Memory and Thunder

Some beings carry entire landscapes within them.

This portrait—titled Memory and Thunder—is a tribute to one of the last great tuskers of our time. Tembo, the Elephant King, stands tall in the center of the frame, his enormous tusks nearly brushing the earth. I chose a vertical composition to honor his scale, his majesty, and the presence he brings to the savannah simply by being.

He was born in 1972 in the Amboseli ecosystem and is believed to be the largest and oldest living elephant in the world. At 52, his movements have grown slower, more deliberate. But there is still fire in his eyes, and purpose in his steps. He continues to lead younger bulls—mentoring them not with force, but with quiet command. Watching him is like watching a river carve through land—patient, powerful, and shaped by a thousand seasons.

I often wonder what stories he could tell if we knew how to listen. How many journeys across the open plains he’s made. How many births, deaths, droughts, and rains he’s witnessed. How many herds he’s walked beside, and how many calves have watched him pass in awe, learning the silent language of elephants.

He carries all of that in his body—in the wear of his skin, in the arc of his tusks, in the deep, unhurried rhythm of his breath.

I chose sepia for this image, not to age him, but to honor the timelessness he embodies. It softens the moment into something sacred, something beyond documentary. In sepia, Tembo becomes not just an elephant, but a memory made flesh. A myth still walking.

And I wonder—does he know? That he is one of the last of his kind. That his presence is as rare and irreplaceable as rain in the dry season. That his life, lived freely beyond the boundaries of parks and fences, is a miracle made possible by the guardianship of the Maasai people, who walk beside him to protect what cannot protect itself from human hands.

He is not a relic.
He is a legacy.

And in his final years, he still gives. He gives us awe. He gives younger bulls a compass. He gives us a chance to imagine a world where such giants might continue to walk.

Memory and Thunder is more than a title—it is what I felt in my chest as I pressed the shutter. The echo of his story. The reverence of his presence. The deep, trembling privilege of having stood in the shadow of a king.