the chimpanzee fortress
may 2021
6°16′S 29°56′E
walking the hallowed halls of green.
i
with every swing of his machete, Hussein takes a deep bite from the thick jungle. he appears entirely comfortable with the sweltering heat or the greenhouse-like humidity of the jungle. even in the dark shade of thick vine-bound canopies i find the climate challenging - my backpack of lenses, batteries, memory cards, and other cameraperson’s paraphernalia presses down hard on my shoulders. i am by no means pushed to the limits of my abilities, but hiking around in what could easily be a sauna makes me ravenous constantly. yet i stubbornly continue following Hussein, my valiant guide, who, to my admiration, has been fasting over the course of our hikes. His pace is brisk and steady and he sometimes stops to listen to the sounds of the jungle. unexpectedly he gestures to me to follow and his pace accelerates to that of a jog. holding on to my oversized lens and camera kit, i shove branches and vines out of the way as i tread in Hussein’s footsteps. the jog is once again interrupted as he checks the radio in his pocket - a distorted, yet distinctly upbeat voice can be heard articulating Swahili on the other end. Hussein bolts again, his pace hastened. my moist, heavy clothes rub uncomfortably against my skin, yet i keep up, shielding the front of my camera lens. on the side of the overgrown trail, we eventually stop - for the first time i notice he has broken a sweat. i also notice a blue denim-coloured silhouette move about the bushes - a fortuitous sign, as i have been told only the researchers from the University of Kyoto wear blue suits.
we walk off the trail and cut through the jungle. at Hussein’s call i put on a canvas facemask as i vault over thick roots and bushes; eventually, he stops. my hands shake as i grip the barrel of my lens. i am unequivocally wet and my breath bouncing off my facemask would make it nigh impossible to use the viewfinder. the air is still; my attention is drawn to motion among the grasses - the blue suit walks towards us as dark figures rustle leaves all around.
a single high pitched cry triggers a symphony of noises and vocalisations: we are virtually surrounded by chimpanzees and my ears ring with their sudden excitement.
ii
my visit to Mahale happened around May 2021, right around the time when Europe had just started to open up to tourism. while this would have clearly been a reason for celebration for those working in Tanzania’s tourism industry, it was a bittersweet victory - most European tourists book their trips to East Africa months in advance. as such, Mahale had been receiving merely a trickle of tourists over the previous months, though a steady one. some of the regular entry points to the National Park would have thus been shut off for the time being - the Mahale Airstrip, possibly the most comfortable route, had seen no flights in weeks; May being off-season would not have helped either. luckily, flying from Dar es Salaam to Kigoma, the city closest to Mahale, was not uncommon, as many passengers travel to the region for purposes other than tourism. yet this barely addressed the matter of making it to Mahale from Kigoma - though stunningly beautiful, the Tanzanian countryside has not (generally speaking) been pierced by modern infrastructure. thanks to its peninsula-like shape advancing into Lake Tanganyika, Mahale National Park could have been reachable by speedboat, yet this could have easily meant higher costs for a solitary visitor. thus i elected to travel part of the way by car.
the earthen roads of rural Tanzania (click to enlarge image).
my V6 engine-drawn carriage raced across the earthen roads by the shores of Tanganyika, often at speeds so high its wheels barely touched the ochre tinted gravel. my driver spoke little English, which made it unlikely for me to understand the progress of our journey - from devouring the landscape at unimaginable speeds, the vehicle unexpectedly drove through a modestly populated village and straight on the shores of the lake. it was on one of the rocky beaches, sunset rays reflecting from Tanganyika’s mirror-like surface, where i met my boat operator, my cook and Hussein, my guide.
on the shores of Tanganyika (click to enlarge image).
we set off for Mahale, knowing we were unlikely to knock on the green gates of the fortress before nightfall. rocking with the turquoise waves of the lake, i watched the hills of the Congo in the distance. an indistinguishable period of time passed before ever taller trees and grasses took over the Tanzanian shoreline until eventually it disappeared completely. i knew we were drawing ever closer to the fortified walls. with the slowing down of my boat, the frighteningly deep indigo waters of Tanganyika settled. the vessel glided across what had become a starry mirror and i was hoisted ashore along with my gear - an unwelcome guest at the gates of the fortress, in the middle of the night.
