ELEPHANT SOAP
Mae Taeng - Kuet Chang
June 11, 2022
In Buddhism, there’s an origin story about a queen named Mahamaya. One night, Mahamaya fell asleep and dreamt she was spirited away to the Himalayas. There, she was bathed in a holy lake and dressed in robes by four heavenly spirits. She was then taken to a beautiful palace where she was visited by a white elephant with six tusks, carrying a silver lotus flower. The elephant circled her bed three times, struck her in the right side, and then, Mahamaya woke up.
Her dream was interpreted to mean she’d conceived a child destined for greatness. A child who would become either a world leader or a wise teacher. Because of this, when Mahamaya gave birth, she stood upright, holding the branch of a sal tree and the baby was born underneath her right arm. He was named Gautama Siddhārtha and ultimately he was raised as a famous prince who then, even more famously, became the Buddha. In Buddhism, this is the reason elephants are sacred.
This is not, however, the reason I wanted desperately to be among the elephants of Thailand. No, not at all. My interest in, okay, maybe slight obsession with elephants centers around how they grieve.
Elephants have complicated grief rituals. They cover their dead with branches and dirt. They drop their tails and ears, they become quiet, they sway back and forth. Some even weep and cry out, vocalizing in low rumbles and high-pitched screams.
Herds travel long distances to return to the land where a family member died. They do this for years, paying their respects by picking up the exposed bones and rolling them, smelling them, tasting them. They sometimes show this same reverential behavior if they come across bones from a different elephant or even humans. There’s stories of them stealing bones from research facilities and returning them to their proper burial grounds.
To hear or witness behavior like this and then say elephants are intelligent and sensitive beings is an understatement. Brilliant and empathic, compassionate and aware - maybe those are better adjectives. Much like humans, elephants live in complex societies forming relationships that last a lifetime, parents and children, friends and partners. There’s no doubt in my mind that their grief is equal to our own.
Which is why I wanted to walk among them.
I thought they might understand me.
There’s just this problem of elephant exploitation in Thailand. Though elephants are revered as sacred and are essentially, cultural icons, they’ve almost always been treated as beasts of burden. Used for labor, transportation and war, they’ve carried troops into battle and kings through ceremonial processions. Great temples and palaces were built upon their backs and the logging industry actually used them to clear land and haul lumber out of the jungles.
Modern-day tourism hasn’t made things better. Thailand’s tourism industry has a history of animal cruelty, baby elephants taken from the wild, chained and trained to perform tricks. Elephant breeders creating “wildlife farms” and charging large sums for calves. Elephant rides deforming the spines of younger elephants and exhausting the elders. And yes, now, tourists ask more questions - but that just means the shadier practices have gone “underground” and since Thailand’s oversight of elephant tourism is divided among several ministries, it largely goes unregulated. In other words, it’s hard to tell if a sanctuary is truly a sanctuary or if you’re just contributing to the problem.
I wanted to “Travel Pono” as is the request in Hawai’i - to explore with care, preserving and respecting the culture, communities, people and land while having the pleasure and privilege to visit. To that end, I spent several hours online, researching elephant preserves before finally reaching out to Mister A for his guidance: “I’d like to see the elephants but not ride them. Is there a real sanctuary where we can volunteer?”
He suggested a family-owned farm ninety minutes outside Chiang Mai where retired logging and riding elephants roamed free. For $3,400 baht, roughly a hundred American dollars, Ceci and I could help bathe and feed the elephants during their morning walk to the river. It seemed like the best option and I trusted Mister A would not lead us astray.
So…that weekend, after our first full week of throwing pots with Jern, Mister A arrived at our villa with his four-part plan: we’d spend the morning with the elephants, have a packed pail lunch at a nature preserve then take the bumpy narrow drive to Mae Rim before it got dark.
I heard Mister A’s plan and thought, “Long, uncomfortable drives, wild animals, eating outside and overnight camping with no wi-fi? No way Ceci goes along with all of this.” It triggered flashbacks from our Disney cruise, when I had the “brilliant” idea that swimming with dolphins would be a life-long memory for Cecilia. That she’d treasure the pictures of her dad in his life-jacket, holding to the fin of a bottlenose, all of us smiling and laughing, in awe of the magical moment.
