Bonobo - An Expedition Diary by Andrew McAulay (Part III)
7.
Arriving back in our hotel in Kinshasa, it feels as if we have been gone a week, yet it has been one night only and our trip is only just beginning. Dinner and a briefing with Terese Hart is followed by an early night. The next morning, we are up before 5am to prepare for departure eastward. Our 5 hour charter flight, including a refueling stop, is destined for Katako Kombe in Kasai Orientale province, 1 hour ahead of Kinshasa (back on Paris time). Final phone calls are made and electronic messages dispatched, in the knowledge that our only form of communication with the outside world over the next 6 days will be via emergency satellite phone.
Claudine is joining us, in spite of experiencing symptoms of malaria. Contracting this parasite seems to be our group’s greatest fear and we are taking all manner of preventative measures – yet John Fellowes is suffering from what appear to be side effects of malarone, the malaria prophylactic we are taking. No matter, we press on and are soon in the air over Kinshasa, getting our first good view of the Congo river. Leaving the city behind, we behold the rainforest at last. Though increasingly fragmented in places, with slash and burn agriculture, the views out the window for much of the flight are of primary forest as far as the eye can see, in all directions. We know that the wildlife is rapidly disappearing, but most of what we are looking at has never been logged and we are all acutely aware of how precious and unique this scene is: these are the lungs of the Earth.
We have sent funds ahead to clear the airstrip at Katako Kombe, which neither of our pilots (Arcus have arranged for two, for safety reasons) have ever been to. Funds have also been sent to clear the bicycle track – which will serve as a road, first for our 4WD vehicle and then for motorcycles – and even to repair a bridge! We are only the third vehicle this year to travel that path (the first brought a bishop, to celebrate mass and the second a group of NGO workers who were turned back by a wary populace), because the usual route to our destination on the banks of the Lomami river is via pirogue, but that is a 5 day journey on the river (starting from an airstrip further North) and our time is constrained.
After meeting with local officials in Katako Kombe and sharing our picnic lunch with them, we embark on a 5 hour drive to a dilapidated mission building, where we will pitch our tents for the night. From the moment the plane touches down, we are a phenomenon, with everyone coming out to observe us. In each village we drive through, we are greeted with shouts and waves from the children and it begins to feel as if we are in some kind of event, being cheered along. The villages – with houses made of mud walls and thatched roofs – seem spotlessly clean, there being no modern materials to turn into “rubbish”, but most of the drive is along the bicycle track, with branches scraping against the sides of the car. We are bumping about all over the place, squeezed together on opposite-facing benches in the back, getting smothered in vegetation and assorted insects when the windows are open and sweltering with the windows closed. About half way through I begin to feel a bit queasy and am urged to take a turn in the front seat – what a relief that is!
It is dark when we arrive at the mission and we are tired. However, our tents have been pitched for us and a dinner of fried plantains, vegetables and manioc (the local cassava root staple) awaits. We are mostly vegetarians and that is just one of the many challenges that our hosts have faced in preparing for our arrival. In all truth, throughout our stay, in the face of conditions that most of us find quite challenging, every effort has been made to ensure our comfort (from Thermarests to delicious food to newly constructed outhouses – right down to a couple of bottles of scotch for the evenings!) and we are most grateful.
Still, the first night is not an easy one for me. Awaiting my turn with the “bucket” bath, I find myself feeling exhausted. Figuring out how best to arrange things in my tent takes time – as does sorting through my tightly-packed new, waterproof, pocket-less bag (we were allowed max 100kg per person, including body weight, on the plane, which left me with 15kg for personal effects – do the math!) – and when I finally settle down, I find it hard to sleep with all the human chatter outside. I have only managed a couple of hours sleep by the time I hear the “talking drum” start up, accompanied by passionate singing. The village has awoken and so must I. Several hours on the back of a motorbike that day present a new kind of challenge; bouncing along the track with a tiny broken left-side foot rest to balance on, my buttocks are soon aching and my whole body is stiff each time I get off to rest, while some new obstacle in the path is cleared. After what seems like an eternity, we arrive at the camp at Katopa and John Hart is there to greet us.
Crossing the Lomami in search of bonobos. (Photo credit: Slobodan Randjelović)
8.
The camp is truly an idyllic setting, overlooking the Lomami river to the proposed Park in Maniema province on the other side. Much further up river, the Park spreads out on both sides and into Orientale province. Even so, here at Katopa, bonobos can still be found either side of the river and our aim, of course, is to see some. Even if we do not, there is plenty to keep us occupied. On an afternoon pirogue trip, we spy fish eagles, hornbills, kingfishers and numerous other birds that I do not recognize. Dense, pristine jungle lines the banks and John Fellowes (or “Bonhomme” as the translation of his surname dictates he be known as) – who has been reading “King Leopold’s Ghost” and becoming a bit of an aficionado on the excesses of this despot (who claimed the entirety of the now-DRC for his private estate, before “selling” it to his own country, Belgium) - is looking for signs of Mr Kurtz (from Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness”). Happily there is no sign… but various monkey species are spotted each day, including wonderful little red-tailed monkeys, darting about high up in the trees in the middle of the camp. And we hear the nocturnal cry of the tree-hyrax a rare arboreal creature whose nearest relative is an elephant: it sounds, we are told, like an old lady being strangled.