iii
to me, the novice conservationist, TaNaPa (Tanzania National Parks) grounds emitted a religious-like allure. within them i saw the earthly meeting point of three destructive vectors: humanity; protective interference from those learned in the secrets of natural balance - the priests and acolytes of a secretive cult; and unbridled natural forces. unbeknownst to visitors, in the face of nature, the cultists tread a fine line between chaos and control - where a misstep could easily test the resilience of nature, technological strength needs to be dispensed wisely. when the slowing down of tourism had choked the flow of visitors down to a trickle, this fine line had been rendered even thinner. for a brief, perhaps historical moment, nature and civilisation appeared to be locked into an armwrestling match where the former stood a chance at victory.
(click to enlarge image)
i felt honoured to be there at the time. even as i unconvincingly found my way off the boat in complete darkness, i could tell there was hardly any other way into Mahale. perhaps the lake had swollen up preternaturally during a rainy season which had surprised virtually every Tanzanian person i had spoken to, yet the beaches i had so often seen in photographs were nowhere to be found. i was ushered to the bandas, government-owned accommodation the profits of which had a better chance of feeding back into the upkeep of the Park. though simple, the living conditions afforded by the bandas were more than i had bargained for. there was little to complain about and the lack of network coverage bothered me very little - the aura of the jungle had miraculously overridden all anxiety.
one way in (click to enlarge image).
the conservation area has a good number of accommodation facilities for visitors, it turns out, some of which i even passed by over my days of exploring in and around the green fortress. as private entities, these addressed a different demographic, one which is, perhaps, a little less conscious of the equitability of their travels… or simply better off. stubborn and armed with an idealist’s mindset, and constrained by budget nonetheless, i wanted my nights to be spent in the dignified simplicity of comfort the state-owned bandas offered. never had i expected i would be met with such a high standard of living: hot water, tidy interiors, a gigantic bed, along with just about enough insulation to keep temperatures constant - more than an intruder could ever hope for, in a faraway corner of the world.
early in the morning after my arrival, i awoke to loud thumps on the roof of my banda. i knew it could not have been Hussein, our first meeting was still some time away. walking out of the bungalow i understood where the ruckus had come from - my first appointment with members of the royal court had just commenced. sitting at an awkward position between nobility and an extended party of court jesters, baboons had by far the most visibility. the baboons’ unquestionable intelligence manifested early, with younglings who, in an effort to attract my attention, slapped nearby surfaces whenever we crossed gazes. nothing would escape these agile primates and they would be seen sneaking into our kitchen or at times, digging holes into what little pavement existed around the bandas, all for no apparent reason. oftentimes, they would engage in their shenanigans unashamedly, making a point of not breaking eye contact with onlookers as they ripped out the cobblestones or messed about with some poor soul’s flip flops.
maternity (click to enlarge image).
my audition with the band of baboons was closely followed by a brief encounter with a more... stately group of courtiers - red-tailed monkeys. Hussein would later explain members of this highly secretive caste rarely granted auditions, yet on account of a shockingly small number of visitors, they had, perhaps unwittingly, met me in an area over which their zone of comfort had only recently extended. this happened to be right outside the bandas; still, it should be understood what awaited there was nothing but thick, wall-like vegetation, making it nigh impenetrable for us bipeds. shy and reclusive in their tight social structures, red-tailed monkeys only graced me with their striking appearance once. later trudging through the jungle, their presence lingered, red tails always just out of sight.
emboldened by my first set of exchanges with those living in the fortress, i met Hussein for breakfast in the rusty mess hall which awaited right outside my banda. the condition of the facility mirrored what i had repeatedly observed around Tanzania: ever-present heat and moisture eroded any man-made structure at an alarming rate. one would have to be forgiven for assuming the mess hall had been left to rot for years, but it would have likely been mere weeks. i made peace with the smell of mould and carefully followed Hussein’s plan for the day.
