Gorillas, not guerrillas

Sometimes you just have to laugh and scratch your head. I had one of those moments as I was walking through the dense jungle. In the dark. In the Congo. Surrounded by men in army fatigues with machine guns and machetes. I had to chuckle and wonder, how the hell did this happen?

Well, it was a quest for the rare mountain gorilla that started this. These endangered species are found only in a very small area, amongst the volcanoes and dense jungle along the borders of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire). There are only around 700 left in the world and the chance to see them with my own eyes was a large part of what drew me to this part of Africa. My understanding before I arrived was that our permits would be for the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in southwestern Uganda. Upon meeting with my group in Nairobi, the vague language and handwaving I'd received from the booking agent began to make sense. Our permits were not in Uganda, but across the border in the Congo.

If you're not familiar with the recent history of this part of Africa, that might not mean much to you. But if you want to get an idea, pick up any African guide book or check out your government's travel advisories. In every book I'd seen, the Congo shows up as a grey area on the coloured maps. Any information they reluctantly give is surrounded by huge warnings saying not only "don't go there", but also "don't even get close". As is tragically all too common, the Congo has been embroiled in civil war for quite some time. This part of the Congo has also been a haven for the Interahamwe, the Hutu militia responsible for much of the horrific Rwandan genocide in 1994. In 1998, 4 tourists were kidnapped when trying to visit the gorillas in this area. Three were never seen again. So I was a touch surprised by the news that this would be our destination.

However, this was not a case of recklessness on the part of the group I was joining. It was a case of ignorance on my part. The situation in the Congo has improved and tourists have been safely visiting the gorillas on the Congo side for almost 2 years now. But just as with neighboring Rwanda, good news travels much slower and shorter than bad news. Rwanda is now a very safe, inviting, and wonderful country to visit. But this doesn't make for good headlines in the west and as a result, the stigma of past events still prevails. It's sad that good news and progress isn't interesting enough to grab our attention and headlines. Now, the Congo still has a lot of problems and could flare up at any time (as they could anywhere in this part of the world). It's not as safe as Uganda or Rwanda, their government is tenuous, and rebel groups still roam in the jungles. But things have improved even if the Lonely Planet doesn't reflect it.

Our foray into the Congo was to be based from the southwestern Ugandan town of Kisoro. The road into Kisoro isn't the best, so we had transferred to mini-buses for the drive in from Lake Bunyoni. And an absolutely stunning drive it was. I felt as if I'd been transported to Asia as we passed through the mountainous and richly cultivated countryside. I could have sworn we were in Nepal. Terraced plots of lush green crops all the way to the peaks of the rugged hills. This land, as with much of Uganda, appeared to be the most productive my untrained eye has ever seen. Stark contrast to the relative desolation of the what I saw in Tanzania and what one generally pictures when envisioning Africa. This, more than anything, has fostered in me the hopeful feeling that at least Uganda has chance.

Cresting the top of a large hill, we were treated to a fantastic view of the Virunga Massif in the distance. Three towering volcanoes could be seen closely clumped together. I was told that each of these resided in a different country: one in Uganda, one in Rwanda, and one in the Congo. Looking out, I couldn't help but be struck by the arbitrary nature of borders. From what you read, you'd expect to see the Congo shrouded in absolute shadow with bats and other diabolical creatures circling in the darkness above. But all we could see was the cohesive form of the mountains where the gorillas roam without any respect for the lines defined by their not so distant, but arrogant cousins. It reminded me of something I heard Neil Young say: "the line's only there if you don't cross it."

The next morning, we turned our heads from the brilliant neon sunrise and headed to cross that line. All of us were excited about the encounter we sought, but also by the chance to cross into the Congo. Despite all that I've said before, there was a definite novelty about crossing into the Congo. For many travelers, our favorite souvenirs are the stamps in our passports. So, like winning a rare hockey card, we were gleeful at acquiring a stamp that few others could boast. And on top of this, there was also an unspoken tension in recognition of where we were headed. As travelers, we try to seek experiences that are crazy but not stupid. Though the security situation here has improved, this was not a trip to Disneyland. So we were excited about being a bit crazy and nervously hopeful that we weren't being stupid.

As soon as we entered the Congo, a couple of things became blatantly apparent. First was the language. Being a former Belgian colony, French replaces English as the most common non-African language. I marveled at the kids who spoke their own native tongue, French, and a bit of English and Swahili. As in almost every way, we have it so much easier. The children, as is the case most everywhere in Africa, were fascinated by us. Surrounded by these children who couldn't really communicate with us and who looked upon us as if we were strange and exotic creatures, I couldn't help but wonder if this was what the gorillas felt like.

The other obvious impression was the greater degree of poverty compared to neighboring Uganda. You could see this in the clothes that the children did or didn't wear and the general appearance of most everything. These lands are just as productive as those across the border in Uganda. They have the same resources. But the people were obviously not afforded the same standard of living. A sad reminder of who always loses in war.

