Gorillas in the Mist (36 page)

“In Kigali I stayed with our ambassador, Frank Crigler, who has been heavily involved in all this [the formation of the consortium under the aegis of the
AWLF
] since the beginning, and he was very, very helpful in many ways.”

There is no evidence that Dian constituted any real political problem for the United States in its relations with the government of Rwanda. The State Department’s interest in getting her out seems to have been due, as much as anything, to Cyrus Vance’s desire to do a favor for his old friend Dr. Payne.

The early months of 1979 had produced revealing evidence of the scope of McIlvaine’s grand design.

In January Dian learned that half of a ten-thousand-dollar grant promised to her personally by philanthropist Gordon Hanes to assist in maintaining Karisoke had somehow found its way out of her reach into the AWLF/Digit Fund or, as it was now being called, Project Survival/AWLF.

Then, in mid-February, she received a disquieting letter from Geza Teleki, another leading woman primatologist, with close ties to the International Primate Protection League:

“The International Student Association spent a week soliciting funds on the streets of Washington for the Digit Fund … however, contact with Mr. McIlvaine has resulted in my advising the head of the
ISA
to hold the funds, pending word from you. McIlvaine has clearly indicated that he is collecting funds not for the Digit Fund, but for the African Wildlife Leadership Foundation…. The students launched the campaign on the premise that all funds they collected would go directly to you…. I am reluctant to assure contributors they are supporting you when, in fact, they might be supporting whatever McIlvaine has in mind.”

Dian’s reply reveals her own growing doubts.

“This is the second time I’ve heard what you’ve written. The first was from Jim Doherty, executive editor of
International Wildlife Magazine
, but I have known McIlvaine for many years and do trust him implicitly … yet in no piece of his correspondence have I seen the name Digit Fund applied, and I can tell you, that hurts.”

When McIlvaine wined and dined her in Kigali, he dispelled some of her apprehensions. New ones sprang to life, however, when a confidential memo from him to his head office came into her hands. She interpreted its contents as evidence that McIlvaine was supporting Sandy Harcourt and the Mountain Gorilla Project against her. She unleashed a blast at McIlvaine, which he tried to counter by claiming it was all a mistake
resulting from his having composed the memo while on an airplane.

A few weeks later he took off the silken gloves. “We must now go forward,” he wrote Dian, “on the nitty gritty of money matters.” This meant, he explained, working out a transfer of Digit Fund Inc. money to the AWLF/Digit Fund.

McIlvaine then proceeded to instruct her to write a letter to her fellow trustees, Snider and Brylawski, stating that inasmuch as the
AWLF
had set up its own Digit Fund to “accomplish the original aims of Digit Fund Inc.,” she now recommended that Digit Fund Inc. be dissolved and that the remaining moneys in its fund be transferred to the AWLF/Digit Fund. McIlvaine also told her he was sending a copy of this letter to Frank Crigler “because he is, in any case, intimately involved.”

Despite an extreme reluctance to admit to herself that Crigler might be hand-in-hand with those who wanted her out of Rwanda, Dian could not indefinitely evade the reality. A sympathetic embassy employee sent her a copy of a letter that had been given to Crigler for forwarding in the diplomatic pouch. It was from Bill Weber, addressed to the Research Committee of the National Geographic Society. In it Weber accused Dian of mismanaging the Karisoke Research Center and suggested that she was
herself
responsible for the deaths of Digit, Uncle Bert, Macho, and Kweli because her persecution of the poachers had drawn their retaliation.

The scales were falling from her eyes whether she wished it so or not. She reacted by making up her mind that nobody was going to
force
her to depart. If she left at all, it would be in her own good time. Meanwhile she dug in her heels.

On February 27 she wrote to Bettie and Frank Crigler, stating her intentions, then justifying them, as if in full awareness that her letter would reach other eyes:

“I did a great deal of mulling and my conclusion is that I will insist on staying here through August. This will give me time to finish my book, finish a National Geographic article I’m
committed to, and do the photography I desperately need to do on certain behavioral aspects.

