Anjaly Thomas goes in search of the primate in DR Congo and discovers that many of its instincts are akin to humans
From Michelin-starred restaurants to hole-in-the-wall gems, awe-inspiring global cuisine to aromatic street carts, New York City has endless dining options. The cuisine of each borough and neighbourhood tells the story of the city’s history, culture and latest trends, making food tours the perfect way to experience authentic NYC. Visit the neighbourhoods that make each borough so special.
Two days after arriving in Goma, I huddled in an ageing Prado with a forest ranger and drove over roads that can best be described as difficult. We were headed to the headquarters of Virunga National Park. Here, we heard a lengthy explanation on gorilla conservation and how each of the families was different. The audience that had gathered there was urged to follow the rules and guidelines that would help preserve the apes’ diminishing population and set an example for future generations. After what seemed like an eternity, we were divided into groups and directed to follow the trained guides into the forest.
But let me give you a brief background before I relate the rest of the tale. Goma, the lakeside town of Democratic Republic of Congo, borders Rwanda. It is the United Nation’s biggest base for peacekeeping force and is the starting point of all adventures in the eastern side of DR Congo. The town is flanked by an active volcano and is the gateway to Virunga National Park.
When we reached an altitude of 1,300m after an arduous trek, the onslaught of humidity, heat and no signs of silverbacks weakened our morale. Despite that, we continued to drag our feet over wet and slippery earth, deep inside the park with only one aim in mind — sighting primates. Taking tiny sips of water, we plodded on, occasionally hacking away at bushes to create a trail, waiting for the moment when our rangers would give us the good news. We had been warned against wandering off the path but considering the non-existence of one, they needn’t have worried. We kept our heads down and focussed on our step.
We were in untouched territory. There were no tracks to follow and except for the rangers’ instincts honed by experience and vague clues along the track — like depressed bamboo thickets, there was little else to lead us to the primates. The walk was energy-sapping and we had lost all hope when suddenly, the rangers motioned us to pull on our surgical masks. And stay still.
“They are very close,” we were told. The evidence of it was in a fresh pile of gorilla poop that was currently under inspection by one of the rangers. He prodded the poop to check for freshness with a finger. It was warm. It might sound funny but the sight of gorilla poop elevated our spirits immensely. Suddenly, three words rang out sharply. “Down. NOW. Quiet.”
We dropped to our fours. Some of us pressed against the bamboo thicket, not daring to breathe. Masks in place, we waited. After what seemed like an eternity, less than 10 feet away, a scene straight out of the movies played out. A giant silverback was pulling himself up slowly, a sign that he was agitated and about to show it. Bloodshot eyes stared out of his black, hairy face. The closer he came, the greater was his fury.
From where we lay, he appeared bigger than his 1.5 metre height. My heart beat wildly as I watched this magnificent creature grow bigger and somehow more menacing right before my eyes. Strangely, I was not afraid. No one breathed. He had seen us.
Even before we could let the sight sink in, he let out a blood-curdling scream and began pounding his chest open-fisted and rhythmically — left, right, left — battering our confidence on the forest floor. It was the closest I have ever come to an ape and any bravado that we had carried, deserted us completely. He was so close, I could smell him.
It was a moment that every gorilla-tracker hopes to experience but it took everything we had not to react even though we shared about 90 per cent of our DNA with the ape, who looked determined to trample his intruding cousin. Out there, family bonding didn’t exist.
The pounding continued. We watched, transfixed. After the initial surge of fear, some of the confidence returned, just enough so that we scrambled for our cameras. The gorilla-world, we’d been told, was rather dramatic and loud and alternated between screams, hoots, growls and roars so they could be heard in the wild. The sounds they produced depended on their state of mind but none of that information helped when facing the real thing.
We had been extremely fortunate to see the gorilla’s most famous gesture — the chest pounding while standing on two legs where he hit the chest alternately with open hands — rather than with clenched fists as portrayed in most films. But much as we’d have liked to applaud our good luck, we still remained on the ground.
The silverback dropped to all fours, stared at us briefly before ambling away. No one moved till the rangers announced in jest. “It’s safe now. We can go to see the family. They are not aggressive and there are many babies. You will get your private time. You can take pictures.”
On that assurance, we crept into a clearing and there they were. The gorilla family — all seven of them, young and old, lost in their world of bamboo shoots — unmindful of intruders. We were given “time to connect” with them, provided we obeyed the seven metre distance rule.
At some point, I watched as mother gorilla grabbed her baby from its father and disappear into the bush. So like humans. I stopped photographing. I wanted to see their faces, noses and feet and maybe make eye contact. However, they didn't stay in one place for long, preferring to rest under thickets in each other's company.
We maintained a safe distance but the seven metre rule didn’t deter a little baby from hurtling himself at me — talk about family bonding.
Perhaps, just perhaps I could touch it? Inadvertently, I slipped off my mask; something like a maternal instinct gripped me, I wanted to pick him up and hold him close. But the smell hit me. There was a reason for the mask after all.
