and spent our first night as nomads following the herd.

There is something magical about migration. It requires a dynamic and expansive natural realm without hard boarders, where resources can vary over space and time and animals can move freely to meet their needs for food and water. It represents wilderness, not yet choked by the hands of man.

First Rain

Yesterday, everything changed quite dramatically.

Saturday and Sunday, elephants remained near Banzena in the daytime. This made for good photo potential, although the elephants never came to water in the good light of morning or evening. They waited until the sun was high overhead before coming to cool off and drink.

Sunday afternoon, around 3 o'clock, I was at camp preparing to go back into the field when I saw the mountain of dust coming from the east. Most of my equipment was already in watertight cases, so I had a couple of minutes to photograph the approaching storm. This time the dust was followed by rain. Banzena was sandblasted for 15-20 minutes. Then it was pressure washed.

The fierce wind almost tore the door off my little room as I tucked inside to make sure my gear was secure. I had to tie it closed with cord to keep it from breaking its hinges. By then the rain had begun and the ensuing darkness rendered the adobe chamber a blind cave. I located my headlamp so I could search for the Nikon FM I was planning to take out into the rain. It was then that I saw the silhouette of a serpent slithering under the doorway toward my feet. It was also seeking shelter from the storm. But in a space just 5 feet wide my typically passive treatment of such animals gave way to a different set of instincts, and I reached back for the 4-foot long Tuareg sword I had bought in Tombouctou. The chief of Banzena later acknowledged that a bite from the headless animal could be lethal and gave thanks for what I had done.

I grabbed my old camera and headed out into the weather, seeking a picture of the pivotal event. This was the first major rain since the previous summer. After spending some time with the local people, who were scurrying to secure their huts and protect their children, I turned to the bush where I had photographed elephants that morning. It had been raining for less than 20 minutes when I came across their tracks headed south away from the lake. Rainfall had triggered a near instant response and all of the elephants dispersed south, now free from their dependence on the marsh. I ran south following the tracks for a while, but the elephants had already entered the forest of Tabarac-Barac.

Back at camp we loaded the vehicle and went looking to intercept the large group we knew had been hanging around the eastern marsh. When we crested the adjacent dune, they were already lined up in the distance, more than 100 elephants single file, starting their exodus to the southern forest. Unfortunately, the wind was coming from the same direction as the light, so we could not approach closer than a kilometer in the vehicle. I set out on foot and was able to get close enough to make some useful pictures. The elephants were orange with fresh mud and seemed quite happy. In one hour, their environment had been transformed from hostile to hospitable, as shallow pools of cool water now covered the previously parched landscape.

If the rains continue during the next week, this first move south could be the start of the annual migration, which will lead the elephants to the southern fringes of the Gourma and into Burkina Faso.

Moonlighting

I spent two more nights on the roof of the little hut by the water. The weather improved and I slept very well the second night because there were no elephants (aside from a group of 20 which walked by like ghosts after the sun had set and before the moon had risen). Last night, however, the elephants were quite active. I had expected large numbers to converge on western Banzena after nightfall because I traced the tracks of 100+ which had been grazing by day in the dry forest at Balu, some 20 km to the south of Banzena, going without water for 2 days. But as to when the elephants would arrive, I had no idea.

The first wave began splashing and breaking branches at midnight, just a few hundred meters to my east. I could not see them until a group of 20 passed along the rim of the lake below me. They moved with purpose and did not give me much of a chance to make pictures. I squeezed of a few framed from my remotes, but as 30 second exposures with moving subjects and without flash, my expectations are not high. The next wave woke me with splashing at 3:00 am, this time in plain view. The circle of around 30 bathers moved directly offshore to an island. They were out of range of my flashes, which were set for the water's edge, but I did make a few long moonlit exposures with some potential.

There were also a few giants munching trees behind me. This heightened my awareness. At ten feet in the air the ground seemed far below, but I acknowledged that I would be eye to eye with a passing adult, and easily within trunk reach.

All along the photos I really wanted involved a mixture of moonlight and flash, but the elephants never stopped to wallow below me where my equipment was set. They had apparently wallowed there before, but with miles of shoreline to choose from and only two nights of useable moonlight, it was really a shot in the dark. Around 4:30 am, one elephant did walk through the zone and I lit him up. There was no splashing or interesting behavior to document, but at least I will have a single frame of film as a souvenir from the 3-night effort.

The next morning, as if testing my stamina, many elephants remained close to the water. I called camp and the others came to watch as a large group waded from the island to the distant shoreline in silver light.

Billowing Inferno

Last night, I spent my first night atop a dilapidated adobe structure beside the lake Banzena, aiming to photograph elephants at the water in the moonlight. About 2 hours after sunset, a thin layer of clouds slid beneath the full moon. I was irritated by the clouds because they cut the available light in half and I was looking toward the eastern horizon for signs that they would blow by.

It was then that I saw it. A black mountain was moving over the trees at an alarming rate. For a moment I was frozen in awe. I was perched precariously before an avalanche of sand being rolled between earth and stratosphere. I didn't know what else it could be. It took me less than a minute to tightly fasten my turban, stuff all of my cameras into their bags, and start descending through the hole in the broken roof. By then the wall of swirling sand was already on top of me. I crouched against the weight of the wind and waited in hopes that it would soon pass. But after an hour my hope faded and I and grew concerned about my remote cameras which were being battered. I called base camp on the radio. When the driver arrived he was painted orange from head to toe and I realized I must look the same.

With no real shelter, no one slept well last night. So when the elephants decided to come to water the next morning for the first time since I've been here, I shot a lot of film but was so tired that I do not remember whether or not I made any good pictures.

Memorial Day

Last night, after more than a week of trying, I finally got a good look at more than 100 elephants crossing the sand between the Tabarac-Barac forest and the Banzena marsh.

I had been hunting them each morning and evening, and was growing tired with my limited success. At the nomad camp, hot sandy winds and boisterous livestock made sleeping especially difficult. Eight nights there eroded my strength to the point of illness. I was spending 23 hours each day preparing for at best 30 minutes with my cameras in my hands. Some of the days elephants came, but usually it was too early or too late to make a picture. Instead I observed them, followed their tracks, and learned their movements.

A week of waiting felt like wasted time. But if the large group of elephants had come through on the first night, I would not have been comfortable approaching them. Last night I felt that I could predict them and I moved within range to shoot 10 rolls of film during 15 minutes of twilight. Sand hung in the air like a fog, obscuring the sun, and the elephants glided like a freight train across the horizon. To stand alone on the sand facing the wall of giants was simply awesome. If I was able to capture just a fraction of their power on film, I will have achieved success.

Several times, the elephants triggered a camera trap I had placed in their path (relocated from its previous position where it had been stepped on). Hopefully the new position will continue to produce pictures in my absence, as I have moved back to the Banzena camp where I will spend the next few nights trying to photograph elephants by moonlight as they come to the marsh. Its 10:30 A.M. here, and now I must sleep to prepare for the nocturnal adventures that await.