Cheryl
and I are relieved to chuck all the nagging certainties of life in exchange
for a year on the African road.
Although experienced independent travelers, we're leery of what Africa
might hold. It's notorious as a place where the rules change from country
to country or checkpoint to checkpoint. So breaking one of our own travel
“rules,” we reluctantly join an English overland truck safari for the first
part of our journey. Several months into this odyssey, we reach Zaire (Congo),
one of Africa’s most gritty and unforgettable regions, not long before
it's ripped apart by violence.
Setting off toward
Goma and the nearby mountain gorillas we've dreamed of visiting for so
long, we make good time, considering the rutted, muddy roads.
Rounding
the highest ridge in that verdant pass, we abruptly face Lake Edward, shimmering
like a vast opal in a setting of stone. Then careening down
that last mountainside, we’re relieved to be finally clear of the jungle
and back onto flat, dry plain. Wild game roams on either side. Wary antelope
and Cape buffalo graze amid gangly storks. Cranes line our parade route
through Virunga National Park, while prehistoric volcanic mountains, Mount
Ruwenzori, Nyiragongo and Karisimbi cast monolithic silhouettes both port
and starboard. Although we’re out of the rain forest, incessant showers
are still hot on our trail and show little relief. The skies beat rat-a-tat
machine gun bursts against our windshield, as we inch through shantytowns
and mud hut villages into Goma.
Main Street’s a swollen canal where
a gondola would be more useful than a truck. Normally we’d pass on through
that wayward Venice, but it’s our last chance to stock up on supplies and
hire a guide to take us into the sequestered domain of the endangered gorillas.
Tracking down the Institut Zairois pour la Conservation de la Nature, we
learn it’ll be another two days before we can search for the elusive mountain
apes, so we bivouac at the high-priced government campsite. Cercle Sportif,
once a first-rate campground, has seen better days.
Grass
grows over tennis courts. There’s a bathroom, but no water. However, for
just the right "cadeau," you can enjoy a bucket shower in the privacy of
the basketball court. It's days later until we finally set off in our quest
for the elusive mountain gorillas. To better our chance of spotting them,
since there are only about four hundred left, Cheryl and I split up, one
with each group.
Her’s will trek three hours to remote
Bukima, while the rest of us hike to the older site at Djomba Gorilla
Sanctuary.
Incredibly pristine beauty surrounds
us, as we drive to the remote basecamp. Enormous green peaks sprout out
of ripe clusters of lush vegetation. Massive pyramidal volcanoes rise off
the verdant floor suggesting a prehistoric past.
While churning whitecapped rivers
cascade over mountainsides to translucent pools below. Best of all, the
beauty doesn’t end with nature.
In that gem of Africa, Zaire's people
are the luster to the stone. We’re constantly surprised to meet people
so friendly and unjaded by the stifling caution suffered by the rest of
the world. Sitting around camp that night, our anxious anticipation mingles
with the singing of inquisitive young villagers.
Nigel
and Lucky, the Laurel and Hardy of English guides, teach the kids the silly
"Donnez moi" ("Give Me") song, deeply steeped in local tradition. Nigel
sings "Donnez moi une sty-lo" ("Give me a pen") and the giggling kids all
sing his verse over and over, "Donnez moi une sty-lo," in munchkin-like
voices.
They love it, since it’s one of their
routine, time-tested lines to use on travelers. While Lucky beats out a
rhythm, Nigel follows with another round of "Donnez moi," asking for bonbons,
a gift, a Pepsi...or gorilla. The kids march and laugh around the fire,
singing verse after verse. And as we finally nod off, two girls sweetly
harmonize a traditional folk song; a melody to make the angels look down
in envy. The next morning we awake with the excitement of kids on the last
day of school and waste no time in setting off.
It’s a short, invigorating hike up
the steep side of the mountain through the early morning mist. Reaching
the sanctuary hut, we divide into groups of six, the largest allowed in
the reserve at one time. We've heard there was a new month-old baby gorilla
in one of the families and secretly hope to be the ones who find her.
We’re soon joined by our local guides,
Pascale, who totes a machete to clear the brush and thorny vines, and Michel,
with a rifle slung over his shoulder to handle any leopards - or locals.
"Ain-ny per-sone we see up zere,
zey aire poach-aires," he threatens in his Cajun-like French, "and zey
weell be shot wit-out warn-ning."
This, I thought, is serious business.
Setting off up the rolling hillside,
we trudge and hack our way through underbrush about 30 minutes, stepping
over logs and looking for signs of the quiet giants.
"Zey on-ly nest in an area
one night," Michel whispers. "Zen zey move on." Upon close inspection,
here and there we notice signs of chewed branches and piles of still steaming
dung, until suddenly Pascale stops. "Look. Ov-aire zere!"
Cheryl
and I are relieved to chuck all the nagging certainties of life in exchange
for a year on the African road.
Although experienced independent travelers, we're leery of what Africa
might hold. It's notorious as a place where the rules change from country
to country or checkpoint to checkpoint. So breaking one of our own travel
“rules,” we reluctantly join an English overland truck safari for the first
part of our journey. Several months into this odyssey, we reach Zaire (Congo),
one of Africa’s most gritty and unforgettable regions, not long before
it's ripped apart by violence.