Jean Bonhomme completed a PhD thesis on ants and he keeps his eyes on the ground wherever we go. For all of us, it is a unique experience to have someone around to point out details and share information about this most ubiquitous of insects. The colonies are actually “sisterhoods”, as he explains to a group of nuns we later meet – but I do not think they believe him… Amongst the things we discover about them is that they can deliver painful bites and even stings. One night, after dinner, in mid-sentence, I suddenly find myself frantically trying to remove something that has crawled up my pants and stung me hard. John is eventually able to get a good look at it with a torch. After some time, he declares, “well it’s either a headless ant or a spider”. Hmm… [further inspection confirms the former]
There are crocodiles somewhere in the water, but we are assured that they are small ones and we eventually brave it; the cool river water is a welcome refuge from the heat and a delicious way to wash off the day’s grime. But on our first attempt, before we see how fearlessly the village kids splash about, Jon Stryker feels something nibbling and we beat a hasty retreat from the water. Was it one of those tiny little fish that we can see or could it have been the tip of an enormous prehistoric snout? Anything seems possible out here… but a greater danger, I feel, is that of swallowing the water; I keep getting it on my lips, and the tip of my tongue, after submerging myself. Several years ago, my partner picked up a parasite in the Amazon and it has become an ongoing major health challenge for her. I am not keen to follow suit.
Around the proverbial camp fire, stories are swapped as we all get to know each other. There are Congo stories and there are stories from other places. Some of the stories are true, such as that of a woman known to our hosts, who got rolled by a crocodile and lost a limb (but not on this part of the river!) – whereas others seem dubious, such as that of the Amazonian researcher who had to wear a condom whilst wading amongst the reeds, to combat tiny fish which specialize in crawling up the smallest of bodily orifices. What is not clear is whether he needed to find ways to stay aroused whilst he conducted his operations.
At last I get a good night’s sleep, being more familiar with the routine and the next morning has been scheduled for pure relaxation. We will set off later in the afternoon for the “bivouac camp” in the Park; it is best that we arrive after dark because at this time of year, bees tend to swarm around makeshift camps and their numbers are particularly high this year, due to abundant flowering of their favorite nectar sources. Everything seems under control, but none of us are prepared for how big a challenge these little “bee-ings” will present.
9.
Around 4pm we cross the river in the pirogue and set off on foot from the other side, with provisions for the night. It is not long before we emerge from the forest into a patch of grassland savanna. The forest-savanna mosaic is characteristic of this far-southern end of the Park and it is what we drove through to get to Katopa. Higher, sandy soiled grasslands are interspersed with lower, swampy forests. Here in the Park, however, with no humans around and no disturbance to the vegetation, it seems much more pronounced. In fact, it is like nothing I have ever seen or imagined – like a scene from the Lost World, with vast savanna patches seemingly sculpted out of the similarly-scaled forests. Where the grasses are above our heads, they add to the feeling of being in some giant’s playground and I half expect to hear low rumblings from the forest and to see pterodactyls flying over ahead.
Instead it is the sounds of various birds and monkeys that we hear coming from the forest. There are forest elephants, leopards and large pythons around too – perhaps also okapi, the endemic Congo peacock and the recently described Lesula monkey… Out in the shorter grasses, we see orchids and termite mounds – and holes made by birds that burrow 2 meters down to lay their eggs.
We are accompanied, wherever we go, with a police escort: armed guards in military fatigues and berets, AK47s at the ready. This adds to the sense of adventure and even adds a touch of tension – though at no point do I really feel in any danger. This is in contrast to the concerns that I had prior to arrival. We had been assured that the conflict area was well east of where we would be going, but we could not help noticing the odd line buried in progress reports that referred to the “rebels”. The most recent report indicated that there had been a “setback” when rebels stole the project team’s gear – but that was further north in the Park. There is in fact one village remaining in the Park, though it will translocate shortly. Only recently there was a nasty incident there, where the village chief, who was dedicated to combating poaching, was tied to a tree and beaten to death. The poachers are on the run now and the woman who tipped them off – a rival to the chief and concubine of the head poacher – is being held on a kind of house arrest.
For around 3 hours, we move in and out of the trees, our views alternately narrowing and expanding, until we arrive, in the dark, at the bivouac camp. It is a fairy tale setting with simple benches and tables made of vine-bound branches and one area set aside with a thatch roof for dining. I am led to a little stream pool for a wash and as I stand there naked in the dark, soaping myself by the light of a torch, amidst the tall trees and nocturnal chirps and burps and hoots, pouring cup after cup of cool, refreshing water over my head, I feel a thrill of joy at being so close to nature. Not for the first time on this trip, I want to sing and dance!
