Showing posts with label gorilla tracking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gorilla tracking. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Trying to be a traveler, not a tourist, in Uganda

I don't so much like being a tourist. I like to think I'm a "traveler" instead. I mean I want to get out of the tourist conveyance, whatever it may be, and walk around as a regular person. I may be delusional, because in places so foreign as Uganda, there's no way I'm going to pass as ordinary.  I'm white. I'm old (the average life expectancy there is 55. I have that beat by decade+).

And I'm rich. I don't think of myself as rich until I'm in a country where just the fact that I can buy an airplane ticket and hire a driver puts me, puts US, as I travel with PK,  in the "rich" category. We cannot imagine their poverty. They cannot imagine our wealth. So maybe the native people are not so poor as we think? And we are certainly not as rich as they perceive.

But anyway. During our recent whirlwind time in Uganda and South Africa, I managed some solo adventures where I pretended to be just a regular person.

On this October day, on my little solo journey, I witnessed lumber production at its most basic; was accosted by a gang of 10-year-olds; was saved by a young non-profit manager; got caught in a torrential storm; and was rescued again by the non-profit guy with a miraculous umbrella.  Here's how it went down.

Ugandan school children on a sales mission headed my way. 
Can I run faster than they can? I don't think so.

PK and I had been gorilla tracking (blog post) in the morning, then survived (and enjoyed, oddly enough) a jolting teeth-clenching but spectacular three-hour 32-mile drive back to our lodge over what PK called a "class 5" road.

Grinding through a serious slick-clay hole, one of many.
We had tea and biscuits on the veranda, then, after making a phone call,  PK decided he'd like a nap.

PK on the phone as I'm plotting my getaway.
I decided I wanted to walk from our hotel, the Silverback Lodge, into the village, Buhoma, Uganda, about 1.5 miles distant. Buhoma is not a village in the sense that there's a 7-11 or someplace to buy a drink or a tourist trinket or groceries or a bite to eat. It's more that people live closer together and walk in single file to their water source with 5-gallon plastic containers. That kind of a village.

I did this because I'd been frustrated by driving through countless roadside settlements,  as well as the huge sprawling lung-searing capital city Kampala, en route to the remote corner of Uganda where gorillas live, having had little contact with Ugandans. I feel like such a voyeur riding in our fancy (by Ugandan standards) Toyota van, just the two of us and our driver, Nesser (pronounced Nahsah). We are incredibly privileged in their eyes. In some areas, children run alongside, hands out asking for money.

Nesser, our wonderful driver, and guide for five days
One of the few Ugandans we got to know a little bit.
To be safe, for my walk to town, I  have left behind my passport and fancy camera,  but have with me my cell phone, for photo purposes,  and a few dollars. With my perky little Panama hat and long skirt, I start down a steep crooked rock-strewn rain-gullied road toward the village. Far-away thunder rumbles. I ignore it. A couple guys are making boards alongside the road.

I'm struck by the labor involved in lumber production. I raise my phone to take a photo and am approached by a man who indicates this is not cool. If I want a photo,  what is it worth? One dollar? Sounds good. I hand him one of my eight one-dollar bills and take two photos.
I can't tell who has the harder job, the guy on top or below. They have been at this since the sun came up. 
If there's a power saw in Uganda, I did not see it. Or any other power tool. And speaking of power, there is precious little in villages, and even at our lodges lights were dim and generators ran sporadically. Hairdryers? Don't even think about it. Being equatorial, it gets dark around 6 p.m. and light at 6 a.m. There's your structure. Live with it.

Back on the rocky road. Trucks and motorcycles roared and rumbled past, ignoring the ruts and rocks and the kids who leaped aside. I hugged the bank. I wondered why traffic victims are not pulverized alongside the road. One must be nimble. One must be quick. One must possess a safety schtick.

Thunder grew louder. The village still seemed far away. I continued.

Around a bend, a flight of school children bombed my way. They saw a big ole white tourist, a gorilla tracker who can afford $500 for an experience that has nothing to do with survival. They saw a mark for their school-art-project gorilla-tracking postcards. I saw trouble.

