Our driver was experienced, with twelve years under his rope belt. He held a stick with a nail protruding from the end, but he never had to use it on the soft portion of the tuskers pate. Instead, he played the leaf. Yes, that’s right, he placed a blade of grass between his lips and played kazoo-esque melodies that were soothing to both elephant and riders. At the end, we deposited our American tender in the perfect-fit pocket sewn on the back of his shirt below the nape, stitched for that sole purpose.