his speech was soft, steady, reassuring, charged with the sagely knowledge of all pathways of the fortress. he explained we would venture into the thicket and the journey would be no small feat, as the corridors of the fortress rarely abode by human order. a way into the jungle did exist and it had been worn into by sages such as himself, yet many of these tangled corridors had erstwhile grown shut. he also clarified what my early morning auditions had meant: while i would never, ever leave the presence of baboons, the red-tailed courtiers rarely showed their faces to visitors. or if they did, it would only last for a brief moment. between the lines i read that an interview with the royals living in the fortress was by no means certain.
i was also handed a book of names where, to my surprise, i could find proof of that steady trickle of tourists. the names of a German family stood out, along with that of a British lady in her eighties (indeed, the book featured a column for age too).
***
our failure to track down the chimpanzees over the course of our first day did not come as too big of a surprise. nonetheless, Hussein had broken the news of our failure in his usual sagely manner, having likely experienced the discontent of other, possibly less composed visitors. i do not recall the reasons why our first attempt had gone awry - perhaps we had missed the chimpanzee’s narrow window for siesta, after which they would have been on the move, effectively impossible to track. not knowing what to expect from my own tolerance (or lack thereof) to the environmental conditions of the fortress, Hussein appeared to temper his expectations from our initial incursion: maybe he had just wanted to make sure i would withstand a longer hike and had elected against going all out from the get go.
wearing a sturdy pair of rubber boots, he led me through the leaves, hacking through dense foliage or tiptoeing our way across streams, over wooden bridges or collapsed logs. if not focusing in on the faraway sounds of the cathedral-like halls of green, Hussein would simply walk. with a steady pace and a gait reminiscent only of the most skilled hikers, he would sometimes gaze over his shoulder, as if to ensure his follower had not been reclaimed by the denizens of the foliage.
carving a path (click to enlarge image).
meditatively matching his pace, i measured his footsteps; always behind by a few paces, i knew where to walk in order to avoid getting caught into the many string-like plants covering the trail. his setting of the course afforded me the opportunity to look around, and i sometimes caught glimpses of Mahale’s permanent inhabitants high up in the canopy: “flying” monkeys, possibly of the vervet and colobus variety. their behaviour, in and of itself unpredictable at times, was easily observed: as Hussein explained, if the leader of a troop mustered the initiative to swap canopies, effectively taking a leap of faith (or “flying”) in the process, then the other members would follow suit. for a man brandishing a camera, such as myself, that was golden advice.
airborne (click to enlarge image).
the monkeys would, however, descend at times, mostly for the sake of tapping into a wider variety of food sources. this overlapped with the chimpanzees’ own feeding habits, bringing about the sort of court intrigue typical to all such institutions around the world. the monkeys find themselves at odds with the chimpanzee’s claim to hegemony over lemon trees, sugar cane, and the colourful assortment of fruits the fortress has on offer all year round. as would be fitting to their stately position on the food chain, the chimpanzees rarely consume unripe fruit; the only notable exception would likely be lemons, the taste of which makes the chimpanzees cringe. their underlings, however, take no heed of the state of the fruit, gobbling them down, ripe or not. those particularly audacious among the courtiers will even consume blossoms, a most unthoughtful act in the eyes of their primate overlords. this drives the chimpanzees up and sometimes, to the delight of visitors, down the green corridors of their mountainous estate. though i have not been sufficiently lucky to greet them at the base of the mountain, signs of their passage, mostly in the form of lemon peels, could be found on the trails us humans sometimes use to navigate the jungle.
a sour feast (click to enlarge image).
in spite of distant vocalisations and rustling among the leaves, we failed in our pursuit of the chimpanzees. i was not discouraged: the magic of the fortress had timidly revealed itself to me. the labyrinthian wedding of mossy rock and living wood often appeared to reach out as we brushed past leaves; wherever the canopy fell under the bite of Hussein’s machete, it appeared to grow back almost immediately; and marching past muddy river beds often stirred up large groups of iridescent dragonflies.
