Name: Ejike Christian Chigozie
Phone number: 08122615164
Email: chigozieejike371@gmail.com
In the heart of Bauchi State, northern Nigeria, lies a stretch of savannah so wide and wild that even the wind whistles with pride. This is Yankari Game Reserve—a sanctuary where wildlife roams freely and time moves to the rhythm of nature’s breath. To many, it’s just a place on the map. To me, it’s where my perspective on conservation was born—thanks to an unexpected encounter with a baby elephant named Lami.
Lami was unlike anything I had ever seen. Her ears flopped with each clumsy step, and her eyes sparkled with an innocence that disarmed even the most stoic ranger. She appeared on the second day of our environmental service trip—a quiet shadow among the bushes who wandered close, as if drawn to the sound of our laughter. When she nudged my backpack with her trunk and tried to nibble on a paper wrapper, I froze in awe. She wasn’t scared. She was curious. Bold. Alive.
“She lost her mother to poachers last year,” our guide Baba Musa said gently. ” Now, she follows the rangers. We’re her new herd.”
I was stunned. This gentle giant, still learning to walk without tripping over her feet, had already experienced loss at the hands of humans. Her presence sparked something deeper than sympathy—it sparked responsibility.
Our group, a collective of university students from across Nigeria, had been selected by the African Green Front to participate in a two-week eco-volunteer program. We were tasked with environmental cleanup, wildlife monitoring, and engaging with local communities on sustainable practices. I had applied out of curiosity and a desire to see real elephants. I didn’t expect to return home transformed.
Every morning, we rose with the sun. The air smelled of dew and dry grass, and the sounds of birdsong and baboon chatter filled the camp. Our days were spent hiking through bush trails, collecting plastic waste, mapping pollution hotspots, and documenting illegal grazing patterns. The work was physically demanding, but emotionally even more challenging.
One of our biggest cleanup zones was the Gaji River, which flows through Yankari like an artery of life. We found plastic bottles tangled in reeds, wrappers floating by, and even old shoes. ” These things don’t come from inside the reserve,” Baba Musa explained. ” They come from far away—from cities, towns, even roadside traders. During the rains, everything washes down here.”
That was a wake-up call. I had always thought pollution was someone else’s problem. I hadn’t considered how my own discarded sachet water bag in Ibadan could one day end up choking a stream where elephants drink.
In those moments—sun blazing overhead, Lami snorting nearby, and my boots soaked with river mud—I began to see conservation not as a foreign campaign, but as a personal mission.
I started asking more questions. Why were the elephant herds shrinking? Why were lions almost gone from the reserve? Why did the rangers lack boots and binoculars? I learned that due to illegal hunting, Yankari’s lion population had dropped from over 200 to fewer than 10 in less than four decades (Okonkwo, 2021). I learned that many surrounding communities lacked clean water, and some entered the reserve out of desperation to fish or hunt. I learned that conservation failure wasn’t just an environmental issue—it was a human issue.
Yet, despite all these challenges, there was hope.
On our sixth day, we visited Duguri village to host a conservation awareness session. We performed a short drama in Hausa about the effects of deforestation. Then we held an open discussion. What surprised me was not the children’s interest—but the parents who came forward.
A woman named Mama Khadija told us, “We never knew that animals like elephants help the land breathe. We thought they were just wild and dangerous. But now, we want them to stay alive.”
That evening, I couldn’t stop smiling. I realized that awareness wasn’t a one-time campaign; it was a ripple. When people see themselves in the story of nature, they begin to care.
Back in the reserve, our team planted native trees near animal crossing paths to help reconnect fragmented habitats. We painted signs saying, “Na Gobe Zamu Kare”—”We protect today for tomorrow.” Lami returned during our last morning at the camp. She didn’t come too close this time, just stood from a distance, watching us pack. I like to believe she understood.
When I returned to school in Ibadan, the lessons from Yankari refused to fade. I launched a campus initiative called “Lami’s Legacy”—a storytelling and art campaign that uses wildlife encounters to promote climate action. Our first exhibition featured handmade posters of endangered species, spoken word poetry performances, and a mural of Lami reaching her trunk skyward beneath a baobab tree. We used recycled materials for all our installations.
The event drew over 300 visitors. One student messaged me afterward saying, “I never cared about animals before. But I felt something today. I want to help.”
That message meant everything.
Since then, we’ve partnered with youth groups in Osogbo and Jos to organize mobile conservation art galleries. We’ve spoken at schools, visited orphanages, and collaborated with a local tailoring apprentice to make elephant-themed eco-bags. I discovered that activism doesn’t require big grants or loud voices. It begins with a story—and the courage to share it.
To many, protecting wildlife may seem far removed from everyday life. But to me, it’s inseparable. The way we treat our environment reflects how we treat one another. If we learn to protect the voiceless—like Lami—perhaps we’ll also learn to protect the vulnerable among ourselves.
Today, I still carry the memory of Yankari with me: the golden sun over the plains, the rhythmic drumming of baboons at dusk, and the quiet, observant eyes of a baby elephant who had every reason to mistrust humans—but chose instead to walk among us.
Some encounters change your mind. Others change your mission.
Mine gave me both.
And sometimes, all it takes is a wrinkled trunk, a silent stare, and a moment beside a river to understand what it means to truly conserve.
African Green Front. (2024). Youth engagement in conservation: A continental report. AfricanGreen.org. Okonkwo, A (2021). Wildlife under siege: The plight of Nigeria’s endangered species. Green Source Press.