Hi everybody.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Sambo and I am an elephant. The elephant, as a matter of fact. I’ve been living in Phnom Penh for a while. Thirty years nearly. Dear Lord Buddha, it’s hard to believe it has been so long! Well, you can’t fight time, can you? Anyway . . . I’ve seen things. They weren’t always god things, you know what I mean, but somehow I am still able to enjoy life. In fact, I love this world and this city. I am part of it, nobody can deny that. You can see me around town walking to work and back home every day: National Assembly, NagaWorld, Sisowath Quay, Wat Phnom and then back again. At my height and weight I am surprised I haven’t created a well-worn trench in the road after all these years. But – if you don’t mind – we’ll come back to my daily routine later. 

This year is very special to me. As you know, elephants never forget, although there are some things that I would like to. But this year I’m having my 50th birthday. 

I was born in the beginning of 1960 in Oral district, Kampong Speu province, Cambodia, into an elephant family that roamed freely and was considered wild. Like most of my relatives in the pachyderm world I don’t know my father. When I was young I was one of hundreds of elephants that  roamed freely through the scrub and woodland. I saw some males roaming around but my mother never told me which one was my father.  I didn’t dare to ask. My fate as a female was to stay with her sisters, cousins and aunts. But that wasn’t to be my destiny. 

When I was only eight years old – no age for an elephant, you know – two humans came and took me away from my home. I still cannot remember what exactly happened. I was so scared and shocked alone in the woods, but I do remember that they tied my legs together. The ropes cut into my legs and it was difficult to keep my balance as they led me to a human village. In the village were four other humans. They were much older than me and didn’t look too friendly at first.

Fortunately, I then met Sorn, a human boy. He was only three years older than me and so gentle. He brought me food and said not to worry. We became friends and he gave me a human name, which I have to this day. He also very kindly introduced me to other elephants: Sampann, Romyoul, Chamroeun and Sambath. 

Of all of them, Sambath was my best friend. If he was in a good mood after work he made a lot of jokes and I laughed like crazy. I think he realised I was still a kid and I needed a friend to laugh and joke with. I enjoyed 10 very happy years with him and Sorn.

Then, in the dawn of 1977, our world collapsed. I was staring with terror in my eyes when one quiet morning six human soldiers came to our village with guns and big hammers in their hands. I saw Sorn and his father with tears in their eyes listening to them. I only heard one soldier saying: “Good comrades, you have to give all your things to Angkar. From now on, these elephants are collective property.” I was still wondering how any person can be called a “thing” and somebody’s “property”, when they chained all four of my older companions and took them away. I found out later that they  had been forced to work day and night with no rest. I realised I was lucky to have been too young to follow them.

That was only the beginning. Within a month the humans, who called themselves Khmer Rouge, named us “members of the former regime“, whatever that meant. One day, though, I was out walking with Sorn, when we saw, maybe 100 metres away, seven soldiers shooting Sambath. They were firing their rifles until he fell down quiet. Then  . . .  I still cannot talk about it without crying . . . They chopped his body with machetes and ate him! Later I learned they did the same thing to Sampann, Romyoul and Chamroeun. Six months later they came for me.

It was midday when I heard some noises and humans shouting. Then I felt a terrible pain in my left back leg. Then again, and again and again. I turned my head and was able to see a soldier hitting me with a hammer. His face was  deformed with rage. He was yelling something I couldn’t understand and the pain was too great for me to think clearly. I knew I was going to die. Then, suddenly, he stopped. 

My saviour was the last person I could have expected: the soldiers’ commander. My tormentor stopped because through the pain I heard the commander shouting: “Don’t kill her! She’s too young. Let me take care of her.”

To be honest, his idea of caring for me wasn’t so great, but he did save my life. He chained me to a tree and left me a little food and water. Too little. There wasn’t enough shade to protect me from the sun and after only a few days I started to think it was better to die instantly, than passing away slowly like this. My leg swelled and I couldn’t stand normally. As you may know, a lying elephant is most often a dying one, so I kept standing, no matter what. 

At that time I saw Sorn every day. He was working in a field not far from me. He cried every time he looked at me as he could do nothing to help me. I cried, too. But when three weeks passed I had to wave him goodbye. All the people from the village were taken away by the soldiers. It was to be to years before I saw him again. 

What happened after that was day after day, week after week, month after month of misery. All the friendly people were gone. The only good thing was that my leg, which the solider had been beating,  got better. It took a while. They may not seem so, but elephant legs are very fragile. 

