Chapter Eleven: Gorilla Video and more
An day for learning, reflecting, and later on, relaxing
12.07.2021 - 12.07.2021 70 °F
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Mgahinga Gorilla National Park is the only place golden monkey tracking is done in Africa and then only after acquisition of a permit is purchased from the Uganda Wildlife Visitor Center by a licensed tour operator or guide. Only one family is habituated to humans and is, therefore, “trackable.” I am scheduled to see them today but I cancel. Abdul has inquired and found that it will require another up-mountain trek and, with all due respect to the golden monkeys, I wish to save my strength. I will plan to visit the Batwa Village--which I skipped day before yesterday.
It is cold this morning, around 50 degrees. My banda (room/suite) is heated by charcoal in a fireplace—two fireplaces actually. They provide a bit of heat but not an overwhelming amount. That, coupled with the fact that the life of the fire is about six hours from lighting until it is burned out, heat is both sparce and fleeting. So, when I am not under the covers with the two hot water bottles the lodge provides, I am chilled.
It is a lot of work to view and edit and then—most difficult—post videos. That, however (besides packing) is my main morning objective. As I write this I just edited what I think is the best of a handful of videos. I use a service called Vimeo for this purpose. Vimeo says this video contains 111.29MB—after I edited it down—and my upload speed ranges from a low of 1MB per minute to something not much faster. Ouch.
This one is from the first moments of our arrival at the family's home for the day. I asked Michael to shoot it with my iPhone and he happily obliged. (If I am in the video, he honored my request to shoot it) One must scratch their itch.
There are many forms of locomotion. This one is one with which I had previously been unfamiliar.
I expected this form of entertainment
There is, from Michael, a bit of wisdom at the end of this piece.
And this gives you perspective our what it would be like to be in my group.
And then, there is this.
Clearly I am not a great cinematographer. I wish my friend from work, Thorsten, was here. Had he been, these video efforts would have been much better.
Ronald comes for me at 10:00am to take me for my walk to the Batwa Village. About 15 minutes into the journey, we come to a very narrow path that is a swamp of mud. I fear I will slip and fall. Ronald continues unintimidated. I have a different reaction. My shoes have been vigorously and diligently cleaned by my butler Barbra. To try to keep them clean and to keep myself from falling into the mud or the surrounding rock wall, I attempt to hug the side of the path but, to do so, I must grab the trunks of small trees. Immediately, sharp edges create tiny punctures in my fingers. Enough.
“Ronald, is there another way?” He replies, “Yes but it is longer.”
“Let’s take it,” I say. We turn around and retrace our steps, soon taking a different turn than we had before. We are surrounded by tiny patches of farmland, some of it being worked by people who clearly must toil daily for their very existence. Here, as everywhere, I am greeted by waving tiny children who repeatedly shout, “Hello, Hello, Hello” as they wave and wave. I smile and wave back and return their “Hello.” On the other hand, there is a distinct lack of greeting by virtually all adults. Smiles are not the custom. Words are not spoken or, worse, are delivered only to Ronald causing me to wonder, “What are they saying? Are they talking about me? Is their demeanor a show of hostility?”
After a much better path where I feel safer, we reach the Batwa Village. Here, I feel a different sort of trouble. Three young men crouch, talking among themselves. They size me up and, from all appearances, find me wanting. Furrowed brows and pursed lips under squinted eyes say to me, “Paul, you are not only not welcome here, more accurately, you are not wanted here.”
I don’t know what is happening but I can guess. I am clearly rich; they are dirt poor. I have nice clean clothing, theirs is both dirty and worn. My, shoes are new and clearly expensive. Theirs, if you can call them shoes, are tattered and falling apart. Their hostility, if based on what I have and what they do not, is clearly justified.
Then, there is the color of my skin. Yesterday, I saw six other people of my race; only six. But this is not a new experience for me. Throughout Asia, I was in many places where I was the only non-Asian. In Central America—in Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua and El Salvador--I was often the only non-Mestizo. In Mexico I am seldom but sometimes the only non-Hispanic. And, in the rest of Africa where I have been privileged to visit—South Africa, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Tanzania, Botswana, and Namibia, I have often been the only non-Black. In Morocco earlier this week, I was often times clearly the only non-Muslim. In Israel, where admittedly it is harder to tell, I was one of the few non-Jews. It never bothered me because, mostly, it never seemed to bother them. Here, in “rural” Uganda, they appeared bothered.