That was the fantasy.
Reality hit hard.
Once we disembarked in Mexico, there was a short walk to an aquarium that exhausted Clayton so we had to take it step by step. Then there were life jackets that didn’t quite fit and the water in the swim tank was ice cold. All of which were easily surmountable hurdles for a healthy, neurotypical family on vacation but we were decidedly not a healthy, neurotypical family on vacation. We were a dad dying from brain cancer, a daughter just diagnosed with ADHD, and a caregiver mom losing her mind on the very last trip they’d ever take together as a family- family. We were all vibrating at stress-factor 2000.
Plus, I hadn’t prepared Cecilia for the intimidation factor. Dolphins are eight-hundred pounds of muscle. They take off like a shot. You grab their fin and it’s abundantly clear, if that fish decides to leap or dive, you are fucked. It’s a dangerous situation, no doubt. I felt that and I was an adult-sized, fully-grown person. Poor Ceci was a six-year-old, sensorially overwhelmed kid. Forget swimming, she was absolutely NOT going anywhere near that ginormous fish. She wouldn’t even stand on the submerged first stair.
It was a HARD NO.
PASS.
THANK YOU, NEXT.
Clayton had a great time, whooping and hollering, as his dolphin pulled him in circles. I sat beside Cecilia, who would not budge, then finally gave up and left her with a lifeguard so I could jump in the tank and get dragged around.
At the end of our swims, a photographer wanted a family picture with the dolphin. I had to pick Ceci up and carry her over to the platform. The closer I got to the dolphin, the faster she climbed my body like a ladder. In the final image, she’s balancing on my head for dear life while I’m trying to smile. Like the whole day hadn’t been a disaster. Like my whole life wasn’t unraveling at the seams.
So yeah, I wasn’t convinced Mister A’s ambitious elephant excursion was a good idea. In fact, I was pretty damn sure it was all gonna blow up in my face. Still, we loaded our overnight bags into his van and off we went, hauling ass to a farm somewhere in the jungles of Mae Taeng - Kuet Chang, where both the elephants, and their infinite wisdom, waited for me in the reeds.
I wasn’t sure why we’d stopped. The narrow shoulder where Mister A parked didn’t seem like an “arrival” moment. There was nothing around but jungle but turns out, the hill in front of us led to the family farm and we were in fact, a little late. Elephants were hungry and waiting.
Mister A hurried us into the overgrown jungle where we were greeted by a smiling man wearing a straw hat that resembled a sombrero. He nodded us towards a rustic building where Ceci and I changed into blue scrubs and slippahs, leaving our clean clothes and shoes in open lockers before we all set out on a muddy hike.
The magic began immediately.
For months, I’d been hiking on my own, wishing it was something I could share with my daughter and then, there we were, wherever the hell we were, hiking together. Even if it was just a little hike - a steep, short path with a big, big payoff. Cecilia was not only hiking, she was having fun, taking the lead and tromping through the undergrowth in her slippahs, guiding me! “Come on, Mama. Stop filming me and come on!”
It was incredible.
That Ceci would WILLINGLY flip-flop through the jungle to feed and bathe what may as well have been pre-historic fire-breathing dragons, was beyond remarkable progress from that little, rigid, dolphin-averse girl in Mexico.
In that moment, I realized I’d been underestimating Cecilia. That my role as her protector, her guardian, her everything needed to change. I needed to loosen my grip. I needed to let her take the lead. Three…almost four years had passed since that Disney cruise but I was still treating Ceci as if she was six years old. As if she wasn’t capable.
She was capable.
She could do this.
She could make her own way.
If I’d just get out of it.
So get out of it, I did.
Cecilia grabbed a sapling for stability then pulled herself up the final peak of our little climb into a grassy field where she stopped in her tracks. There, lumbering towards us, were four gentle giants, flapping ears like monstrous butterfly wings.
