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Recently, we shared some thoughts from a new caregiver, João, who talked about his first days at sanctuary and how he was beginning to understand the Elephant Sanctuary Brazil processes. We’ll be continuing to talk to the caregivers, having them describe the individual elephants in their care and their relationships with those elephants. Today, we hear from Michele, who has been doing lots of work with Maia lately. 

The caregivers recently had a conversation with Scott about Maia and Guida, the first elephants to arrive at Elephant Sanctuary Brazil–what they were like before they came here, their individual journeys, and the sanctuary setup when they arrived. Obviously everything was much different then, including, it sounds like, Maia.

The pre-sanctuary Maia was high energy, destructive, and a bit overbearing to Guida when they did interact. She used to destroy or crawl under the electric fence separating her and Guida and, if she got to Guida, she would bully her and take her food. But when they arrived here, all of that changed. Guida set boundaries and Maia began to respect them and respect Guida.

The Maia I know is the rock of her social group–a constant, even-natured companion, though she does like to start a party sometimes, too. Silly Maia is awesome to behold. We recently delayed feeding breakfast by a good 15 minutes or more because Maia was in full party mode: sticking her face in the mud, kicking her feet up, throwing her trunk around, squeaking, and trumpeting. But most days she is mellow Maia. As Bambi’s vision has worsened, Maia has been there to comfort her, and is almost always nearby, leading her to meals, to the ponds, even all the way to the back of the yards through a wooded creek crossing. Guille can sometimes be uncertain or slightly uneasy when undergoing treatment, and Maia is often close by to provide comfort. 

Maia seems to understand everything. I think they all do, really. But Maia is the first elephant I said something to, sort of under my breath; not like a trainer, but more in the way I would talk to a human standing next to me, and she appeared to get what I was saying and act on it. And it’s happened several times since, in ways that I would have a hard time believing if I weren’t there. An example from just last week: I was feeding Bambi and administering her eye drops at dinner time, while Maia was eating nearby. Bambi got into a good position and I was putting my hands toward her face when I saw out of the corner of my eye that Maia was starting to come toward us. Without moving or taking my eyes off Bambi, I said, “Maia, can you wait there until I’m done with this eye drop?” She stopped immediately, right where she was. I placed the drop in Bambi’s eye and, as soon as I released Bambi and stepped back from the fence, Maia came the rest of the way over. 

I have been fortunate to get to know Maia a little better these past several weeks, as I’ve been learning to work with her in the chute and to trim her feet a bit. She shows the same patience with me as she does with Bambi. But if she doesn’t feel like doing a specific thing on a certain day, there is truly no changing her mind, not for all the treats in the world. She will always give you something, but it might not be exactly the thing you’re asking for. With her nature, I have to trust that when this happens, she has a good reason for it. She also has the most excellent side-eye. This is a facial expression that, Scott says, in any other elephant means you better take a step back because something is about to happen. But Maia just likes to give you a specific look, even while she’s being perfectly helpful.

When I think about Maia’s life at circus before she came here, chained up inside a tiny electric fence, near another of her kind but never really allowed to interact with her, I want to weep. When I think about how she came here, finally got to be free with her companion, and became really good friends with her before eventually, tragically losing her, I want to weep even more. I think about all the changes Maia has seen since she arrived here: elephants coming and going, people coming and going, yards expanding, social groups shifting. It’s a lot to take in, but she seems to have mastered the art of acceptance, of being present. One of the other caregivers recently asked me what I thought the theme song for each elephant would be. For me, the one that typifies Maia is Three Little Birds by Bob Marley: don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing gonna be alright. 

Photo of Maia on a short walk in Yard 5