But, if they could find a way to look beneath the color of my skin or the condition of my wardrobe, they would find something else to be true of me. I wish them only good things. I justified coming here in part knowing that my dollars would result in a better life for them. And, I have been and will continue to leave many dollars in my wake.
But, as I asked Ronald to end my time in what to me felt intimidating at the least and threatening at the most, I was anxious to get back to the lodge.
When, in 2015, B4 took me to the bottom of the Cullinan Diamond Mine in South Africa, I became—deep beneath the surface of the earth—claustrophobic. It was an experience I had never before felt. I had to get out of there. Here, it was in many ways the same. I had to get out of there.
Back in the lodge to write about and better understand my own feelings, it is as if I have ridden the Cullinan mine elevator from almost 2,900 feet beneath the surface to be greeted by the sun. I say to myself, never again. To be sure, if in the United States, I had entered a neighborhood where such outward hostility was evident, and please know that they do exist, I would have done the same thing; retreated.
I feel what Ahmaud Arbery must have felt before he was murdered in a neighborhood where he was clearly not welcome. Or what Trayvon Martin felt or what Black Americans feel when they are in hostile neighborhoods—guilty of nothing other than have a different color skin. I was clearly not going to be murdered. There was no threat of violence, no outward sign of aggression.
This morning was a good lesson for me. It will remind me of what it feels to be the subject of hostility when you have done nothing wrong. I wish every non-Black person could feel what I felt this morning. Why? So that they might learn to never give to people of a different color or demographic the signal: “You are different and for that reason, I hate you.”
Lunch is a hamburger. It is cold in the lodge dining area. I ask that they lay a fire in the fireplace and they do but it is ineffective. I decide to go outside and sit in the sun. The equatorial sun will warm but could also burn me so I must be careful. But before I can worry about over-exposure, I retreat back inside. From "next door" across and through thick foliage is the sound of a child being corporately punished. Another cultural difference presents itself. I ask Barbra whether or not someone is being beaten, and she says with her typical professionalism, "It is the local people."
An email from British Airways telling me about restrictions I might face traveling home two weeks from today warns that the rules are more stringent for those coming from "Red List" countries. Nigeria was just added to that list. Careful readers of this blog will recall that my "escape" from Morocco was initially booked to involve a stop in Lagos, Nigeria. Royal Air Maroc canceled that at the eleventh hour, a move that flabbergasted me at the time. Now, I am thankful that I don't need to list--when asked by British Airways about the countries I have recently visited--the nation of Nigeria. For every action there is an equal an opposite reaction and, perhaps, for every setback there is an equal and opposite benefit.
I leave Mt. Gahinga Lodge as Abdul drives me a few hours to my next stop Clouds Mountain Gorilla Lodge, at 6,562 feet above sea level, it is Uganda's highest. It is owned by the Nkuringo community surrounding it but is operated by Wildplaces which says , "The community earns a significant share of the revenue and there are many spin-off benefits from these earnings."
On the way, one better comes to grip with just how poor this country is. We came upon a sandstone cliff. Men with chisels and sledges pounded away manufacturing sand. They sell it to the cement companies to make concrete. We passed an area where making bricks in kilns was the primary industry. Next, higher up, lumber was being cut, by hand with a two-man crosscut saw. We passed two checkpoints, one at Mulehe was military where my passport was inspected and Abdul's vaccination card was inspected. Later we passed a civilian controlled checkpoint but were waved through. As we got higher, we moved into tea country where a couple of large trucks carrying tea leaves; one was careening at high speed had a giant painted sign above the windshield reading "Jesus Cares." One hopes that is true.
As we drove higher up Nkuringo mountain, you can clearly see the stark demarkation between the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest and the bordering farmland. Here, every square inch available for farming is so use. At 81,500 acres, there isn't much land to use or the gorillas will die.
Given the dire straits many of the inhabitants of this company live under, I am determined to set aside their perceived hostility toward me. Were I in their shoes--and many don't seem to have shoes--I would undoubtedly feel the same.
Des, the manager greets me warmly. He introduces me to my butler, Bosco, and my housekeeper, Enid. Later I meed Kim, "I am the other half of Des," she tells me. I am delighted to hear that there is one other guest here but she leaves tomorrow. But then there is what I hope is even better news: 7 people arrive late tomorrow and should be here when I return from my gorillas trek in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. I am to have breakfast at 7:00 and be picked up between 7:30 and 7:45.
Bosco lays a fire at the fireplace where my table for one is set. Here is the lay of the land.
Everything is perfect save one: There is no place set for B4
