THE tarmac shimmers in the midday heat, stretching endlessly across southern Africa. On this road, a solitary figure advances, boots battered, walking stick in hand, sweat tracing lines down his back.
This is neither a journey for sport nor spectacle.
For Jim Justus Nyamu, a renowned Kenyan elephant biologist and conservationist, every step is a protest, every blister a badge of resistance. As he nears Zimbabwe's border, his message rings clear: "Ivory belongs to elephants, not to markets, not to museums, not to us."
Nyamu's latest mission, the 2025 "Ivory Belongs to Elephants" walk, began on August 16 in Mombasa, Kenya.
Over 3,200 kilometres and four countries later, he is set to cross into Zimbabwe at the Machipanda border, his destination the iconic Gonarezhou National Park.
The walk, expected to last 120 days, is the latest in a series of epic treks that have seen Nyamu cover more than 30,000 kilometres across Africa, the United States, and the United Kingdom over the past decade.
"This is not just about elephants," Nyamu tells this reporter, pausing in the shade of a baobab tree near the Mozambique-Zimbabwe border.
"It's about the future of Africa's landscapes, the communities who share them, and the memory written in the land. Every elephant killed is a library burned. They carry generations of knowledge -- where to find water, how to survive droughts. When we lose them, we lose a piece of ourselves."
The urgency behind Nyamu's walk is stark. Across Africa, more than 20,000 elephants are slaughtered each year -- shot with military-grade rifles, poisoned with cyanide, or snared in wire traps. The ivory trade, once the domain of lone hunters, is now driven by international crime networks that cross borders as easily as elephants themselves.
Zimbabwe, Nyamu's destination, is home to one of the continent's largest elephant populations -- estimated at 83,000 to 100,000, more than twice the country's ecological carrying capacity. While poaching rates have declined in recent years, thanks to improved law enforcement and community engagement, the threat remains. In the KAZA region (Kavango-Zambezi Transfrontier Conservation Area), which includes Zimbabwe, the carcass ratio -- a key indicator of poaching -- remains at a worrying 10%.
"Poaching is not just a conservation issue, it's a crisis of governance, of poverty, of global demand," Nyamu says.
"But it's also a crisis of hope. If people see that someone is willing to walk thousands of kilometres for elephants, maybe they'll believe it's worth fighting for them too."
Nyamu's walk is a protest written in footsteps. Where others might hold press conferences, he holds conversations on dusty roads, in village schools, and at community meetings. Over the course of his campaign, he has reached more than 1,500 schools and tens of thousands of children, weaving the elephants' story into local languages and customs.
"Every kilometre is a conversation," he says. "And every conversation is a step closer to saving elephants."
His activism is not without impact.
Previous walks have helped shape policy debates in the United States and United Kingdom, contributing to the destruction of ivory stockpiles and the passage of stricter ivory trade laws. In East Africa, his advocacy has encouraged tougher penalties for wildlife crimes and fostered regional cooperation on elephant conservation.
Zimbabwe's elephant conservation story is complex. The country's large elephant population is both a triumph and a source of tension. Overpopulation has led to habitat degradation and increased human-elephant conflict, with rural communities bearing the brunt of crop raids and property damage. In some years, more than 60 people have been killed by elephants, fuelling resentment and calls for population control.
"People here love wildlife, but they also need to feed their families," says Nyasha Moyo, a community leader near Gonarezhou.
"If conservation doesn't work for us, it won't work at all. That's why we need voices like Jim's -- he listens, he understands, and he brings our concerns to the world."
Zimbabwe's conservation policies have evolved, with recent management plans emphasising community benefits, conflict mitigation, and regional cooperation. Programs like CAMPFIRE, which share tourism and hunting revenues with local communities, have had mixed success.
Nyamu's walk is emblematic of a broader shift in African conservation. For decades, wildlife protection was dominated by foreign-led, "fortress conservation" models that often excludes local communities. Today, African-led initiatives -- rooted in local knowledge, community engagement, and economic empowerment -- are proving more effective and sustainable.
"I want every child I meet to know that elephants are part of their inheritance," Nyamu says.
"Conservation must be led by Africans, for Africans. If we lose elephants, we lose a piece of ourselves."
Community engagement is central to this approach. In Zimbabwe, conservationists use a range of techniques -- from benefit-sharing schemes and reinforced kraals to education programs and collaborative project development -- to build local support for wildlife protection. The most successful initiatives are those that are participatory, inclusive, and responsive to the needs of the people who live alongside elephants.
The journey is gruelling. Nyamu and his team face blistering heat, treacherous terrain, and the constant risk of injury or illness. Logistics are a daily challenge -- navigating border controls, securing food and water, and coordinating with local authorities. Yet, for Nyamu, the physical hardship is part of the message.
"Poachers move quickly and violently. I move slowly and peacefully. My walk is the opposite of their cruelty," he reflects. "My vulnerability mirrors that of the elephants -- giants brought down by bullets. And in that contrast, our courage becomes visible."
As Nyamu approaches Zimbabwe, his boots are shredded, his legs sore. But somewhere across Africa's landscapes, elephants are still walking too -- heavy-footed, silent, moving in search of water. The road Jim takes may be lined with dust and fatigue, but theirs is lined with danger.
"My walk will end," he says, "but theirs must not. As long as elephants walk, I will walk too."
For Zimbabwe, and for Africa, the message is clear: the fate of elephants is inseparable from the fate of the continent itself. As Nyamu's footsteps echo across the border, they carry not just a call for conservation, but a call for justice, for memory, and for hope.