The Thirsty Giraffe
The day was already hot when the sun peeked above the acacia trees. The air shimmered like golden glass, and even the cicadas sang more slowly, as if too warm to hurry.
Shovu, the big, gentle elephant, wandered along the sandy path toward a small watering hole he knew well. He could smell the water before he saw it — a soft, earthy scent of mud, reeds, and coolness hidden under the heat.
It had been a dry few weeks in the southern Kruger, and every creature was feeling it. The grass had faded to a pale yellow, the bushes were crackling and dry, and the animals all seemed a little quieter than usual.
When Shovu reached the watering hole, he saw that it was already busy.
A family of warthogs snorted and splashed at the edges. A flock of guinea fowl darted in and out, clucking and fluffing their feathers. And in the shade of a nearby marula tree stood a young giraffe, tall and elegant, with soft brown eyes and the longest eyelashes in the park.
Her name was Tandi, and she looked — well — quite cross.
She stamped one long leg and flicked her tail sharply. “Oh, honestly!” she huffed. “Can’t these animals hurry up? I’ve been waiting for ages!”
Shovu smiled, watching her. “Good morning, Tandi,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “You seem troubled. Has something gone wrong?”
Tandi tossed her head. “It’s this watering hole! Everyone is taking forever. Look at those warthogs splashing about like it’s a playground! And the guinea fowl— they keep jumping in front of me! I’m tall. I should get to drink first!”
The guinea fowl clucked indignantly.
“Excuse us, Miss Long-Legs,” one squawked. “We were here first!”
Tandi sniffed. “Well, I could see the watering hole from far away. That should count.”
Shovu chuckled, his ears flapping gently. “Hmm,” he said. “I think that’s not quite how queues work, little one.”
Tandi’s cheeks flushed under her spots. “But I’m thirsty! I haven’t had a proper drink since yesterday. My tongue is dry, my throat is dusty, and my spots are practically fading!”
Shovu stepped closer, lowering his trunk to the water. “You know,” he said kindly, “everyone here is thirsty. The bush is hot and dry. But if we all push and rush, someone will get hurt — or left out.”
Tandi looked unconvinced. “It’s easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re big. No one dares make you wait.”
Shovu thought about that. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Being big means I must be careful not to take more than I need. Sometimes, the strong must wait so the small can drink too.”
He lifted his trunk and sprayed a soft fountain of water into the air, which rained down cool and sparkling over everyone. The guinea fowl squealed in delight. The warthogs rolled happily in the mud. Even Tandi couldn’t help giggling.
“See?” said Shovu. “There is joy in sharing, even when we are thirsty.”
But before she could reply, a rustle in the bushes caught their attention. Out stepped a pair of impala, thin and tired, with dust caked on their legs. They looked longingly at the water but hesitated, seeing how crowded it was.
Without thinking, Tandi took a step forward and said, “You can go before me.”
The impalas blinked in surprise. “Are you sure?”
Tandi nodded. “Yes. I can wait.”
The impalas dipped their heads gratefully and began to drink. Their reflections trembled in the water as dragonflies buzzed lazily above them.
When they had finished, Tandi finally bent her long neck — carefully, awkwardly, as giraffes do — and took her first cool sip. Oh, how sweet it was! The water was muddy and warm, but to Tandi it tasted like heaven.
As she lifted her head, a few droplets sparkled down from her chin. “Mmm,” she sighed. “That’s the best drink I’ve ever had.”
Shovu smiled. “Do you know why?” he asked.
Tandi tilted her head. “Because I was really thirsty?”
Shovu shook his great head. “Because you waited your turn. Patience always makes good things taste better.”
The young giraffe’s eyes shone with understanding. “I suppose it does,” she said thoughtfully. “And it felt nice to help the impalas, too.”
Shovu nodded. “That’s the secret of the bush, my friend. When the sun is hot and the rivers run low, we must look after one another. The land only stays alive if we share what it gives.”
Tandi looked around at the animals — the warthogs now snoozing in the mud, the guinea fowl preening in the grass, and the impalas resting quietly. The bush felt peaceful again, as if it had sighed in relief.
After a while, Shovu noticed that some smaller creatures — meerkats and mongooses — were hovering nervously at the edge of the clearing, afraid to come close to the big animals.
“Wait here,” he told Tandi. “I have an idea.”
He trudged to the side of the watering hole where the mud was thickest. With his strong tusks and heavy feet, he began to dig. Slowly, patiently, he scooped out a small hollow, deep enough for water to collect. Soon, a fresh puddle formed — shallow but perfect for the smaller animals.
“Come, little ones,” he called gently.
The meerkats and mongooses scurried forward, chattering with joy as they began to drink.
Tandi watched in amazement. “That was wonderful, Shovu! You made them their own watering hole!”
Shovu laughed softly. “There’s always enough, Tandi — if we make room for others.”
As the day cooled and the sun sank low, the animals drifted off into the bush, bellies full and thirst quenched. Tandi stayed a moment longer beside Shovu.
“Thank you,” she said. “For teaching me to wait — and to share.”
Shovu lowered his trunk fondly. “You taught yourself, my tall friend. You only needed a reminder from an old elephant.”
The giraffe smiled, her long lashes fluttering. “Will I see you again?”
“Oh, I expect so,” said Shovu with a wink. “The bush is wide, but not as wide as kindness. Paths always cross again when hearts stay open.”
With that, he turned toward the fading light, his great shadow stretching across the grass. The sounds of the wild filled the air — doves cooing, frogs croaking, and the gentle rustle of leaves as the evening breeze whispered through.
Tandi watched him go, feeling calm and happy inside. The next time she saw smaller animals waiting at the water, she knew what she would do.
And somewhere in the distance, Shovu lifted his trunk and trumpeted — not loudly, but softly — a sound like gratitude and peace carried on the warm Kruger wind.
Moral: Patience and sharing bring peace. When we wait kindly and give others space, the world feels just right.