Conservation is a delicate dance, complicated by layers of culture, tradition, sovereign borders, government policies, human needs, and the often clashing forces of money and compassion. It's a constant tug-of-war: progress in one area is often hindered by obstacles in another. Nowhere is this tension more heartbreakingly clear than in the battle to save the African elephant.

Less than a century ago, these majestic creatures roamed Africa in the millions. Today, their numbers have plummeted to fewer than 450,000, with East African populations halving in less than a decade. The reasons for this decline are as complex as they are tragic: loss of habitat, human-wildlife conflict, and rampant poaching. While trophy hunting has been banned in many African nations, the shadow it casts is long and dark.

Many African governments have begun to recognize the irreplaceable value of elephants as vital players in their ecosystems and as cornerstones of tourism. In places like Kenya, strong protections have been put in place—trophy hunting has been outlawed, and anti-poaching laws are enforced. But just across the border in Tanzania, a dangerous divergence in policy is threatening a critically important elephant population.

For those who cherish the Amboseli ecosystem, this issue hits home. A special group of elephants here is known as the "super tuskers." These elephants carry the rare gene for tusks that weigh over 100 pounds—a symbol of their power and vulnerability. Kenya’s Amboseli and Tsavo regions are two of the last places on earth where these giants can be found, with Tsavo hosting ten super tuskers and 33 emerging ones. In Amboseli, all 10 of the park’s super tuskers are known by name. I’ve been fortunate to meet them all.

The super tuskers of Amboseli are gentle giants; their size matched only by their serene confidence. Years of coexistence with humans have made them almost fearless, and they are a highlight for anyone lucky enough to visit. One, in particular, has captured the hearts of many—Craig, known to locals as Namba Moja (Swahili for "Number One"), is the star of countless stories and social media posts. In their prime breeding years, these elephants are the hope for their species' future.

But here’s the catch: their natural migration patterns don’t recognize borders. Each night, they cross from the safety of Kenya’s Amboseli National Park into Tanzania, where they are no longer protected. Once a partner in elephant conservation, Tanzania has recently lifted its ban on trophy hunting in this vital corridor. In the past year alone, three of these extraordinary elephants have been killed for sport. 

But, this isn’t sport—this is betrayal. Accustomed to human presence, these elephants don’t flee when a vehicle approaches. They trust. And that trust is being shattered by hunters who argue their fees support conservation. Even if you accept this rationale, it’s hard to ignore the stark reality: these super tuskers represent a unique and dwindling gene pool. Once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.

Petitions with hundreds of thousands of signatures have been sent to the Tanzanian government, pleading for the reinstatement of the hunting ban in this critical zone. So far, these voices have been ignored. If Tanzania doesn’t listen soon, the super tuskers of Amboseli—the living, breathing symbols of Africa’s wild legacy—will become nothing more than a memory, a history lesson in what we chose not to protect.