The project team have located the bonobos and we will be “sung” awake at 4:30am. However, after dinner, Annette and Claudine are asked to lead a discussion with the local researchers based there – it is a unique opportunity for them to learn from bonobo experts – and preparations seem to continue long after they have finished. My tent is right where all the talking is taking place and once again, I find myself unable to sleep. I have ear plugs, but don’t want to miss all the night sounds, not to mention the wake-up song. Listening to the discussion is interesting too – I learn, for example, that if the researchers have an armed guard with them, it is important that the weapons are hidden from the bonobos, so that they do not lose their fear of them… But some kind of psychological mechanism kicks in – the fear of getting no rest becomes self-fulfilling – and sleep evades me.
The field team treks across a savannah patch. (Photo credit: Slobodan Randjelović)
10.
At 4:30am, even after a cup of strong tea, I am feeling drained. Then comes the 4-hour-march to the bonobos and back and the excitement of the sighting. On our return to the camp, we are looking forward to breakfast and a rest, but bees are swarming everywhere – thousands of them, landing on us and our equipment wherever they can! We hastily grab a coffee and a bite and pack our bags, but stings are inevitable. I would not say that the bees were aggressive – I receive 3 stings, but only where bees are caught in my clothing – but it is an unnerving experience and I find myself stumbling out of the campsite, with a half-packed bag in one hand and bits and pieces of clothing and equipment in the other. The bees follow me some distance through the forest and even out into the nearest savanna patch. Finally, as I enter the forest on the other side, I find other team members taking a rest. There is a tarpaulin on the ground and I collapse onto it on my back. I am getting quite dehydrated and looking pale, but Annette gives me a bottle of water with salts, which I drink quickly.
Somehow, few of us are aware (probably a good thing) that we still have 8 kilometers to go, through thick, swampy forest, to get to the river and the pirogue. The track we follow is a research “transect”, which is about as minimal as it gets. Some of the project team accompanying us are counting bonobo nests as we go – bonobos make 2 or 3 nests in the course of a day – but the rest of us are trying to avoid the low hanging branches, the thorny vines, the swamps and the ants! Us urban dwellers accumulate bruises, scratches, bites and stings as we move unprofessionally through the undergrowth. The name of one of the Congolese team members is ‘Jamais Tombé’ (never fallen) – which he no doubt lives up to, judging by his short, stocky build – so we end up referring to ourselves as ‘Toujours Tombé’ (lit: always fallen)! I have been trying to avoid getting my feet wet all morning, but eventually they slip into a pool of mud and my shoes are caked. I end up wading through water to wash it all off. It is wonderfully cool for the feet, but means blisters to come.
It is cooler in the forest than out in the open savanna, but I still find myself heating up – and with the lack of sleep, the journey is taking a toll on my body. It seems interminable, but our spirits stay high enough to marvel at our surroundings: the massive, buttressed rooted trees, the multi-colored mushrooms – purple, white, red – old bonobo nests up above and even a hingeback turtle, hiding in a little cave. Eventually we make it to the river and judging by the length of the pirogue ride back to Katopa, we have covered some distance. At camp, we collapse into the water for a bathe, but I have heat stroke and am feeling fluish and without appetite. I rest while the others eat a late lunch… and I marvel once more at the tricks that time plays: it seems impossible that we left this camp less than 24 hours ago.
11.
That afternoon the skies open and blessings pour down: the rainy season has begun and the downpour is timed perfectly to avoid disrupting our walk in the forest and to soften the soil for the bumpy ride back to Katako Kombe the next day. Exhaustion can be quite pleasant when one is able to rest and I find myself feeling quite overcome by what we have experienced. It is such an immense privilege to be in this place and in the company of such expertise. There cannot be too many people in this country with as much dedication and as many years of conservation experience as those in our group. The challenge for TL2 will be succession. Naturally it is vital to build the local capacity, but in the current political climate, a foreigner can have more leverage and easier access to officials than a Congolese person.
Still, the younger, Congolese team members are impressive and eager to learn. I have been enjoying practicing my French - dormant for 25 years – and trying to articulate new concepts that I have picked up in the intervening years. With Willie Mekombo, the accountant and Matthieu, a biologist-researcher, I share my understanding of holistic science – of the need to look both outward and inward at the same time in our quest to understand this world – to learn through inner silence as much as through concepts. Unencumbered by too much Western, scientific conditioning, they seem to know exactly what I am talking about and perhaps I should not be surprised.
For me, this trip reminds me of one of the main reasons for my interest in helping to protect the Earth’s last remaining big, intact, wild places. Apart from the fact that the collapse of our global, growth-driven economic system, at whatever rate, seems inevitable – leaving the more remote, ecologically intact areas as important seeds of resilience for the Earth in the future – there is the spiritual carrying-capacity of nature to consider. Where fewer thought-waves – and other historical impressions of disturbance – are in the air, it is easier for the mind to become still. Then one can begin to experience what modern science has begun to discover: that the mind and the world, the inner and the outer, are one and the same. As individuals, we are microcosms of – and no different from – the Universe. It is one thing to know this intellectually, but to experience the truth of it is to be transformed. One can even say that it is to become alive for the first time – to realize that one has been living a kind of death, absorbed in mental ruts and cut off from reality.
Bonobo – An Expedition Diary by Andrew McAulay (Part I)