Another example of the poverty and neglect was the roads. The roads in other parts of Africa left much to be desired, but as we climbed up towards the start of our trek, the path we followed lost any claim on being called a road. Becoming more uneven, bare rock than dirt and reaching ridiculous grades, it reminded me of the places we'd seek when 4x4ing back home. The kind of places we chose for the challenge of seeing if we could make it and the enjoyment of having to get un-stuck when we failed. I was brought even closer to home when we stalled on a hill and had to bomb start our little Samurai because the starter was toast. I even had to guide the fairly clueless driver back down a steep hill when he looked poised to lose the truck altogether.

But eventually, we made it to the ranger's station and started out on our trek. The habituated group we were seeking had been located the day before. They generally don't move more than 1 km in a day, but we were told in no uncertain terms that there was no money back guarantee. This was not a zoo and nothing could be promised. Our group was made up of 8 trekkers and 5 park staff carrying some people's bags, radios, machetes, or automatic weapons. At first, the trail was quite wide and the brush was cleared back. But as we climbed higher onto the shoulder of the mountain, the trail became much narrower and muddier. The brush closed in so tight that it was in constant contact and we felt like we were passing through a huge automatic car wash. The rangers guided us confidently through this labyrinth of trails and side trails, sharing the experience they've gained through walking these trails every day for years.

After 2 steady hours, we reached a clearing where we stopped to eat some lunch. John, our main guide, told us a bit more about the gorillas and the family we were hoping to see. Each family group has a dominant "silverback", a large male who is distinguished by the silver swath of hair that covers his backside. The rest of the group is made up of mature females, juveniles, and babies. In the Virunga Massif National Park, there are 3 families that have been habituated to human presence. The group we were seeking has 10 individuals, including 2 babies under 2 years of age.

We also asked John about some of the problems the gorillas have faced. Specifically we asked about poachers, to which he answered that there were two kinds. The first type doesn't have guns and is quite common. These poachers are just hungry locals who set snares and traps for bush buck and other wildlife that also roam the park. As is very common throughout Africa, a national park does not seem as wonderful to a poor and hungry resident as it does to us. These people generally do not see any of the much lauded financial benefit of tourism. For many, the park is merely a loss of land that could be cultivated and of wildlife that could be harvested. A haven for wild animals such as elephants that can quickly destroy their homes and farms. With our full stomachs and massive comparative affluence, it's easy to believe in the importance of conservation. But for someone struggling with subsistence, such luxuries have little importance. So it shouldn't be a big surprise that some do slip into the park in search of rare protein for their tables. And for all my strong belief in conservation, I have a hard time blaming them.

The other kind of poacher is the armed one that actually targets the gorillas. John downplayed this and said that they no longer have a problem with that type of poacher. And I would like to believe him. But I have heard from other sources that things are not so rosy. That there is still a demand for "bush meat" from people living in cities and wanting a taste of their former traditional life. And I've also been told that there is still a market for baby gorillas, with people in European countries willing to buy them. I hope that this was just hearsay or based on old information. But it seems likely this was a reality that our guide was keeping from us. But the bigger elephant in the room was the topic of rebels groups and guerrillas that roam the lawless jungles of the Congo. This was something we all chose not to discuss. But despite all of the problems facing these gorillas, their numbers are on the rise. A baby naming ceremony was recently held in Rwanda where 30 babies were given names. This, along with the dedication obvious in the park staff, gives me hope that my own children may have this same opportunity some day.

After our lunch, we continued up the mountain. As we did, the brush began to give way to bamboo forest with a tighter canopy and sparser floor coverage. We made slow progress as legs began to tire. The guides didn't say it explicitly, but their encouragement to pick up our pace told me that we were getting close to a required turn around time. I'd heard stories from other groups that had to turn around after 5 hours of walking and head back empty handed. Something I was dearly hoping to avoid.

Continuing closer to our goal, I really got the feeling of entering into another kingdom. The domain of the gorillas. The canopy above us became very tight and the light dimmed. And the rains began to fall, forcing us to cover up and drenching everything in sight. It felt as if we were passing through a deep, dark, and wet cave. A passageway to another time and another place. Somewhere deep in our own past.

After we'd been walking for about 4 and half hours, the rains began to let up slightly and we came into a bright clearing. As we were walking along in a line, there came an unholy crash from the darkness to our left. Everyone froze and 13 heads turned sharply to peer into the forest. There was a moment of silence before one of the guides decided to state the obvious. "I think it's gorillas."

As the realization and anticipation spread through the group, our spirits were dried and there was a smile on every face. What I found most amazing was the giddy excitement of the guides who had brought us. They're up here almost every day, but the excitement at being able to share this experience with us was tangible on their faces. Which confirmed that we were about to experience something very special. We all dropped our packs, grabbed our cameras, and headed into the bamboo cave.

