It’s that time of year again.
The nights are getting cooler, the grass is dying off and small plumes of acrid-smelling smoke slowly make their way up to the blue, cloudless sky. The burning season has begun.
Soon there will be nothing left in the bush for the elephants to eat and they will begin their annual onslaught on our green, juicy crops and so our sleepless nights will commence.
Two days ago a local villager on his way to church was attacked by an elephant. Perhaps God was watching over him; a tusk was thrust through his chest and yet he has survived. The elephant did not, shot by local game scouts as retribution for the villager and his family.