I felt my eyes widen with awe, my mouth agape.
Mister A handed me a bucket of ripe bananas into which Wendy, the elephant closest to me, dipped her long truck, rummaging around for breakfast. That was a bit much for Ceci. I understood completely. They’re absolutely gigantic animals, elephants, and it’s scary to stand so small beside them, even if they waddle towards you like old pudgy grandpas just wanting a hug. Ceci was on guard, standing at a distance with Mister A while I dug those soft bananas out of my bucket and handed them over to Wendy’s curling, powerful trunk, peel and all.
Ceci watched me closely so I pretended to be braver than I actually felt. There was no doubt in my mind those elephants could squash me like a bug without so much as a skipped heartbeat. The words of my dear friend, Allison, rang in my ears, “We’re modeling resilience!” so I bucked up and smiled and placed my hand on Wendy’s forehead and told her she was beautiful and I felt so honored and grateful to be in her presence and hoped she’d show mercy and not trample me in front of my daughter.
It worked.
Ceci came a little closer, though she still resisted feeding them, and we took some nervous pictures with the elephants in the background while Ceci kept a vigilant side-eye as to their positions. I felt her body press into mine for that primal touchstone of safety. Mama’s body means food and warmth and security. Mama’s body means it’s gonna be okay. I literally had her back. Then it was through the jungles again to make soap and vitamin balls for the upcoming river bath.
Back at the camp, Mister A, Ceci and I were introduced to a huge, obnoxious American family. There were six tow-headed kids, running and fighting and grabbing buckets while their dad screamed at the Thai guide to “do it again” since he didn’t get the video he wanted. When the guide politely declined, he yelled louder, “I don’t give a shit - do it again.” They were awful human beings, every single one of them, but it was the mom that caught Cecilia’s attention.
Her updo was streaked icy white and violently blonde, the kind of blonde that slices eyeballs if you don’t protectively squint and out there, in the middle of bugs and mud and elephant poop, she was dripping with privilege, jewelry and false lashes, her face contoured within an inch of its life. She was, by magazine beauty standards, the “fit and beautiful” mom - (I can almost hear a humble-brag, “Oh, I’ve never been the same since my fifth one but you know, I do my Pilates!) but she was so loud and demanding and mean-spirited, I saw nothing but ugly. She kept encouraging her chimpanzees-for-children to grab things and pose for pictures as the poor guide attempted to demonstrate smashing the bark of a tree to create elephant soap.
The disrespect was hard to watch.
Ceci ducked behind my legs and stared at that mom with the same, wide-eyed expression and caution she’d exhibited with that 800 pound dolphin; just keep me as far away from THAT as possible. I noticed her wariness and explained, “Ceci, American tourists have a bad reputation overseas, for being nasty and spoiled. That’s what you’re seeing right now. This is why we have that reputation.” Ceci nodded, taking it all in, then whispered in my ear, “I’m glad you’re my mom.”
Cue the heart-swelling violins.
I suggested we move closer to hear the guide’s lesson (over the bleating of those feral goat-people) and he seemed appreciative for our little attentive audience of two. He showed us how to pound and soften the bark and then how to make elephant vitamins by rolling protein pellets into sticky, tamarind covered balls. He explained the elephants can’t hold the vitamin balls with their trunk. We’d put them directly on their tongues - in their mouths.
Now, I don’t know how familiar you are with elephants but their mouths could politely be described as gaping maws bigger than a human head, or they could impolitely be described as ivory-guarded, gigantic vaginas encasing a muscular tongue that can swallow you whole with one lick. So, yeah, the news I’d be placing my delicious, tamarind-coated hand inside the mouth of an elephant was not good but…as Allison says…(with a trill) “We’re modeling resilience!!!”
This time, our offerings to the gentle giants began with bamboo sticks which weren’t as messy as the bananas or vitamins but could still get a little roly-poly, which was fun to watch. Ceci stepped closer then I helped her feed a smaller elephant and the next thing I knew, Ceci was handing out bamboo like Oprah hands out free cars.
