Scott G.
Google
At Reteti Elephant Sanctuary, they practice resurrection. Baby elephants arrive shattered—orphaned by poachers, mauled by hyenas, destroyed by human greed. They leave alive because a community decided some things matter more than despair.
This is not a Western rescue fantasy. This is Samburu farmers choosing, daily, to sell their goat milk so elephant calves might live. Goat milk: precious, laborious, meant for their own children. Given instead to creatures whose mothers were murdered. This is not charity. This is defiance.
The keepers perform unglamorous work. Bottles every few hours. Wounds dressed. Terror soothed. An elephant never forgets—which means these calves will remember both their trauma and these hands. They will carry into adulthood the knowledge that humans can be destroyers and saviors both.
Every bottle of goat milk is a lifeline. Every contribution from travelers is a vote against extinction. The economics are simple and profound: people protect what provides for them. Reteti doesn’t ask the Samburu to sacrifice for elephants—it creates a system where saving elephants *serves* the community. Revolutionary in its plainness.
I watch the keepers—patient, exhausted, devoted—coaxing traumatized calves back toward trust. Some witnessed their mothers die. Some bear hyena scars. All should be dead. None are. This is not miracle. This is work. Relentless, tender work funded by farmers sharing their goat milk and travelers sharing their privilege.
To the people of Reteti: you are repairing what our species has broken. Not with grand gestures but with bottles and patience and goat milk purchased in careful transaction. You are teaching orphaned elephants that the world might occasionally be trusted. You are teaching the rest of us what conservation looks like when stripped of paternalism.
The Samburu have lived alongside elephants for millennia. They understand what we’re learning: their fates are intertwined. Goat milk given to save an elephant calf is not sacrifice but investment—in a future where both species flourish.
My gratitude feels insufficient. But it’s what I have, alongside whatever funds I can contribute to keep the milk flowing, the bottles filled, the keepers employed in their work of resurrection.
At Reteti, death arrives regularly. Life keeps answering back.
Thank you. Asante sana.