Hussein’s pace had put me in a state of shallow, meditative hypnosis, yet he had no reason to worry i would lag behind. i made my presence felt plenty: at times panting and always awkward in my gait, i did keep up with my guide. in fact, my own physical performance had been propelled to heights i had never experienced before. i was well fed - a rich African diet i had sustained for over two months, paired with plenty of sleep and ever-expanding exercise sessions had fortified my body well. i felt as if i had struck the optimal balance of weight and endurance, and the jungle trek did not stress my body, it rather had it run like a well tuned engine. nevertheless, optimal performance under the humidity and temperatures of the rainforest meant i was using up quite a few calories.
my breakfast had been more than generous. i had eaten like a horse, perhaps to cover for the necessities of at least two. in all honesty, i had stuffed myself until i felt sick. dinner followed suit - i could rarely finish the gargantuan portions of food handed to me. my body burned through all of it easily, putting me in a paradoxical state of food-induced comatose and ravenous hunger, both at the same time. regrettably, the magic of the forest did not endow me with a larger (or second) stomach, meaning that i would stuff myself sick for every meal for the remainder of my visit.
pristine (click to enlarge image).
iv
hopeful and well rested, i sprung to the yurt-shaped mess hall early in the second morning. on the off chance our much sought after royalty would fail to materialise during the second day of our pursuit, Hussein informed me, a few other sages from within the sea of green had been drafted into our effort. using a radio terminal - Mahale was not covered by GSM -, he would communicate our position to those he had labelled as his “friends”: a local working for TaNaPa, a group of scientists, and perhaps many more.
radio updates (click to enlarge image).
i was prepared for a much sprightlier hike this time around, and Hussein did not fail to deliver. we followed a route similar to the previous day’s, making our way underneath the green arches, vaulting across lively rivers, and hacking away at the exact same corridors i thought we had cleared the day before.
clearly discernible in the beginning, our pathway eventually faded away, but it still carried us deep into the green. i found myself crawling through tight, thorny spaces, dragging my lenses along and hoping no stray stem would entangle the only weapon i dared carry into chimpanzee territory. more struggle awaited on the other end of each tunnel - covered in thorns and caoutchouc, i would stand up and drive all the debris through my skin. nevertheless, as the elevation increased and thick canopies replaced the blue of the sky, chimpanzee “nests” dotted the surroundings, perched atop leaning trees. “they’re close,” must have uttered Hussein, pointing towards the round, leafy structures.
necessary preparations had to be made before approaching a group of chimpanzees. not only did this mean putting on a facemask, but also getting to grips with a bit of basic etiquette. i would likely be tested by the leader of the group, Hussein warned me, meaning that an infinitely stronger alpha male would charge at me. the intentions behind his actions were not to spark conflict, not necessarily, but my best bet would be to simply stand still. unless genuinely threatened, the charge would never end with a blow. i was to avoid eye contact at all costs as well - a direct gaze would be perceived as threatening by males and would have some females shy away. but most importantly, i was to be quiet and mindful of their movements and behaviour, as i soon discovered both uncannily resembled our own.
panting slightly, mostly due to the rush of having achieved one of my goals, i calmly made my way towards what appeared to be a group of small, dark-coloured mounds of dirt. i eventually saw them move and felt something stir deep down within me, as if the most precious moments of my life had just begun burning away. each second counted and i wished for all that was unfolding before me to be consigned to memory, for posterity. when one of the so-called “mounds” rose above the bushes and charged straight at me, the earth rumbled, the leaves quaked, and i felt many pairs of eyes, all set in my direction. on account of my trust for Hussein and equally, the indescribable feeling which had taken hold of me, neither did i feel threatened, nor did i wish to move. perhaps i acknowledged my position as an unwelcome guest among the chimpanzees and did not fear the repercussions of my transgression. nonetheless, all advice proved true and my “attacker” backed out at the last moment. imagined or not, i felt the air loosen up, as young chimpanzees made their way onto nearby branches, while the tall grasses revealed the adults.
togetherness in grooming (click to enlarge image).