I was also lucky, because when I was able to walk again without limping, the commander who saved and claimed me told me we were going on a journey. You didn’t ask questions of Khmer Rouge people, even if they were your protector. We set off there and then and walked for several days through the mountains. We didn’t stop to rest and eat till we reached Kravanh mountain in Pursat. He left me there with some people who seemed to know him. I had to work hard for them, but at least I was safe.

On my way to Pursat I saw humans dying. I passed people who were little more than skin and bone, and piles of dead bodies. I saw no elephants and it wasn’t until much later that I found out most had escaped into the forests of Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. Good Lord Buddha apparently wanted different things for me, because I stayed with the humans and lived to see the day when the Khmer Rouge were driven from the country. 

A couple of months later I was in for another shock, although it was a  joyous and pleasant one after all the horror and fear. It was like a dream, a miracle because there, some way off, was a dirty, tired young man with a bicycle. His smell was unforgettable for me, and a piece missing from my left ear – that his father had cut off – was enough for him. It was Sorn. We were both crying with joy and dancing like children. He explained everything to the family where I was working and begged them to release me. He also bought them a buffalo to help them in their rice field and they finally agreed. My friend and I were free to go.

We were just so happy, but it couldn’t change the reality. Sorn’s village was still standing, but it was nearly deserted. Most of the people we used to know had vanished. The Khmer Rouge, too, were gone but life was hard because we had to start again from scratch. Although things improved, Sorn was keen to seek our fortune elsewhere, so after three years we decided to move to the capital. That was in 1982. 

At the time Phnom Penh was a mess with torn-down buildings, rubbish everywhere on the streets and humans wandering around looking for food and what shelter they could find. We went from  market to market meeting people. I was so happy to see them smiling again. They must have liked us, because they always offered us food and some money. Quickly, I fell in love with our new home. 

Sorn even built a little shelter for us in Wat Phnom – now the city’s beautiful, central landmark –  which had for many years been neglected. Our neighbours were only the monkeys on the ground and the bats in the trees.

Gradually, Phnom Penh began to change. People returned from the countryside where they had been taken by the Khmer Rouge and many came to the capital in search of work, and we were pushed out of our home. But it wasn’t all that bad. The city had to develop and offer good housing and well-paid jobs for the people. Good development also attracted a lot of tourists, which is good for everyone like us in the hotel and entertainment business. It was pretty hard at the beginning, but Sorn didn’t want me to work like the other four elephants who lived in the capital at that time. It seems he made a good decision because, sadly,  they all died from exhaustion. That’s how I became the only elephant in the city for the past 20 years. 

People seem to think that a peaceful life is boring, but for anyone – man or elephant – who has survived war and terror, it’s a bonus. I don’t complain, I just celebrate every day through simple things. I’ve had enough adventure in my life. I don’t want any more, thank you very much. 

I wake up every morning at about five and walk to Wat Phnom, where I earn money by giving rides. I love to meet people, humans free from fear and pain. People with broad smiles and loads of love. This is what makes this world so beautiful. 

I carry them on my back, but Sorn doesn’t want me to make more than six rounds of the temple a day, he says more would be bad for my health. Money is not that important to me. I need it for food because my stomach needs to be filled around the clock. That’s why  I sleep for only two hours a day . . . biology and my digestive system are powerful things.

Despite a few clouds that loom on the horizon, I see a bright future ahead of me. I am 50 and my only regret is that I didn’t have any offspring. But that is the law here, an elephant must get special permission from the government. In 10 years I’ll stop being fertile . . . but if that is my destiny, I’ll accept it. Life is life. As I am getting older, walking to Wat Phnom from my home behind the National Assembly building is more and more tiring and even that piece of land that was given to me is surely going to be developed soon. Phnom Penh is growing so fast and Sorn and I are a little fearful about our future. But not too much. I still believe in people and their good will. I have served this city for 20 years and I know someone is going to appreciate it. 

That’s it, I guess. Thank you all very much for listening to me and I hope you will all, everyone of you, join me in celebrating my 50th  birthday on January 17 at Wat Phnom. Mine has been a remarkable journey best celebrated with sweet and fruity gifts of food. See you!

JOIN SAMBO’S BIRTHDAY BASH AT WAT PHNOM

on January 17 at 4pm 

Bring bananas, mangos, apples and pears and, of course, birthday cakes!

Sambo’s owner [Mr. Sin Sorn] is also happy for any small donation to cover medical and food costs