“It will also give me time to break in new students and hopefully find someone to run camp during my absence…. I could not possibly leave while the V-W couple were still around.

“It would also be financially difficult for me to support myself in the States when universities are not operating and public lecture schedules are reduced. I will not sponge off other people, nor is there any way I can live at ‘home’ in California….

“I found the cable from Payne awaiting me when I got back to camp. That simply wasn’t the ideal type of reception I needed…. You have most likely spooked him with your cables/letters—I really don’t know…. Also, I don’t care too much for threats.”

Dian was now missing Ian Redmond’s presence more than ever. At Christmas he had sent her a present— “a plaque, old-fashioned, imitation bronze, stating ‘
TAKE NOTICE THAT AS FROM THIS DATE POACHERS SHALL BE SHOT ON FIRST SIGHT AND IF PRACTICABLE QUESTIONED AFTERWARDS, NOV.
1968.’”

“This gave me,” she wrote to him, “one of the few good laughs I’ve had in months.” But her hopes that Ian might soon return were dashed by a letter in which he explained that his hand was still in bad shape. Specialists had told him the ulnar and median nerves in the wrist had been completely severed, with the result that the musculature of the hand was wasting away. He was hoping for a remedial operation in April, but had not forgotten Karisoke. “My thoughts always stray back to you and the incredible forest and the gorillas—I frequently dream about camp—sometimes frightening dreams of cars and roads and shops where the meadows used to be—too horrible for words.

“Dian, if things are really bad with poachers, etc., and you think my presence would make a difference,
please write
and say so and I’ll come after August 18. I feel that my first loyalties and my heart lie with Karisoke and the gorillas. Please be strong
and try to be just a little optimistic—there must be an end to the killing soon.”

Dian could be strong, but retaining even a little optimism was another matter.

On Saturday, March 3, David Watts came back into camp with Nemeye after having gone far out onto the saddle for a contact with Nunkie’s Group. David was wearing that face which spells doom. He said either young Lee or young N’Gee (he couldn’t tell which) was caught in a trap by one leg and surrounded by all the rest of the group, who were in a terrific state. He didn’t know what to do so he ran most of the way back to camp.

I sent him out again right away with three of my men, armed with two pistols, in case the poachers returned and slaughtered the whole group in order to capture the youngster. I set out fifteen minutes later with camp gear in case we had to stand guard all night, but took two hours to reach the spot.

When I got there I saw it was the four-year-old female Lee, but we couldn’t get to her to cut the wire because Nunkie and the others were just having fits and would have charged for sure. I decided to see if a few shots fired into the air would scare them off long enough to release the snare from Lee’s left foot. Three shots made everyone flee-including Lee, who broke free with the wire still attached to her foot.

The group fled in the general direction of Visoke, away from the line of traps.

We decided to spend the night in the forest as the group was still in a danger area, and Sunday is the poachers’ big hunting day when they come up to look at their traps.

Today (Monday) David found the group back on Visoke, fairly high up. Lee isn’t using her left leg at all, but David can’t determine if the wire is deeply embedded or not. I will send the electric stun gun I’ve never used down to
Ruhengeri for a thirty-six-hour charge, but can’t expect it back before Friday. Unfortunately Lee is staying close to her father, Nunkie, who will charge, so I greatly fear both will have to be stunned; then what the rest of the group will do I can’t even imagine…. The worst thing about this gun is that you have to be within fifteen feet, the length of the wire; secondly, it only shoots twice before it has to be recharged. The great thing is that it is guaranteed not to be lethal, something that can’t be said for a dart gun.

I don’t see, in good conscience, how we can sit back and watch Lee’s foot rot off, which is the near certain alternative, when we have the means to try to do something about it, but some of the students don’t agree that we should interfere.