we had officially been granted an audience with the so-called “M Group,” as named by the blue suits. to understand and build rapport with the chimpanzees, the first blue suits had arrived in 1965, as delegates of the University of Kyoto. at the time, the entire chimpanzee population of Mahale cohabitated as one large, apparently unstructured group. to facilitate the process of habituation with us humans, the blue suits split the chimpanzees, with the patrol routes of the M and K groups often overlapping. a total of 65 members could be identified as part of the M group, though mobility between these family-like structures was not entirely unheard of. in contrast with our own social dynamics, social mobility is only afforded to females, which, in turn, prevents inbreeding. males, however, constitute the backbone of any given chimpanzee dynasty, making it impossible to escape the mores of tradition. this, however, does not mean that a male chimpanzee’s life ever gets boring: climbing the social vines of any given group is ferociously challenging and even a hard-earned position has to be maintained, usually at significant expense. chimpanzee’s psychological complexity - a fully grown individual’s intelligence is said to equate to a human five year old’s - creates fertile ground for dynamics such as those of trust, reputation, or credibility. in other words, a male has to prove himself in the eyes of his group if he is to stand a chance at going up in ranks. similarly, a so-called “alpha male” must be personable in the eyes of his peers, yet sufficiently aggressive and strong-armed in order to keep challengers at bay. an overly aggressive alpha will eventually be dethroned by popular demand, while a weak leader will simply perish at the hands of an overzealous youngster. such is life under the arches of green: a delicate balance of violence and persuasion, set on a background of ecological fragility.
baby chimp theatricals (click to enlarge image).
yet onlookers may be fooled into believing that the strenuous politics of chimpanzee life have vanished when observing a group during its “siesta”, that part of the day right after a wholesome meal which helps conserve energy and provides ample opportunity for mutual grooming. the latter is nothing new among primates; it is even likely that, through exposure to a wealth of television programmes, most of us would have no trouble identifying the act. in a typical display of chimpanzee aristocracy, the members of the M group have elected to do things differently: locked in a “high-five”-like handshake, they will not be seen taking turns at grooming. instead, any two chimpanzees engaged in this graceful ritual will groom each other simultaneously. nowhere else can this behaviour be observed, Hussein explains, and i consider myself fortunate for having been there as it happened.
the Mahale “high-five” (click to enlarge image).
v
1996 marked the end of chimpanzee’s close and frequent encounters with their taller and (debatably) smarter cousins, us humans. a wave of death swept across one of the dynasties of the jungle, leading to the loss of about 11 individuals. it was revealed we had been at fault for the disaster: the shocking similarity of our genetic makeup translates into similar vulnerability to disease.
we should have known better.
a daring gaze (click to enlarge image).
regulation was eventually passed: humans were to keep their distance at all times and facemasks had become an absolute must. yet without this horrible occurrence, the story of Darwin, now an older, wise-looking chimpanzee, would have never been told.
Darwin would have been three around the time disease struck, taking away his mother and leaving him in the care of an unlikely adoptive father. Mze Moshi (“old man Moshi”) took care of Darwin as he would have of his own kin, bringing him up to chimpanzee adulthood and facilitating his reintegration within the M group. the story of Mze Moshi and Darwin would have continued had it not been for the new set of regulations; in fact, the two kept in touch late into Darwin’s adulthood and long after his return to his family of jungle dwellers. out in the wild, whenever Darwin sensed Moshi had come to visit, he would invite his adoptive father to groom him - imagine the old man’s delight as his hairy son would mimic a scratching motion! Moshi would duly oblige, understanding that the regal standards of chimpanzee etiquette would normally bar any ole human from what effectively was the highest of honours - grooming a member of the house of Chimp. yet the new regulations meant that Moshi could no longer comply with his adoptive son’s request and one fateful day, Darwin’s customary signal appeared to go unnoticed. the chimpanzee would have done it again, leading to the very same result; Moshi tried to build rapport with Darwin even in the absence of their grooming ritual, though to no avail.
Darwin (click to enlarge image).
that was the last time Darwin was seen gesturing to Moshi. Today, Darwin roams the jungle in the company of his own species; he is placid, observant, albeit reserved in the presence of our kind. yet his gaze sometimes pierces the distance as we point our lenses at him, his demeanour changing briefly in what would be acknowledgment of our relative closeness. it is within that split second when an unexplained feeling may wash across his countenance, perhaps mourning trust lost and never regained.