The children are proud of their artwork and I am appreciative. As I reach out to take one for a closer look (bad idea!) every child piles his or her postcard into my hands. They are not going away.
There are nearly 20 of them. One of me. I have no small change and only a few dollars. What to do? Simon to the rescue!


This is Simon, age 21, who saw my predicament and alighted from out of nowhere. He selected a group leader from amongst the children, suggested I give two bucks and let the kid divvy it up. This was probably unfair and maybe impossible. But I handed over $2, and Simon led me down the road (away from my lodge, away from the bewildered school children, and toward the village.)

Simon insisted that I  must see his office, which he says is "right down the road." We walk and walk. The thunder is now alarming and the sky is charcoal. I feel obligated, and, let's face it, I'm rotten at saying NO.  I'm worried about getting caught in a hard rain at least a mile from "home". And I know that PK will be worried. Right now, I know, he is looking at the sky and muttering, 'Where the hell is she?"

"I need to get back," I say. "My husband is waiting."

"It is just right here," he motions ahead. I don't see anything that looks office-like. We continue.  Another five minutes and we've arrived. A few women sit in the grass,  but flee inside as sprinkles begin. One is his grandmother, who seems ancient. I ask Simon if he knows her age. "I think she's 55," he says.
My eyes grow wide and I clam up. Fifty-five! We enter his office, which adjoins, it appears, his family's home. Both are typically small and dark, windowless.

Simon is so proud. Behind him is a list of projects the nonprofit aims to fund. Goals include harvesting rainwater, building a gravity water scheme, planting trees, vegetable gardening, providing mama kits, and more.  I sign the guest book and make a $5 donation. Terrible, but that's all I have with me. Later, back in Oregon, I am emailed a heartfelt thank you for my" generosity." I wish I could send money, but I don't know how. 


Here's the organizational chart for the nonprofit, which appears to be named the Environmental and Health Concern Organization. 
By now the malevolent sky is hurling rain from shipping containers and Simon continues to ramble.  I cut him off insisting, "I really must go now. If you have an umbrella, I would like to borrow it and drop it off here in the morning."

He disappears to see about an umbrella, but alas.  Despite the fact that the village is smack in the center of a tropical rain forest, the family doesn't own one. I wave and rush onto the road and charge up the hill, water parting around my ankles.  I protect my cell phone as much as possible, hence no photos of the rising tide in the road ruts, the pelting sheets of rain, the darkness. This is a serious sideways downpour. rivaling any hard rain I've experienced in Oregon.

I lean into the wind and rain, and my Panama hat has sprung a leak. I hear shouting.

It's Simon. He's running toward me. This is odd because I left him behind in his office. AND he has a  huge umbrella! Apparently, he has sprinted to the village, borrowed an umbrella, and raced up a short cut to shelter me. He swings in beside me, unfurls the umbrella and up we go, now using the center of the road as the roadsides have become growling rock tumblers.

Ten minutes later, I arrived at the lodge where PK, as I expected, was distressed. I am soaked and chilly, and stand by as the lodge shower runs for five minutes for the water to become at least tepid, then step in to wash off the mud and begin to digest my experience.

Two months later, I'm still thinking about it. I'm sorry that PK had to fret about me, as I would have about him, if he'd disappeared for an hour during a significant storm in a strange place. But I'm glad about everything else.

Especially the kindness and concern that one human being, the young and earnest Simon, showed for another, the older and more vulnerable me.  Take a look at this kind face again, then consider— He is Uganda. Without a walk in the rain, I never would have known.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Gorilla Tracking. Who Would Have Thought?

