A
Walk On The Wild Side
In Zaire ~ by Brandon
Wilson
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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!"
We cautiously
poke our heads around a small bramble thicket. At first, I don't see anything
as my eyes struggle to adjust to the leaf-filtered light. Yes! There he
is--our first gorilla, like a giant mound of black fuzz, lounging and eating
in the sun. As we excitedly watch, that young 300 pound male throws back
his head and yawns, examines us, lumbers out of his bed of leaves, then
returns to the more serious task of eating. Tiring of that, he turns, walking
on knuckles to within a single breathtaking foot of us.
Is he going
to rip my arms off as easily as he'd stripped the branches off that bamboo
tree? I instantly glance down, assuming the non-aggressive posture Pascale
taught us.
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However,
the adolescent male doesn't seem upset by our presence and ambles into
a clearing not thirty feet away. Slowly, yet deliberately, we follow, cautious
not to make any sudden or threatening moves that may alarm him. We step
into the small cove of trees where two female gorillas lay sleeping like
children in the grass. Not ten feet away, in the shadows of a gnarled overhanging
tree, stands the colossal silverback himself!
He towers over
six feet tall, as broad as a refrigerator. Ebony, except for a metallic
mane of shaggy hair running across his back, he sizes us up, as he measures
our intentions for a moment. Then turning, he moves back into the shadows
of the alcove. We feel his eyes still riveted on us, as each wonders what
to do next. Yet nothing happens. He doesn’t charge. The others don’t run.
So after a few moments, we circle his shaded chamber for a better vantagepoint
from the other side. Rounding the thickly draped alcove, we discover three
young male gorillas playing and sleeping in the covered entrance. Just
to the left, several feet away, a shaggy older male grazes on leaves, while
another brilliantly coated male lay behind him dozing in the streaked sunlight.
We've struck it rich, having stumbled onto the entire family of eleven.
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But where,
I wonder, where are the illusive mother and newborn baby?
For thirty
minutes we kneel in the tall grass, watching and photographing the family
in their lair as they eat, play or sleep in the sun, while they seem almost
blase´ about our presence. That’s most surprising. Spotting us, we
expect them to take off deep into the mountainous undergrowth, like chimps
or baboons might in the wild.
Feeling foolishly
brave, I cautiously inch closer and closer to catch a portrait of one solitary
brooding male at arm's length. Angry at first, he finally relaxes and frolics
in the sun. I’m touched by his measured glances filled with such curiosity
and intelligence.
Does he wonder
why these odd beings take photos of him? Why their type arrives every few
days?
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All at once
there’s a sharp, frantic rustling in the bushes behind him. Branches inexplicably
snap, while his companions shoot furtive looks. We’re just six feet from
the family and before we can retreat to safety, something approaches from
the thicket. It’s the young mother gorilla with tousle-headed baby bravely
clinging to her hairy chest with walnut-sized hands!
At first the
madonna is shy. She sits quietly, munching leaves behind the protective
young males. Then after the goliath silverback reappears, assured of her
safety, she crosses to within just three feet in front of me, plunking
down beside him. As she sits there, curiously eyeing us and stripping the
leaves from trees, her tiny fuzzyheaded tyke climbs off her chest and half
swaggers, half crawls toward me. At this, the mother quickly scrambles
over and snatches the curious infant back. Not to have her romp curtailed,
the baby climbs down again. Tottering back and forth, tiny feet tramping
through the tall grass, she finally pauses just inches away. Then curiously,
the pop-eyed, 18 inch high, thistle haired imp stretches out her tiny hand
toward me. |
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"I don't believe
this!" I sigh, as she caresses my beard and lips with her slender black
finger.
However, Mom
doesn't appreciate her curiosity. Grunting a low, menacing "HUH," she quickly
snatches her adventurous toddler back. Then there’s a similar grunt and
grumble of "HUH, HUH, HUHs" from the males encircling us.
But it’s just
a warning. They mean us no harm. Still, overwhelmed by the entire experience,
it seems best to give them their peace. We’re surprised to discover we've
been with those docile giants for over an hour and a half that passed like
mere minutes.
Hiking back
down the hill to camp, I think how tragic it is those wonderful creatures
are nearly extinct thanks to mans' carnage–and how much our very survival
is ultimately reflected by their own.
The following
are Brandon's previous articles for the magazine:
 A
Trek Across Norway ~ A
Step Back In Time
The
Camino de Santiago ~ In
The Steps Of Popes, Princes And Kings
Yak
Butter Blues ~ A
Tibetan Trek Of Faith
Via
Francigena ~ Trekking
The Pathway To Paradise
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Brandon
Wilson is an internationally published author, adventure travel writer,
award-winning photographer and expert trekker. This was the third such
hike for the author. The first was a 1000-km. (650-mile) trek from Lhasa,
Tibet to Kathmandu, Nepal when he and his wife Cheryl, accompanied only
by their Tibetan horse, became the first Western couple to trek an ancient
pilgrimage trail across the unforgiving Himalayan plains. It is the subject
of his new book, Yak Butter Blues: A Tibetan Trek of Faith Visit http://www.YakButterBlues.com
for a preview including a sample chapter, maps, color photos, Tibetan music
and information about other long-distance pilgrimage treks. Available now
from his website, bookstores, Amazon.com, BN.com, Borders.com, Amazon-Canada,
Chapters.ca, Blackwell's (UK), CDbox.it (EU), McGovern & Prentice's
New Zealand Online Books, Seekbooks.au (Australia), Amazon-Japan, and others. |
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