the orphaned of Africa, sometimes they’re elephants

We attempted to keep today short and brief, because the troops are fading. By the time we made it to the Nairobi National Museum, there were groans in the car to just go home. A whirlwind tour guide sped us through, so I could see and hear a few things. The kids watched the schoolchildren wander about in their school uniforms, and Raymond, the driver, entertained the youngest two while I perused.

But we did get to visit baby elephants this morning, and everyone’s attention was present for that. Orphan elephants to be exact. There were eleven, the youngest only three weeks old. The three infant elephants, still larger than Zach and Rachel together, were covered in sharply coloured blankets, and walked daintily from corner to corner with their adopted parents…no, not a mama elephant, rather a Kenyan man. They were first offered bottles of prepared formula, then they snacked on tree limbs, and finished by kicking the soccer ball. Okay, I knew Kenyans enjoyed a good football, aka soccer ball to us Canadians, but Kenyan elephants, nope, I didn’t know they were interested in soccer! They could kick them back and forth, bounce them on their trunks. They had their fun with the audience, unprompted drinking from the water trough, as the elephants blew water over the crowd. For fifty dollars a year, you too can adopt an elephant!

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