You get a bamboo! And you get a bamboo! And you!
Then the big moment came: the feeding of the vitamin balls.
With great trepidation, I grabbed a tamarind filled bucket and at Mister A’s direction, held the vitamin ball to eye level so the elephant could see what I wanted to feed her. She opened her enormous vulva of a mouth and there was no turning back. Cecilia was watching.
As the elephant’s mighty tongue emerged and wrapped around my hand, I felt the undertow of her swallow suctioning my whole arm into her mouth. I leaned back and dragged myself away, doing everything in my power not to panic. I figured it was like quicksand - better to remain calm than flail and scream. I felt the tongue let loose and I was released.
“What did it feel like?” Ceci asked and all I could say was, “wet and muscly” before my whole body wiggled with the heebie-jeebies. Ceci laughed and I tried to appear brave but when Mister A offered me another bucket full of tamarind balls, I passed. “You can feed them the rest. I won’t be disappointed.”
Then off we went again, this time a short hike to the riverbanks, walking behind the older, slower elephants while that unruly family of human baboons chased the younger pachyderms towards the river. For a moment, they got far enough away that there was quiet. Mister A, Ceci and I stood on the slope and watched our elephants slowly and silently plod their way through the tall grasses, paying no mind to our wild and ridiculous world. It was an enchantment, to be among them. Proof of our impermanence, our insignificance. I don’t remember shooting video of that vision, but I did, and watching it now, calms me. Every time.
There is, however, one piece of advice I will share about elephants and rivers: do not be anywhere near an elephant when it decides to lie down. Once that big boy is in motion, there ain’t no stopping him and you do NOT want to end up on the wrong side of that bed.
Ceci was hesitant to hop in the river, frightened by the flopping elephants and honestly, even more frightened of those wild hyena-kids that were now splashing and dunking and screeching at the tops of their lungs. The teen boys were aggressively wrestling in the mud and their littlest cockroach-of-a-kid, probably not even six years old, was dashing in between and around the legs of the elephants, as a game. I held my breath in terror. What if she startled the herd? What if she timed that dash one second too slow?
Her parents thought it was hilarious.
I did my best to ignore the pending tragedy and began throwing buckets of water over the back our mammoth mammoth. Mister A stayed with Cecilia, gently encouraging her to participate as I made loud and blatant pronouncements about creating amazing memories from once-in-a-lifetime experiences - when would we ever get a chance like this again - she couldn’t let this moment pass her by - and soon, Cecilia was filling up buckets and playing carwash with Wendy.
There’s that quote that makes the rounds online, probably off a Hallmark card but whatevs, something like “if you don’t believe in miracles, you’ve forgotten that you are one.” I hadn’t ever stopped trying for a miracle for Cecilia but I’d never let myself hope it would come true. Even on the days when I was chanting my mantra: “Nothing is broken. Nothing needs fixed. Nothing is broken. Nothing needs fixed.” That was an act of willpower, not faith. You better believe I still beat down the doors of doctors, teachers, schools, therapists, support groups…
That wasn’t faith. That wasn’t trust. That wasn’t the gentle loping of a mama elephant, nudging her baby along by trunk. That was pure Hollywood showrunner SJ Hodges executive-producing the shit out of Cecilia’s recovery. I put on the boxing gloves and jumped in the ring to fight her grief, her ADHD, her sound sensitivity, her panic attacks, separation anxiety and meltdowns. It was a title bout. Twelve rounds. I don’t know how many times I got knocked out. I only know I kept getting up and throwing another punch.
In all the upheaval, I’d forgotten. From the first-breaths of her arrival when she wrestled a doctor for the phone, to a muddy river in an overgrown jungle somewhere in Northern Thailand, Cecilia had always been a miracle. Will always be a miracle. Through this lifetime, and all the others, times infinity.
(Nothing is broken. Nothing needs fixed.)
The elephants reminded me, nudged me along, helped me see. The whispers of the tall grasses, remember, remember, remember: your daughter is miraculous.
You know elephants.
Remembering is kinda their thing.
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