***
“it is ironic that the first real conservators of the Mahale Mountains [...] who lived in a near perfect symbiosis with their environment, have now been excluded from their ancestral land.” - Jens Finke, Tanzania.
before the chimpanzees were given what would be almost free rein over the area, they had shared what today is their fortress with their distant cousins - humans. our peaceful coexistence with the primates had been established on account of our unobtrusive style of life and dispersed existence at the time. Mahale’s status as a game reserve allowed for 35,000 humans to live on its grounds, most hailing from two tribes: the Holoholo and the Batongwe. it is assumed that the chimpanzee’s “flatmates” had migrated westwards from what today is the Democratic Republic of Congo, likely crossing Tanganyika’s 50km width by boat. these late permanent inhabitants of Mahale practically lived off the land, cultivating fruit trees in tiny, remote communities. their way of living was perfectly in tune with the natural cycle of the jungle and their congregations would usually take place under the foliage of a large mango tree.
the congregation tree (click to enlarge image).
to the astute observer signs of their past existence can still be found - on what today is a “listening point” for visitors of Mahale, a well worn rock “pot” can be found. the sight of its well polished surface fuels the imagination, highlighting a singular temporal thread which still connects the onlooker with generations upon generations of inhabitants past.
a “pot.” looked much more like a mortar to me (click to enlarge image).
by 1987, Mahale had been made a National Park. certainly, this meant chimpanzees could now roam the grounds without a care in the world - except for, of course, their natural predators and the odd poacher -, yet the previous inhabitants had to uproot their lives and perhaps start living on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, within settlements close by.
***
when the group decided to head deeper towards the mountain, we began our retreat to the bandas. with the disposition of one who has witnessed a wonder of the world, i barely uttered a word. instead, i retraced my steps, all in my mind, in an attempt to commit the entirety of the experience to long term memory.
over dinner, i dared access the bandas’ internet connection and found we had covered a rather insignificant area of Mahale. whatever lies beyond the walls of the rainforest, i wondered - of the 1,600 square kilometres of Mahale, we had barely scratched the surface. Gombe, made famous by Jane Goodall, only covers around 50 square kilometres.
vi
i would only be fortunate enough to meet them again on my fourth (and last) day in Mahale.
our failure to track them down again on the third day left me unfazed. a morning of going through the motions - piercing the jungle, spotting clues, listening - had gotten my hopes up. yet hoping to be successful on two consecutive days would have been wishful thinking. we had no choice but to give up. truth is, once we missed the siesta window, our opportunities for finding them plummeted. consequently, we went on hacking at the foliage instead, uncovering increasingly impressive, mystical almost, trails. at times, the pathways would fade under the swirls of stems and leaves, giving Hussein the opportunity to use his magic: a swing of his machete, a few steps taken sideways, or simply a calculated shove would open up gateways of whichever trail we found ourselves on. at times like these, i felt like i was being tested, prepared even, for a feat of sorts.
our steps eventually took us back to the mossy markers at the starting point of all trails. in the proximity of our base of operations, i had begun formulating objectives for the remainder of the day, before a sudden rustle of leaves made me bounce. even Hussein stopped and turned his head, eyes scanning the area for signs of predatory intent. none was found however and i could see his shoulders ease up. whispering, he indicated a bush nearby, where a singular tusk intermittently rooted the ground or at times revealed its glint in patches of light. eventually, the head of a boar came to the fore and i did all but freeze at the sight of it. it presently became apparent that it had no interest in taking any sort of defensive action, and i eventually let my guard down. unbeknownst to me, we had happened upon one of the court's most enigmatic presences, a time-lost elder of Mahale, who could rarely be seen roaming the grounds.
originally one of a quartet of piglets, all female, the ageing boar that rooted close by was the last one to be seen alive. social beings at heart, the four boars-to-be had likely understood their waning chances at survival in the absence of a drove of their own and instead turned to interacting with the most unlikely visitors: humans. this has made them preternaturally comfortable with us bipeds, behaviour which, naturally, did not go unnoticed by visitors. eventually, this was consecrated as one of the curiosities of Mahale, thus adding another footnote to the chronicles of the chimpanzee fortress.
