THE ORIGINS OF THE ARC

Where our story begins…

In the East African lands that lie in the shadow of Kilimanjaro and beyond, the story of the elephant has been woven into tribal lore for millennia.

Among the Wakamba, he is known as Nzou; the Maasai call him Oltome. Ndovu and Tembo are both familiar names in Swahili, widely spoken throughout this multinational region. For more than two centuries, European explorers and hunters also commonly used the name Tembo.

Enkai, or Ngai, is the regionally familiar name for God. The all-encompassing nature of Ngai is not dissimilar to our own concept of God: creator of the universe, dwelling in all things – and especially in the elephant.

Across the continent, tribes have regarded elephants as Chiefs of the Land: beings that command respect and reverence, and whose presence demands peace. Their tusks were believed to possess great knowledge and, for unnumbered generations, carried the name “wisdom sticks.” Possession of ivory – a right reserved for chiefs – denoted that its owner had attained wisdom. This theology forms the foundation of ivory’s inherent historical value: not merely as a trinket or commodity, but as a symbol of knowledge, authority, and legacy.

The earliest European explorers encountered bent, forked posts standing like gateposts along the approaches to tribal chieftains’ residences. Each appeared to be nothing more than a curved, forked limb set several feet into the earth – unusual, perhaps, but seemingly no more than a marker of passage.

As exploration continued and knowledge accumulated, another purpose emerged. The curved posts had once supported the standing tusks of an elephant, proclaiming the wisdom possessed by the chief who lived beyond them.

The explorers recognized the considerable monetary value of the tusks and knew they could be converted to wealth upon their return to civilization. Their appetite for this treasure encouraged immediate barter for the manufactured trade goods they carried. During those same negotiations, they also acquired something equally essential: the precious geographical knowledge held by the chiefs.

The chiefs, however, understood that these new visitors could never make use of the wisdom sticks in the same way. Vast barriers of language, culture, and understanding stood between them. Rare images and illustrations preserve glimpses of these early forms – the inspiration that would eventually lead to the creation of the ARC.

From T. Howell Journal

Amboseli Plains | Circa 1864

It has been another hard day. I sit beside the fire and reflect upon the loss of another of our boys. A lioness took him while we were on the march. He was not merely one among more than 136 porters. He was special. He had accompanied me on an earlier expedition, and now, on this journey, he has disappeared like smoke into the darkness of night.

It will be the same for all of us, I know. Those who remain will carry his memory for a while. Then they, too, will be gone.

The rising and falling flames before me mirror my mood. We are moving into unknown lands: drier, less forgiving plains stretching beneath the gaze of an enormous white-capped mountain called Kilimanjaro.

Gone are the night sounds so familiar along the riverine pathways we have followed: hippos talking and laughing through the darkness; the splashing and crashing of unseen beasts entering the water; a kudu’s bark; the hyena’s cackle; the rasp of a solitary leopard marking his path at intervals. Here, the night is still, broken only by the thunderous yet murmured grunts of roaring lions.

Dawn is teasing its arrival in the coming hour, and I am alone with my thoughts, struggling to find a balance between the two very different worlds in which I now coexist.

Several days ago, we encountered a village recorded by an earlier explorer, John Speke, whom I had known as a mentor of sorts. He had told me stories of this region, of the Wakamba people, and of their chief, Bokelele – a man of wisdom who possessed the vast geographical knowledge essential to guide our path through the months ahead.

Bokelele also understood the movements of the great herds of Nzou. The elephant offered a much-needed source of income with which our journeys, past and present, might be financed. I had heard of trades made with Bokelele and other chiefs at levels previously unimaginable: long, heavy ivory exchanged for a handful of coloured trade beads and several steel knives. Bokelele appeared to be the key that would unlock our exploration of this unknown world and the treasures waiting to be revealed.

Yet my thoughts returned persistently to the chief himself. I had come believing that ours was the world of civilization, science, religion, and culture. Still, it was we who knew nothing of the land, could not speak its languages, depended upon local guides for survival, and remained ignorant of customs established over countless generations.

From Bokelele’s perspective, perhaps we newcomers appeared remarkably naive, despite our rifles, scientific instruments, and manufactured goods. Each world could regard the other as ignorant, yet each judged knowledge by an entirely different measure.

The first rays of sunlight brought my reverie to an end, though I knew these thoughts would remain with me as the expedition marched onward. I opened my journal and began to sketch what I had observed during the preceding days, adding notes for those who might someday follow.

My work was interrupted by Solomon, who brought me a cup of hot tea and a hard piece of biscuit. After we exchanged greetings, he glanced at the sketch in my open journal. A smile crossed his face.

“What amuses you?” I asked.

His smile broadened. “Why would you draw the scene and leave out its most important feature?”

“Tell me what is missing. This is precisely what we encountered – at least as I remember it.”

“Why have you drawn the muomo with no wisdom sticks?”

“I do not know the word muomo. Tell me what it means.”

Solomon straightened and paused before answering.

“It is our word for a sign – no, an opening that marks the path to the musyi.”

I knew musyi to mean home. Because this was Bokelele’s residence, I understood it to mean the home of the chief.

“Then the muomo are simply posts marking the path to Bokelele’s home?”

He shook his head.

“No. The muomo hold the wisdom sticks. They show that this musyi is the home of the chief of the village.”

I knew what he meant by wisdom sticks, and my interest was immediately piqued by the reference to ivory.

“These muomo were made to hold the wisdom sticks? Where are they now?”

Solomon looked at me, confused by the question.

“You do not know? It is a simple thing. Our chief bartered the sticks for the needed things brought by the men who came before. Wisdom sticks can be found again. Sharp steel blades are rare and valuable.”

I looked again at the sketch. I had recorded the scene precisely, yet had understood almost nothing of what I had seen.

…and that is where our story begins.