Sambo, the only elephant on Phnom Penh’s streets, has become a symbol of the city. Here she tells her story for the first time as she prepares for her 50th birthday.

Hi everybody, let me introduce myself. My name is Sambo and I am an elephant. I’ve been living in Phnom Penh for a while. Thirty years nearly. Dear Lord Buddha, it’s hard to believe it has been so long! Anyway, I’ve seen things. They weren’t always good things, you know what I mean, but somehow I am still able to enjoy life. In fact, I love this world and this city. I am part of it, nobody can deny that. You can see me around town walking to work and back home every day: At my height and weight I am surprised I haven’t created a well-worn trench in the road after all these years. But – if you don’t mind – we’ll come back to my daily routine later.

This year is very special to me. As you know, elephants never forget, although there are some things that I would like to. But this year I’m having my 50th birthday. I was born in the beginning of 1960 into an elephant family that roamed freely and was considered wild. When I was only eight years old, two humans came and took me away from my home. I still cannot remember what exactly happened. I was so scared and shocked alone in the woods, but I do remember that they tied my legs together. The ropes cut into my legs and it was difficult to keep my balance as they led me to a human village. In the village were four other humans. They were much older than me and didn’t look too friendly at first. Fortunately, I then met Sorn, a human boy. He was only three years older than me and so gentle. He brought me food and said not to worry. We became friends and he gave me a human name, which I have to this day. He also very kindly introduced me to other elephants: Sampann, Romyoul, Chamroeun and Sambath.

Then, in the dawn of 1977, our world collapsed. I was staring with terror in my eyes when one quiet morning six human soldiers came to our village with guns and big hammers in their hands. I saw Sorn and his father with tears in their eyes listening to them. I only heard one soldier saying: “Good comrades, you have to give all your things to Angkar. From now on, these elephants are collective property.” They then chained all four of my older companions and took them away. I found out later that they had been forced to work day and night with no rest. I realised I was lucky to have been too young to follow them. That was only the beginning. Within a month the humans, who called themselves Khmer Rouge, named us “members of the former regime“, whatever that meant. One day, though, I was out walking with Sorn, when we saw, maybe 100 metres away, seven soldiers shooting Sambath. They were firing their rifles until he fell down quiet. Later I learned they did the same thing to Sampann, Romyoul and Chamroeun. Six months later they came for me.

It was midday when I heard some noises and humans shouting. Then I felt a terrible pain in my left back leg. Then again, and again and again. I turned my head and was able to see a soldier hitting me with a hammer. His face was deformed with rage. He was yelling something I couldn’t understand and the pain was too great for me to think clearly. I knew I was going to die. Then, suddenly, he stopped. My saviour was the last person I could have expected: the soldiers’ commander. My tormentor stopped because through the pain I heard the commander shouting: “Don’t kill her! She’s too young. Let me take care of her.” To be honest, his idea of caring for me wasn’t so great, but he did save my life. He chained me to a tree and left me a little food and water. After some time the commander told me we were going on a journey. We set off there and then and walked for several days through the mountains. He left me there with some people who seemed to know him. I had to work hard for them, but at least I was safe.

A couple of months later I was in for another shock, although it was a joyous and pleasant one after all the horror and fear. It was like a dream, a miracle because there, some way off, was a dirty, tired young man with a bicycle. His smell was unforgettable for me, and a piece missing from my left ear – that his father had cut off – was enough for him. It was Sorn. We were both crying with joy and dancing like children. He explained everything to the family where I was working and begged them to release me.

The Khmer Rouge now were gone but life was hard because we had to start again from scratch. Although things improved, Sorn was keen to seek our fortune elsewhere, so after three years we decided to move to the capital, Phnom Penh. That was in 1982. At the time Phnom Penh was a mess with torn-down buildings, rubbish everywhere on the streets and humans wandering around looking for food and what shelter they could find. We went from market to market meeting people. I was so happy to see them smiling again. They must have liked us, because they always offered us food and some money. Quickly, I fell in love with our new home.

Sorn even built a little shelter for us in Wat Phnom – now the city’s beautiful, central landmark – which had for many years been neglected. Our neighbours were only the monkeys on the ground and the bats in the trees. Gradually, Phnom Penh began to change. People returned from the countryside where they had been taken by the Khmer Rouge and many came to the capital in search of work, and we were pushed out of our home. But it wasn’t all that bad. The city had to develop and offer good housing and well-paid jobs for the people. Good development also attracted a lot of tourists, which is good for everyone like us in the hotel and entertainment business. It was pretty hard at the beginning, but Sorn didn’t want me to work like the other four elephants who lived in the capital at that time. It seems he made a good decision because, sadly, they all died from exhaustion. That’s how I became the only elephant in the city for the past 20 years.

Nowadays I wake up every morning at about five and walk to Wat Phnom, where I earn money by giving rides. I love to meet people, I carry them on my back, but Sorn doesn’t want me to make more than six rounds of the temple a day, he says more would be bad for my health. That’s it, I guess. Thank you all very much for listening to me.

Adapted from South East Asia Globe Magazine Jan 2010

To visit Wat Phnom and meet Sambo contact: info@asia-adventures.com