***
i’d be telling lies if i said i felt relaxed during the fourth morning. with the pressure of elapsing time and a spell of less attractive weather, i wished for a successful hunt. missing the chimpanzees had become a possibility, one which i had had to contend with the night before. without uttering a single word about it, Hussein understood: he too feared the prospect of returning home empty-handed. however, i felt - nay, i was confident the sage still had a trick up his sleeve.
the day’s trek debuted as it always had - walk briskly, uncover any clues the green growth may hold, then listen for any distant shout that may give away the location of our objective. but i felt like Hussein had been priming his senses to formidable levels, nearing a state of superhuman sensitivity. he saw and heard things i could not, there was no question about it, and i followed in his footsteps for the better part of the morning. this time, his usually calculated gait betrayed a sense of urgency, as if his muscles contracted and subsequently relaxed with a perceivable release of energy beyond what is typical to human physicality.
Hussein listening in. not taken on the fourth day (click to enlarge image).
when our trail appeared to vanish among the leaves, Hussein turned suddenly, once again pointing his ear in a direction i did not understand. i no longer recall whether he warned me of what was to come. he bolted off, gesturing to me to follow. he had done so before, but this time, his steps took us to the crumbly edges of a steep riverbed.
vaulting over boulders and merely touching the surface of the water, we raced over any and all obstacles that stood in our way. on the other side of the tumultuous waters, a steep climb awaited, which we tackled by clutching onto roots, leaves, and vines. a hunt akin to the first day’s had started, though wilder, faster, more challenging. i knew Hussein had carefully tried my capacities over the previous days and this was his response - i had passed the test and some real tracking could ensue.
this time around, i knew where to look: leftover nests cluttered the canopies above, while chewed down cores littered the ground. i felt and heard their presence and once again, the air vibrated with their vocalisations when we arrived. however, they would no longer grace us with their presence down below, instead assuming the full beatitude of their strong, agile selves. we had no choice but to tag along as they navigated the canopies. for them, this meant following the food, gracefully moving from one branch to another. for us down below, however, it meant working around or against the geographical features of the area.
they did eventually come down for their siesta. this time, we found Teddy, the alpha, savouring the fruits of a fig tree. later, he made his way down to the ground and along with him, the entire troupe.
Teddy, the alpha male (click to enlarge image).
sheltered by tall grasses, brittle branches, and resting their heads on beds of leaves, the chimpanzees had become one with their green universe. with their bellies full and rocked by the warm African winds, they presented a pastoral vision of what us humans could have been doing, many, many thousands of years ago. as we rested our backs against the protruding roots of a large fig tree nearby, i wished for eternity to look just like this - an endless cycle of serenely sating one’s basic needs: for food, for shelter (temporary or not), for socialisation, for closeness in the purest of forms. i thought, at the time, that the individual probably mattered very little for the chimpanzees, in spite of the primates’ awareness of the self. i very much doubted the chimpanzees could ever have inflated egos.
vii
when the engine of the boat came to life, i was, in a way, glad. the surface of the lake shimmered in the early morning sun and i truthfully felt ready to move on. as we picked up speed and the little opening between the trees vanished, i pictured Darwin, up in the fortress. away from the troupe, underneath the large, swirling roots of the fig tree, he digs out the dirt. with his meditative expression, he uncovers a neat pile of luminous shards. in each one, the indescribable, yet immediately recognisable essence of individuality shines. to the pile he adds a few more: two for the German couple i’d read about in the guestbook, one for the elderly British lady, and one for myself. with a fragment of my consciousness forever kept among the leaves, i bid Mahale farewell. i did not belong there, yet no longer had reason to sneak past the barbican in the middle of the night.
leaving paradise (click to enlarge image).
would i ever be closer to Eden than this? - maybe, though i had understood that in this terrestrial paradise the temperatures were high, snake bites were deadly, and everything played by the rulebook of the chimpanzees.
