A Congo Christmas continues

As we left the village, we entered true jungle. Though three more hours sounded daunting, the scenery made the time pass quickly. We fell into a rhythm, and as we were following a well worn trail, there was little to trip us up.

Our eyes were free to take in the lush vegetation and look for birds and monkeys. The air was cool and the hike was surprisingly invigorating. As we were constantly moving uphill, there was little spare breath for talking, which added to the peaceful atmosphere. With the passing of time, I could feel a palpable build up of expectation for what we were heading towards, making each step one closer to our goal.

Panting, mostly mine, eventually broke through the silence. Our guide took this as a sign of weakness and told us to break for lunch. This is no supposition on my part. He actually said to me, “I knew you wouldn’t make it.” Turning to the rest of the group, “We need to stop so she can recover. Lunch break.” Mustering the dirtiest look I could, I glared at him, sat down, and promptly lit a cigarette. Just to piss him off.

Lunch over, we continued the hike much the same as before. Around the appointed 3-hour mark, we were told to stop and wait. A few minutes later, three trackers materialized out of the jungle. They led us to an overgrown trail that had become a tunnel of vegetation. We had to crawl through on our hands and knees. Just before entering the tunnel, we were reminded to stay quiet and keep our camera flashes off. I held my breath the entire crawl, tingling with anticipation.

As we cleared the tunnel and stood up, I realized that we had truly arrived. Everything we had endured for the last week fell away. All those moments I had wished I was sipping a margarita on some beach, lazing in the pool, eating food that wasn’t cooked over a fire and was served to me at an actual table suddenly felt absurd.

Not 10 yards from where we stood, a mother gorilla was feeding her baby. She stared at us with her soft brown eyes and decided she didn’t like what she saw. Turning away from us, she slung her baby onto her back and quickly made a new trail through the jungle. We followed at a much slower pace, giving her room to get well ahead of us. She gave off the impression that, though her eyes were gentle, you did not want to make this mama mad.

She made a beeline straight for the rest of her family. The entire family was there, including the big daddy of them all – a silverback. Standing only a few yards from him was intimidating. His head was the size of my entire torso, and he weighed half a ton, easily.

Only after taking all of him in could I look around at the others. There were about 12 gorillas in all: the silverback, several adults — both male and female, a few adolescents and a couple of adorable babies. The babies were never far from their mothers, though they were curious about us and tried to visit with us. The mothers wouldn’t have it, chased their children down and carried them back to the family circle. Otherwise, there was little indication the gorillas even noticed us.

(Read the conclusion of A Congo Christmas in a future edition of Pinch.)