As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to make out dark forms spread around amongst the trees. We were all clumped together, simultaneously excited and uneasy at being amongst these rare creatures. As we were milling about and trying to get a look at the closest female, I turned to see another member of the family heading straight for us. We all froze, unsure whether to be excited or afraid. I was paralyzed with this ambivalence as the huge primate loped towards me. I quickly turned to see that the others had started to back away. I just stood there as she approached, then passed within feet of me and carried on oblivious to our presence. Apparently, we were of less concern than the surrounding trees.

Shortly after that, we were introduced to the big boy. As the silverback strode across in front of us, the awe we'd already been enthralled in grew to match the size of this massive creature. He was simply huge. A rock solid mass of muscle and hair, he moved with the power and confidence of a tank. I just could not get over the size of this guy. Imagine the biggest man you've ever seen and multiply him by 2. Or maybe 3. A truly awesome sight to behold. Terrifying to think of the damage he could inflict if he so desired. He sat himself down, broke off a huge piece of bamboo as if it were the slightest twig, and distantly began to munch away. This was essentially what we saw from all of these creatures. They were like giant pot heads who just sit around with glazed eyes, oblivious to those around them, and peacefully munch on whatever they can lay hands on. One of the babies approached and played happily next to his massive father. There was an obvious interaction and closeness to be seen here. The baby wanting to be close to a caring father who was carefully keeping an eye on the youngster.

Watching this immense and powerful creature as he quietly ate and watched over his family, I couldn't help but be struck by the humanity. You could see emotion and expression in their faces. You could see the curiosity and playfulness of a young child in the babies. You could feel the paternal and maternal interactions as the adults watched over their young. And when you looked into their eyes, you couldn't help but believe there was something sentient there.

There's no way one could doubt our relation to these beings that I can no longer refer to as animals. But I also realized that it's arrogant for us to think of them as being primitive, somehow a partially developed version of ourselves. Here was a giant silverback with immense power to destroy. But despite that power, he was one of the calmest and most serene creatures I'd ever seen. I think there's a lesson for us there as well.

One of our guides asked us how we felt to be there. Ian, one of our friends, just said "I feel privileged". Which was exactly how I felt. Privileged to be tolerated for a short time by these magnificent creatures. Privileged to have an opportunity that very few people are afforded. Privileged to grow up in a country that allows me the freedom and resources to seek out such experiences. Privileged to be humbled by an experience that can't help but you in your place. That gives one a real perspective on where we came from, the connection we have with nature, and the responsibility we have to take care of all our relatives.

At the end of our hour, we were told that we had to leave. This was probably the only thing in the whole of Africa that was ever on time. We reluctantly said goodbye to this family and began the long trek back out of the park. Shortly after we started, the rains began again, this time with a ferocity that I've rarely seen the likes of. Drenching every one of us to the bone. The walk out was very long and interrupted by mud, slippery slopes, and the odd person falling. At one point, we were trudging through the dense bush when the guides up front stopped suddenly and began beating their machetes frantically against their rifles. It was obvious that these guys were scared and I joined them in fear when I heard the nearby trumpet of an elephant. Ian and I drifted back and were looking for climbable trees while the others pressed forward for a closer look. We shook our heads as the others were obviously oblivious to how dangerous it is to be that close to an elephant. I thought about informing them sharply, but decided it probably wouldn't help. Luckily, the elephant moved on and we were able to continue safely on our way. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Because of the long distance we'd had to cover, the rain and the mud, as well as our slow and slowing pace, we were well shy of the ranger's station when darkness settled on us. The coming of night revealed cracks in the strength of many and there were a lot of people who were very uncomfortable. Which is when I had to chuckle and wonder about how we'd gotten there. Luckily for me, I'm fairly experienced at planning poorly and having to hike home in the darkness. And though not literally, I knew we were figuratively out of the woods at that point. At the same time, I shared everyone's desire to get my tired, wet, and hungry self back to Kisoro. What was actually worrying me more was the pending closure of the border crossing. The prospect of spending the night on this side of the border was not one I relished.

But as it turned out, we survived the mad dash down the dark and brutal roads to the border. And our guide was able to summon the border folks and get us back through to Uganda. We were surprised to hear that another group of our friends was still out in the park. They didn't get out until an hour or so after us and were even more physically and emotionally exhausted from the experience. Arriving back well after 10 pm, many went to bed without food or showers, happy simply to have a warm and dry place to curl up. The difficulty of the return trip had taken it's toll and not many could appreciate the wonders of the day. But the next morning after a good sleep and a cup of coffee, there were smiles on every face and we spent the whole drive back to Lake Bunyoni rehashing the day and basking in the experience of a lifetime.