Khanyisa’s Last Bottle: A Milestone in Her Journey

A Letter from Adine Roode.

Sunshine arrived in January 2020.
5 years ago.
The year of COVID-19.

No one could have predicted that we would spend months confined, wearing masks, adjusting to a surreal way of life and getting vaccinated. For many, it felt like imprisonment. Some had a partner in that isolation, others were alone—but one thing we all had was time. Time to think, to rethink and to reevaluate.

Zoom, Teams, WhatsApp and FaceTime became the new normal. Interaction was limited. We hardly dared to breathe, fearing the invisible threat of COVID. The routine was simple: stay in pyjamas, drag a comb through your hair, add a splash of red lipstick for meetings and stare at a screen filled with other distant faces. And if you weren’t up for it, you simply left your camera off.

Faceless. Touchless. Cold.

But Khanyisa lived up to her name, bringing light to all who followed her journey. Her story was not easy—no elephant orphan’s story ever is. But Khanyisa also symbolised freedom. While the world was locked down, she had the vastness of nature. Though there were times when she was confined—when she fell ill, when teething brought fevers, when wounds needed care—she was never alone. She had Lammie, her carers, and the elephant herd just beyond the fence. Her story became a lifeline for many.

She was SUNSHINE ☀️

Five years have passed—years filled with stories, laughter, love and countless milk bottles. But now, the time has come for her last bottle.

She started weaning herself some time ago, no longer coming for bottles after the rain—just as I had hoped. My mother always said, “It is cruel to be kind,” a lesson I try to embrace, though I often struggle with it. For the past six months, I knew I had to wean Khanyisa. I gradually reduced her milk but kept her bottles. I told Khensani to stop giving her the 10am bottle—it was too hot. Then, I asked her to stop the 2pm bottle. Only the morning and evening bottles remained.

Before heading to the stables, I gave her the last bottle, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch the next day when no bottle was waiting. I knew she would be fine—she no longer ran to her bottles. But a week later, as we walked back to the stables, she paused, as if expecting one. She hesitated, circling slightly, before following me inside. As I turned to leave, I wiped away a tear.

I realised then—I was facing empty nest syndrome once again.

I had already felt it over the past three years, when my son Xander left to start his career as a veterinarian in KwaZulu-Natal. Then, after her graduation, my daughter Lente got married and moved to KwaZulu-Natal with her wonderful husband. I gained a son, but lost them both in the same moment. And now, it was Khanyisa’s turn to step into a new chapter.

Two days after stopping her evening bottles, I gave her what was supposed to be her final one. But I hadn’t told Khensani to stop the morning bottles. The carers laughed when, two weeks later, I announced that I was weaning her. “Haha! You’re weaning her!” they said. And so, once again, I gave her one last bottle.

But this time, it was real. This time, it was final. No more bottles. No more smell of milk lingering in the air.

The bond we share will never fade—it is something we will always have. But she no longer needs me.

She has her family now. Her elephants. Just as nature intended.

Check out the video below to see Khanyisa’s last bottle feeding, along with some of her first bottles and iconic shitshakes in 2020: