Carol’s Column

From Eau de Clone ... to the sweet smell of excess

At the beginning of this century, aeroplanes were non-existent as were motor cars. Pollution was something that came only from a coal chimney, plastic hadn't been invented and the pill was something you took for fainting attacks - and then only after you'd tried a good dose of ammonium salts. A high-rise building was two, perhaps three storeys, women were denied the vote, and space travel was considered a fantasy.

And look at us now. In the space of less than two months, we have advanced to a state of genetic engineering which must thrill, or chill, the most intrepid of people.

Take Dolly, the Scottish lamb who, on February 27 this year, became the most famous immature sheep in history. As is well documented by now, Dolly was the first warm-blooded mammal to be cloned from an adult ewe's tissues. In case there is any confusion, a clone is defined as an organism that is genetically identical to another in every way.

In other words, if the clone has a wart from which a long thick hair juts on the tip of his or her nose, the clone will faithfully reproduce this protruding hirsute nobble.

The logical outcome of Dolly's cloning is that conceivably, in the near future, humans - also warm-blooded mammals, although some might disagree - may be cloned and generations of Madonnas and Nkosazana Zumas will start popping up like mushrooms all over the show.

With effective marketing, you'd be able to order your own scientifically formulated clone. For example, 15 Madonnas in Nelspruit to perk things up a little, five Nkosazanas in each village of the country to ensure her unique health philosophies are spread throughout the land.

Then, just last week, came the wonderful news that scientists of our very own Kruger National Park, in an attempt to control the escalating birth rate among enthusiastically procreating elephant cows, had somehow managed to place them in a state of perpetual heat. Which made them doubly attractive to their bulls. In fact, in some parts of the park, seven to 10 male elephants were seen standing in queues waiting their turn with the alluring and highly desirable female pachyderms.

There have been strong rumours that the venerable and innovative scientists at Kruger have been swamped with several thousand calls from two-legged creatures, and I'm not talking ostriches here, interested in adapting the elephant's contraceptive medication for human use.

When I phoned the park, Professor Quintus Desiderium said that presently there was no plan to manufacture the unusual product which had been developed by default. Just as, he reminded me, penicillin was discovered in the green mould on the side of a piece of bread, or was it cheese? Within months penicillin became a revolutionary antibiotic.

However, he added that strong market demand could mean the libido stimulating pachyderm contraceptive might be commercially developed, as, the Kruger Park, like all intelligent business enterprises, could not afford to discount a potential money-spinner.

He emphasised that in keeping with the park's strong conservation policy, all profits from sales of the still hypothetical formula would be used for enriching the lives of elephants and the many other species inhabiting the park.

Desiderium did say that a list of interested persons had been compiled and at present there were more than a million inquiries, mainly from women. He admitted that most of these came from Bloemfontein, with Osh Kosh in the United States following as a close second.

What can possibly happen next? Will the cloning of sheep perhaps be combined with increasing the desire of elephants?

Watch this space.

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