Of Eyes and Ears and Apes: Vacation Part II

When we left off last time, my friends had abandoned me in Goma, DR Congo, after having spent the night on the rim of the very volcano that had virtually destroyed Goma six years before. What does one do, alone, in Goma? There really is only one thing to do: arrange one’s departure. Which is precisely what I did. My disinclination towards prolonging the stay was apparently not unfounded; after rumours that one of the rebel groups based just outside the city was in the process of rearming, they indeed did attack the Congolese military the following week. The fighting, which is still ongoing, is being described by the UN as some of the most intense in many months.

I, on the other hand, was able to procure a ticket for a seat on La Marionnette, a rapid boat ferry service connecting Goma at the northern tip of Lake Kivu and Bukavu at the south. That was an entire story in itself, but suffice it to say that after finally getting on board and embarking (much gratitude again to the brilliant team at World Relief Goma), I promptly scoped out the windows to ensure that I’d be able to fit through if necessary, and had determined that although we were closer to the Congo side of the lake, if for whatever reason I found myself in the water, I would instead elect to head towards Rwanda; and furthermore, that after a swim like that, I’d more than merit the brunch buffet at the Serena Hotel, and would not be even slightly deterred by the fact that all my money was at the bottom of the lake. 

Disembarking unscathed in Bukavu, however, I met a friend named Papa Pierre, the director of one of MCC’s partner organisations. After catching up a bit, he brought me to his cousin’s house where he had arranged for me to stay. It is quite evident that Bukavu was once a paradise of sorts: myriad multi-storied colonial mansions rise dilapidated from the steep sides of finger-like peninsulas, each one taller than the next in order to secure its view of the lake. Decades of neglect, corruption, instability, and urban migration, to name just a few things, have left it an overcrowded ramshackle town covered by a thick coat of dust. I really liked it actually.

Papa Pierre had prior engagements the first night, and I somehow found myself at a sordid little establishment with his cousin, Erasthon, three of his friends, and a goat’s head on a platter of boiled potatoes staring back at me. We discussed local politics and development, or rather the lack thereof, as I, with the local beverage of choice, quite literally washed down an eye and an ear and something else I couldn’t quite distinguish. It was over this pièce de résistance that we also thrashed out plans for the next day’s main event: a visit to the nearby Kahuzi-Biega National Park to observe the gorillas, one of the world’s rarest and most majestic species. Erasthon just so happened to be going away on business, otherwise he would have accompanied me. But he also told me that he just so happened to have an old army-issue Landcruiser and a chauffeur, whose services he would be glad to offer me as long as I’d put in some fuel. I was glad to oblige. And I was glad that the chauffeur, Aimé, very wisely had the two spare tires repaired that morning before setting out. And I was also glad that the vehicle, although old and more than a little beat up, proved itself to be practically indestructible. I say this because it took nearly two hours to travel the 40 kilometres from Bukavu to the park entrance, and before the day was done we would end up requiring both spares.  

Arriving at the park, I paid my $300 as well as the $20 for Aimé to join, because he had not yet seen the gorillas either. Four armed guides accompanied us, while a fifth waited with the vehicle on the main park access road. As it was still the dry season, and because the park is located in a mountainous region, we actually had to descend for several kilometres to find the apes in the marsh where they were feeding on roots. Then, after winding our way through overhead marsh grasses for 20 minutes, we entered into a small clearing and there he was: a massive silverback who struck in me the fear of God when he welcomed us with a fake charge, coming to a stop a mere two metres in front of us. There was also a female with five or so little fluffy babies bouncing around. We were given just over an hour with the gorilla family, which we followed throughout the marsh as they were going about their normal business. An hour with such a rare and magnificent beast in its natural habitat was impressive, to say the least; the simple fact that there was no fence or glass between him and us made me all the more conscious of his terrible strength, and of the wildness and wonderfulness of our planet. It also made me acutely aware of how much they stink (it was really quite unbelievable!).

That, in slightly more than a nutshell, encompasses my brief but excellent little vacation in eastern Congo. After being wonderstruck by the gorillas, I spent a bit more time in Bukavu, and then proceeded back to Bujumbura by bus. The ride was uneventful but for the almost unprecedented feat of making it through the borders of Congo, Rwanda and Burundi without the slightest hitch or anxiety.

The whole thing was almost too easy to be a real Congo adventure.