Our guide told us to stay together and to be on
the lookout for elephants, since we would be hiking on trails that they
used daily to search for food. But elephants weren’t our only concern.
“If a gorilla charges you,” our guide warned us, “stand still and look
at the ground. He won’t hurt you; he’ll just make a lot of noise. Don’t
make eye contact with him. In fact, I find it helps just to close my
eyes.”
Along with our guide, we were led by a tracker
from the BaAka people, considered a Pygmy group because of their
physical traits and short stature. By
means of the faintest sights, smells, and sounds, the skilled native
tracker can detect the presence of the most elusive animals. Swarms of
maddening sweat bees surrounded us. We struggled to keep up as he strode
with ease through the dense vegetation.
Soon our tracker was taking us through virgin
forest where few Westerners have ever trod. Then, abruptly, he stopped
and waved his arms over a large area near our path. There we could see
crushed bushes and matted grass where young gorillas had been playing,
as well as broken and stripped branches—the remnants of a midmorning
snack. Our anticipation mounted as we continued on.
After about two miles (3 km), the tracker slowed
his pace. To avoid startling the gorillas, he made a clack-clack noise
with his tongue. Close by, we could hear deep grunts punctuated by
snapping branches. Our guide slowly waved us forward. With a finger to
her lips, she indicated absolute silence. She told us to crouch and
pointed through the trees. About 26 feet (8 m) ahead, we saw him—it was
Makumba!
The once boisterous forest was now quiet, and all
we could hear was the beating of our hearts. Of course, the question on
our minds was, Would Makumba charge? Makumba turned his leathery face in
our direction and, after what seemed to be a casual evaluation,
welcomed us with a yawn. Needless to say, we were relieved!
Although in the Aka language the name Makumba
means “Speedy,” during our time together, Makumba simply enjoyed a
leisurely morning meal. Nearby, two juveniles wrestled and tickled each
other. Sopo, a saucer-eyed ten-month-old, played near his mother,
Mopambi, who gently pulled him back whenever his boundless curiosity led
him out of arm’s reach. The rest of the family either stripped leaves
and pith from branches or frolicked in groups, briefly glancing at us
before losing interest and resuming their play.
After an hour, our time was up. Makumba seemed to
feel the same, and with a single grunt, he hoisted himself up with his
massive arms and moved off into the forest. Within seconds, the entire
family vanished. Though we could spend only a short time with these
magnificent creatures, the experience will stay with us for many years
to come.
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