A FAMILY GUY
MOUNTAIN GORILLAS HAVE NO INTEREST IN MESSING WITH YOU BUT THAT KNOWLEDGE WILL NOT STOP YOUR HEART FROM HAMMERING WHEN YOU TROOP UP TO MEET GIRANEZA, THE SILVERBACK, IN HIS HOME IN RWANDA’S VIRUNGA MASSIF
Giraneza is a dude, and I mean total dude, from Rwanda. He’s a sex bomb— 200 kg of solid muscle, gorgeous silver in his hair— but a family guy, with several wives and babies who are his top priority. If you mess with his loved ones, he’s capable of crushing your skull with his bare hands, but he’s essentially peaceable, so he’ll likely only scare the crap out of you. Being reclusive, he lives in the bush up a very steep mountain, eating a healthy vegetarian diet. It took an expensive flight, and an even more expensive permit, to visit him. He can be prickly with visitors, and we’d been given strict instructions for what to do if he didn’t want to be visited.
As it turned out, we didn’t need the instructions. When we finally came face to face with him, after thrashing through a forest of nettles with a machete, Giraneza sprang to his feet, big as a house, and our bodies responded perfectly: our knees turned to water, and we collapsed to the ground in a craven crouch, silently praying for our lives. Having established who was boss, he returned to a supine position and resumed munching on nettles.
Giraneza is the silverback— the dominant male, the big cheese— of this family group of mountain gorillas. The term comes from the silver patch of fur along the spine of a male which develops as he matures. Silverbacks are built like tanks; the females are built like slightly smaller tanks. Giraneza’s ladies cradled infants with huge wet eyes and spiky baby hair. The family was relaxed, making happy lip-
smacking sounds as they foraged and snacked. We walked around slowly and quietly, tracking them and taking photographs as they moved around the bush reaching for food.
It’s not easy to retain a foothold on slippy wet vines on a steep slope when your heart is hammering and your legs are shaking, but the alternative is to roll down the Virunga Massif quite a long way before coming to rest in the fertile mud of Volcanoes National Park in Rwanda. I could see myself splayed out there forever, a heap of bleached bones stepped over by successive groups of tourists. But of course I held on, and went slip- sliding around the mountain, peering at a female feeding her baby in the privacy of a thicket, or delighting in the play of the juveniles.
We were so close. Close enough to see, in their eyes, the human right next to the wild. Sometimes brushing- by close. You’re supposed to stay a few feet away from the animals— for their safety, to protect them from your diseases— but the odd baby will come bounding up and grab your legs, the odd silverback will walk by so close that you have to press yourself against the wilderness to make way, heart hammering.
But like most other animals, mountain gorillas have no interest in messing with you. They’re not predators. They are shy and peaceable, wanting no more than to eat, create strongly bonded families, build a nest to sleep in at night, and nibble on the odd dung lobe. That behaviour, among others less gross, was noted by the scientist whose long obsession with these animals made both them and her world famous: Dr Dian Fossey. Fossey came to Rwanda half a century ago and set up the Karisoke Research Foundation. She lived with, observed and recorded the behaviour of these delicate and rare ani mals, before being murdered— probably by poachers— in her camp. Her book Gorillas in the Mist, made into a movie, put mountain gorillas on the world map. The Dian Fossey Founda tion’s done remarkable work protecting the ani mal and increasing its numbers, despite the ravages of the Rwandan genocide and mayhem in the Congo. The Virunga Massif, the gorillas’ only habitat, lies at the intersection of Uganda, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda, but it’s the Rwandan government that’s
been most successful in its conservation efforts, funded by carefully managed wildlife tourism.
That’s why the permits to see them are so eye- wateringly expensive. It was $ 750 per day permit per person when I visited Volcanoes National Park in 2016; it is now $ 1,500. You can stay at a number of lodges around the park, including the beautiful Sabyinyo Silverback Lodge, where the steep climb up from the car park is totally worth it for the majestic vantage point, all bloody sunset and volcano silhouettes, fine booze, excellent food and luxurious cottages. Many lodges provide you with gaiters, strap- on leg guards designed to protect you from sole to knee from thorns and mud; gloves to protect your hands from nettles and thorns; and walking sticks, should you need them. Sometimes you do need them. Sometimes, if it rains, you can get sunk knee- deep into mud.
The equipment is vital— without gloves and gaiters, and without the thick raincoat they recommend, I would never have made it through the nettle forest— but on trek, you would be nothing without the guides and rangers. These men and women are the reason you can experience the frankly humbling privilege of tracking mountain gorillas.
When all the guests from all the lodges gather at the park HQ early in the morning, the guides get together in a little scrum and divvy up the guests into groups in the closest possible combination of relationship, fitness level and length of trek desired. No group can be larger than eight, led by a guide, who escorts them from and back to HQ. Along the way, the guided group rendezvous with the rangers who are keeping tabs on whichever gorilla family group you have been assigned to. Depending on where the animals are, you could walk as little as half an hour, or as much as six hours, one way.
The rangers track the animals all day, mark the spot where they build their evening nests, and trek back up the mountain early the next morning so that they can direct guests to exactly where the animals are. It is physically gruelling work, on top of being one that requires expert knowledge. Trackers speak a bit of gorilla— enough to communicate friendliness, submission and warning, the latter used mostly to keep the curious babies from climbing up their legs. And you have to have seen a silverback gorilla, or even a small female, to know what courage it takes to face a mock charge. The guides and trackers, by the way, do all this in plain old gumboots and thin sweaters, and often no gloves. They will stand rock solid in the middle of what looks like a mudslide even though they’re carrying all your shit, politely holding nettles aside for you with their bare hands, and sometimes physically heaving you over terrain you can’t do yourself. They deserve generous tips. Do tip them.
There is no other wildlife experience I know of, in which ordinary untrained people can get so close to large, potentially dangerous animals, as walking with the mountain gorillas of Rwanda. You can swim with sharks, if you’re a scuba diver. You can hang with lions, if you’re trained to. You can track tigers, on foot only if you’re trained, or from the safety of a jeep or elephant- back if you’re untrained. But these mountain gorillas? Any tottering retiree or portly couch potato can just walk up to them. Okay, it’s malaria country and it’s not easy, but who said being a primate with an opposable thumb is easy?
THERE IS NO OTHER WILDLIFE EXPERIENCE IN WHICH ORDINARY UNTRAINED PEOPLE CAN GET SO CLOSE TO A LARGE, POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS ANIMAL