Virunga
Black back member of a gorilla troop. Photo Credit: Muindi Fanuel Muindi
This story was featured “Stories from the Wild”, an event hosted by KUOW
Story begins at 28:50 in video
For a full transcript of the story, see below:
We woke up late that day in Virunga National Park. I never in my life dreamed that I would be late on the day I got to finally see mountain gorillas, but life doesn’t always play out in the ways you expect. The other group, American journalists, had left an hour before. When my husband and I arrived at ranger headquarters, the ranger was already irritated with us. In a blend of rounded French and smoothed-out Swahili, he explained the rules and safety guidelines we were to follow with the gorillas. Don’t touch them. Maintain a safe distance of 7 meters. Always wear the medical face mask near gorillas. Don’t eat in front of them. Do as the ranger tells you.
He led us through sorghum fields of deep red against the volcanoes in the distance. It had rained that morning, and everything glittered against a brilliant blue sky. We walked along the edge of the rainforest, rushing to catch up to the first group, not speaking. But then the commander walked out of the forest. He and our ranger spoke, and I understood that he had just seen a different troop nearby. They made the decision to give up on meeting the first group. We walked a few minutes into the forest and then the ranger turned around and asked us to pull up our face masks.
I thought that it had to be too soon to put up our masks, but then the ranger shifted aside and standing there was a silverback. He was on the path ahead, immense, breathtakingly immense, and fully awesome. He knuckle-walked past us, his shoulder gently checking my shoulder as he sauntered by. We walked on. With every step, butterflies lifted off the forest floor. The rainforests of Congo are filled with tiny butterflies, and they form halos around your head as you walk. They like all the sweat.
A few moments later, my shoulder still humming with the contact, the ranger pulled open a curtain of leaves. A second silverback was in repose behind the curtain, one arm cradling his heavy head, his legs stretched out on a bed of crushed shoots. While I was trying to take him in, a little, fuzzy face suddenly popped up from his side. Nestled into the armpit of the silverback was a three-year-old female. The silverback had adopted an orphaned infant during the recent war. Her parents and the rest of her troop had been murdered by militia members, explained the ranger… “assassinés”. My French was not strong enough to ask how she avoided the wildlife trade, how this silverback found her, if he was related. What I do know is that he did find her and had kept her safe and healthy for over a year. In that year, he avoided poacher’s snares, armed militias, and a volcanic eruption which spewed a river of lava over their territory. And here they were – relaxing in a green nest.
We walked on. I don’t know how long we walked for – I remember it felt more like flying that hacking through a thick jungle. Suddenly, we heard the clatter of a gorilla pounding her chest, the crashing of branches, and the screams of a very feisty 6 year old. She obviously recognized the ranger. She ran up and tackled him from behind. No touching indeed. He laughed, she laughed, and then a smaller, quieter juvenile climbed down from the tree she was watching from. The two of them proceeded to eat bamboo, the feisty one crushing through pieces probably a little too big for her. Then, they looked up, away from us.
I turned and found myself staring into the big brown eyes of a baby. He was 8 months old and still learning how to walk. His little face was the definition of wonder and joyful curiosity. He was drawn to the three humans, and every time he wandered too close, his mama reached out one arm and pulled him back into her sphere. Wander, pull back, wander, pull back. Finally, mama picked him up, swung him onto her back and joined the blackback who had been sitting by himself.
Blackbacks are male gorillas on the edge of adulthood. This individual was 17 and every bit as immense and striking as his father who had brushed past me farther back in the forest. The rangers think that he will probably stay with the family, as he seems comfortable with his place in the troop. The baby set his sights on the blackback. He clambered over, and then craned his little neck to look up a the male. He started climbing up the furry belly, fist over tiny fist, until he reached his brother’s chest. Then he grabbed fistfuls of hair and shook and screamed until the blackback plucked him off. He wandered back, clambered back up, grabbed fistfuls of fur and ripped and screamed again. Again and again, the blackback was content to play this little game, always gentle.
Virunga National Park Ranger. Photo Credit: Muindi Fanuel Muindi
We often tell such simple, flat stories about animals. Stories which match the data, which educate others about animals in clean, precise ways. “Gorillas live in troops with a dominant male, the silverback. They are intelligent. They are vegetarians. They share 98% of our DNA.” I was struck by how dynamic these gorillas were. They were adapting to changes in their home.
They clearly have not settled on a simple story of what a gorilla is or is not. And to meet a gorilla is to look face to face with someone who interprets the world very much as you do, for our senses are nearly identical in every way. It was clear that they were observing me, measuring me. I could not help but wonder at what they are thinking. I know that they will remember this day, too. How will they remember it? Will they ever think of me, of my tear-filled eyes as I sat in the bamboo? While I have language to share my memories, and microphones to amplify and record the thoughts I was experiencing that day, the thoughts of the gorillas are lost to us. The actions of the gorillas, the old male who adopted the infant, was this a way of resisting having your thoughts die with you? What all do we lose when we lose gorillas?
Before we left the forest, I held the hand of the ranger and thanked him for everything he has done. He had deep creases around his eyes, his voice soft from speaking in the forest for so many decades, his shoulder bent under the gun he carried. He was a biologist with paramilitary training who had witnessed so many changes in his home. He clearly felt deeply moved by the experience of sitting with the gorillas, too, though neither of us shared our thoughts. We just looked at each other.
