We’d been sat in our Toyota Hilux, still as statues, for five full minutes. Those 300 seconds felt like an eternity, as the elephant paced towards us like a beered-up thug barreling down a cramped corridor in a nightclub.
We had driven down a track and come face to face with the bull, blocking our path. He was in musth, his penis dripping, his mouth dribbling, with six times as much testosterone as normal coursing through his body. He was aggressive and we were in his way, so now he was agitated. Charles Ndhlovu, our guide, had immediately cut the engine and instructed no noise or movement.
