GORILLA WARFARE
Vanessa Loubser recalls some hairy experiences on a trip to post-war Rwanda in 1995
W E visited Rwanda in 1995 in the middle of the refugee crisis, one year after the war and genocide. Our original intention was to go to Uganda, to see the gorillas in the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park and to visit the Rwenzori Mountains National Park.
Upon entering Uganda, however, we were informed that the dominant silverback gorilla in Bwindi had been killed and that rebels had occupied the Rwenzori area.
On our way to Kampala, we met journalists who had just come out of Rwanda to see the gorillas. They said it was difficult but not impossible and advised us that it would be better to take local transport and only a small backpack because it would take too long to have our truck searched at every security point, positioned at every 30km, throughout the country.
We left our truck at a campsite in Kampala and got onto a bus headed south towards Kigali. Our driver travelled at a hair-raising speed and was addicted to blowing his seven-trumpeted horn.
We crossed over into Rwanda and got our passports stamped in a building with so many bullet holes you could see people working in all the different rooms, none of which had a roof. We continued at great speed, snaking through many hills, now driving on the right-hand side of the road.
In Kigali, accommodation was scarce, as every hotel, church and school was full of aid workers and volunteers. Eventually we found a place and spent the next day walking around town and organising our permits.
I was amazed when I walked into a bakery filled with the smells of freshly baked bread and coffee. When I tasted the crispy croissants, I thought for a moment I was in France. This made me reflect on the great contrast of the Rwandan people, who can appreciate such fine things in life and yet, at the same time, had witnessed and experienced immense brutalities.
We arrived in the frontier town of Ruhengeri, our point of departure for Volcanoes National Park and the abode of the gorillas. Sitting on the verandah of the only restaurant in town, we could see all the volcanoes, like a string of pearls around the outskirts of town.
Later that evening, we had just finished dinner when all the lights went out, except for one street lamp.
“Everybody leave now! You can pay tomorrow! Go! Now!” ordered the owner of the restaurant.
Through the window, I could see hundreds of soldiers with rifles running out of the building diagonally across the street from us. When I saw all that metal glistening in the light, I ran for the exit.
By the time I’d reached the top of the steps, the first soldier had already reached the bottom step, so I jumped off the side and bolted across the street to the hostel. As I reached the gate and turned around, I saw none of my fellow travellers were behind me. While they were being interrogated about who we were and why we were there, I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was free to seek help if anything happened to them.
As the border of the former Zaire is on the top ridge of these volcanoes, we were escorted by our guides, scouts and a handful of soldiers to protect us from the guerrillas, not the gorillas.
When we reached the volcanoes, the scouts went ahead as we slowly found our way through stinging nettle forest, a heavenly food for gorillas.
Finally, we came face to face with the Susa group of mountain gorillas. As a welcoming, we were charged by the all-pervasive power of a silverback and we did exactly as we had been advised: don’t look at him directly, sit down, pick some leaves and pretend to be eating them. Don’t run.
I thought about Dian Fossey’s last entry in her diary: “When you realise the value of all life, you dwell less on what is past and concentrate more on the preservation of the future.”
We were in the country of a thousand hills where you don’t ask people which village they come from but “From which hill are you?”
The silverback gorilla said: “I am from Mount Karisimbi and this is my home, my paradise. You can visit me for one hour only and then you must go back where you came from.” With respect and awe, I gave thanks and obeyed. — ©
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