I recently spent, with PK, 26 days away from Ordinary Life, mostly in Uganda or South Africa. Of those, three rate as among my best days ever. I will attempt to describe them in this and coming posts, plus offer more glimpses into life beyond how it's usually experienced in rural Oregon, or the USA in general. First off...Gorilla Tracking!
This is a 350-400 pound silverback gorilla photographed from perhaps 7 meters, or 21 feet) with my new and already beloved Panasonic Lumix camera with its nifty 24-300 zoom. Looking this magnificent creature in the eye (he couldn't see my eye behind the camera, and we were told to avoid eye contact) was a highlight, competing with several other stellar moments from this vacation, or as they would say in Africa, this holiday
Slipping and sliding on a steep tropical mountainside searching for gorillas never occurred to me as even a remote possibility until a few months back when "gorilla tracking" was offered as an option by our volunteer itinerary planner, anthropologist, cultural/historical consultant, and all around brilliant person, Kara Blackmore. Did we get lucky, or what? Not just for seeing gorillas really really close, but in having a learned person such as Kara planning our trip and spending several narrative-packed days with us. We said Hell Yes! to gorillas, and Kara paid the $500 per person permit fee on our behalf. (A portion of that fee goes to the surrounding impoverished communities for education and healthcare, and to encourage habitat preservation.)

Looking in the direction of the Biwindi Impenetrable National Park from the Silverback Lodge, where we stayed, some 52 kilometers (32+ miles) from where tracking began. We got up at 4:30 a.m. to drive THREE HOURS on what PK describes as a Class 5 FWD road to arrive on time for the gorilla tracking briefing. 

During the briefing, our guide gave us the lowdown: If gorillas are found, we have one hour with them. Flash photography, eating, and drinking are no-nos. Unless a gorilla approaches us, we are to stay about 23 feet away. If anybody has cold or flu symptoms, they can't come into gorilla territory. Boots are recommended, but trousers tucked into long socks will also ward off safari ants that climb beneath pant legs and chomp. Gloves are recommended to protect against stinging nettles and other jungle things designed to tear flesh, produce welts, or otherwise ruin your day. Walking sticks are provided, but taken away once gorillas are spotted. The sticks could be construed as threatening by gorillas. Navigating without walking sticks, however, could be construed as threatening to trekkers. 

Our guide roughs a map into the dirt. The Biwindi Impenetrable 
Forest is in the far southwestern corner of Uganda bordered by Rwanda 
with the Democratic Republic of Congo close by. This general area is the only 
habitat for the endangered mountain gorillas of Dian Fossey fame. 
About 400 live in the Biwindi Impenetrable (don't you love that word?) Forest.
Ok. Where's the path?
I was thrilled and surprised to actually swing on a jungle vine!
Lucky I was wearing my Life is Good hat. Our trek was short compared to many I've heard described. If you decide to go, be sure you're physically prepared. The terrain is demanding.  
Here's one of the NINE Ugandans who accompanied us. In addition to the main guide and two men carrying AK 47s in case of a charge by a rogue gorilla, were a couple more with machetes to chop a path through the indeed "impenetrable" forest. Also at our bidding were porters who carried our packs for $10 per person. This is a lot of money in a country where the average wage is around $1 a day. A young Irish couple were the only other tourists that day. They reported that one of their parents tracked gorillas recently and hiked for nine hours! I can't recall if they found gorillas (sightings are not guaranteed) but one of the two had to be carried by porters and rangers in some of the steeper sections on the return trek. At around 6,000 feet elevation, the rain forest mountainsides are steep and slick. Real gorilla tracking was going on, but it was not by us. Four trackers were ahead of us in the forest radioing our guide regarding the gorillas' whereabouts. The gorilla group we came upon reportedly had 23 members. I saw only the handful I photographed, but PK sighted at least 10. Lucky for us, we had only slipped and slid for about a half hour into the forest before we stopped to enjoy our one unforgettable hour with mountain gorillas.
Expressions of delight and awe play on our faces as gorillas move around us. 
We were only a half hour into the trip when we spied this guy.
Seeing him so close took my breath away. 

This fellow, a young male, made a noisy and spirited charge in our direction, but backed off quickly,
as young males of many species are known to do.

A baby gorilla, mama nearby, cavorts. 




A ranger with a machete and a Bob Marley backpack helps clear the way with his machete.
Gorilla tracking provides much-needed jobs for villagers.
Porters rotate, sharing the wealth of $10 to $20 a day, 




For most trackers, it's all about photography, and the guides go out of their
 way to clear visual lines to the gorillas. 

PK having the time of his life. It was magical indeed.
Next up: Bush camping and game sightings in Uganda's Murchison Falls National Park with TIA (This is Africa) Adventures.