I placed my hand on the thick skin of an elephant, expecting to feel its roughness, but instead, among the coarse hairs that covered it in sparse patches, I found only softness. I felt the warmth of its body as I watched my hand rise and fall to the rhythm of its calm breathing.
Inebriated by that sensation, I found myself enraptured in the deep wrinkles of that soft, thick skin, staring at them as if they were paths and rivers, and routes drawn on an ancient map capable of revealing the mysteries of a world of which, I, was only an unexpected – if tolerated – visitor.
What had she thought when she saw me?
A pale man in awe of even looking her straight in the eyes – deep abysses as dark as they are immense but at the same time reassuring – clumsy in moving around the edges of his jungle, careful not to slip with muddy feet, the same colour as his beloved Mahut’s skin. What had she thought when she followed my hand with that deep eye?
Could she have sensed my quickening heartbeat?
Could she have understood that, in that moment, I was losing myself in her wrinkles?
Mondulkiri Jungle
The south-east of Cambodia, far from the magnificent temples that are a legacy of the Khmer Empire and today a destination for package holidays, is an immense region of mostly wild highlands and medium-sized mountains, coloured in many shades of green, rich in mighty waterfalls, home to an incredible variety of animals, plants, and human diversity.
The Mondulkiri — which in the Khmer language means: the Centre of the Mountains — not only marks a natural border with Laos and Vietnam, but is also the most eastern, wild, and sparsely populated region of Cambodia. During the 1960s and 1970s it was a land ravaged by the arms trafficking that ran from the north to the south of Vietnam. Even today, certain areas of this jungle remain off-limits due to the large number of landmines and unexploded ordnance. This represents, in effect, a deeply serious environmental issue for the forest’s inhabitants, who not infrequently find themselves caught up in explosions and mutilations. In the best of cases.
In the jungle and forests that cover the remote highlands of the Mondulkiri, several ethnic groups make their home, among them the Bunong — also known as the Pnong — an animist people who for over two thousand years have lived in symbiosis with nature and with the spirits of the jungle. The Bunong follow a code of conduct centred on respect for the resources this land grants them. They are the custodians of an ancient tradition that allows them to care for elephants, considered here to be full members of the community in every sense. The Bunong shape their way of life and the rhythm of their existence around the safeguarding of these extraordinary animals.
The Mahuts – in Hindi means ‘those who ride the elephant‘ – are its guardians and caretakers. They take care of them throughout their lives, passing the task from generation to generation to their son, brother, and nephew until the elephant dies. The elephant is considered an actual member of this family, extended by the passage of time.
“Having arrived in Sen Monorom, the main town of the Mondulkiri, after a journey of many hours and little comfort, one of the most complicated things was simply making contact with the Bunong. After a obligatory stop at the local police station — where any offer of assistance is refused without much courtesy — I decide to try my luck among the drivers of the many tuk-tuks gathered nearby, hoping to find a local contact who might introduce us to a village in the forest. “
A future that must be preserved
Over the past two decades, the practice of land grabbing – the sale by private individuals or governments of large lots of forest to foreign companies in exchange for money – has become widespread. Fortunately, in recent years, awareness of this problem has been raised, and attempts are being made to curb it by finding a sustainable development system for those who inhabit this area. But, unfortunately, one of the central government’s (timid) actions has been to consider the Bunong as a ‘protected ethnic group’ and their work with elephants as a ‘national interest’.
While it was helpful to reduce the impact of land grabbing at the turn of the century, this decision opened the door to many foreign projects for preserving and protecting Bunong villages – and elephants. But unfortunately, not all of them are positive. To recover the funds necessary to sustain the operational infrastructure, many of these have turned into tourist agencies, becoming, in reality, tour operators for wealthy tourists.
In the centre of Sen Monorom, we meet Cham, a Khmer boy with good English, excellent French and a few Italian songs in his head. He tells us the story of Nol, his childhood friend, a Mahut who takes care of the elephants in the forest with his family. Chan and Nol grew up together but spoke two different dialects: one Khmer, the other Bunong. Their dialogue, formed over time, interweaves these two different languages.
With his tuk-tuk, Chan leaves the town centre to get onto the main road and, after several kilometres, cuts across a muddy, dirty road into the forest.
Nol’s house is wooden, simple and very spartan, and seems to glow from the reflection of the surrounding red earth and the incessant rain. It is a calm situation where rain on wooden planks accompanies the scene like a soundtrack.
We set off in the direction of the emerald-green forest. Above our heads a few eagles can be glimpsed flying over the jungle, as if to protect it. No noise can be heard, only the rain pelting the road and making our path uncertain on the weak soles of my sandals.
After an indefinite time, Nol disappears into the dense forest. Chan tells us to wait quietly. It also tells us that it is the elephants who decide who can meet them. It is by no means a given that they will allow themselves to be approached by strangers, let alone touched. A timeless time passes, and he arrives from the forest’s heart. She advances slowly through the foliage of the trees guided by her Mahut in an almost liturgical silence. The forest embraces them and witnesses their silent understanding. A few sounds out of Nol’s mouth is a dialogue with Kropun, a 38-year-old young elephant whom Nol’s family has always looked after.
Kropun was already there when he was born and will spend his whole life with him. And she will still be with him when she sees him off to the land of the bunong spirits. Kropun will continue to live, cared for by Nol’s son, until she decides to fall asleep in the Forest of the Immortals, in Mondulkiri, Cambodia.