Watts was not one of those who thought nature should be allowed to take its course. However, he strongly recommended that the stun gun be tested before anyone faced a furious Nunkie with it. They tried it on one of the tame duikers near Dian’s cabin. The little antelope jumped in mild surprise when the metal contact struck it and a “fifty-thousand-volt” shock was administered; then it ambled nonchalantly away, pulling the electric cord behind it. Clearly this device was no match for Lee, let alone Nunkie.

On March 18, Dian wrote to Dr. Snider: “As the wire becomes more deeply embedded the foot is becoming increasingly swollen and is oozing pus. Lee will either lose her foot or die of systemic infection. Since the failure of the stun gun I have been trying to contact the game warden at A’Kagera Park. He has had years of experience with a dart drug gun…. In my opinion only ten days remain before Lee enters her crucial state. The incident has created controversy in camp—the Peace Corps trio saying she should be allowed to die before interfering with the group; David Watts and myself saying that, if able, darting should be done to remove the wire. I
deplore
any artificial interference with the gorillas, but I remain convinced that the seriousness
of this case warrants the extreme measure of darting … the accident might never have happened had there been a student at camp willing to continue with trap cutting, a student such as Ian Redmond…. Current students are either afraid or not interested in this type of work.”

Dian concluded with an appeal to the arbiters of her destiny at National Geographic:

“We now have invested twelve years in the few remaining Mountain Gorillas. I would like to secure that investment, for the sake of the animals, for the sake of the research center. I think it is difficult for someone on the other side of the world to understand all of the problems involved; it is also unfair to draw absolute conclusions without fully understanding all the innuendos, political and otherwise, now involved in maintaining the center for the future of the gorillas. It is only their future, if they have one, that should be considered.”

The young gorilla, Lee, had no future.

Unable to arrange for a professional to render the injured animal unconscious so she could remove the snare, Dian had no choice but to stand helplessly by while gangrene weakened Lee to the point where she contracted pneumonia. On the morning of May 9, Craig Sholley visited Nunkie’s group and found Lee huddled in Nunkie’s night nest, apparently unable to move.

Instead of leading the group off on the usual morning foraging expedition, Nunkie remained close to the sick youngster, answering her pathetic whines with low rumbling noises that were clearly intended to encourage her to come along. Lee tried, but collapsed and lay spread-eagled in the wet vegetation while a drenching shower swept over the clearing. Thereupon Nunkie—four hundred pounds of massive silverback—returned to Lee’s side and lay down beside his suffering daughter as if to warm and comfort her.

Craig returned to camp to report that Lee seemed close to death.

The thought of losing Lee was not to be borne. Sciatica
and a broken ankle kept me out of it, but I ordered everyone out to try and distract the other gorillas and try to get the baby away from the group at least until I could give her some medical attention.

This time there was no argument. While Bill Weber and a new student, Peter Veit, distracted Nunkie, Sholley slipped into the clearing, snatched up Lee, and ran. Early that afternoon Lee was carried in a litter down the mountain to the Ruhengeri hospital by Rwelekana, Mukera, and Basili. It was too late. That evening Lee became the seventh Karisoke gorilla to perish because of poachers. After her body was brought back to camp for burial, Dian sat for hours at her window staring out into the fog that had obscured the clearing. Mechanically she wrote one word over and over on her open journal.

Digit … Digit … Digit … Digit …

By mid-March, Dian’s difficulties had multiplied to the point where they seemed almost insupportable. A miasma of mutual hostility and suspicion lay like poison gas over the camp, while beyond its borders the poachers were slowly regaining possession of the forests and meadows. The physical survival of Karisoke was itself in increasing jeopardy as the chief grant givers and the consortium of conservation agencies choked off the flow of funds that paid the staff and maintained the infrastructure.

Dian’s health, always somewhat precarious, was failing fast. She ate less and less. She smoked far too much, and racking bouts of emphysema became ever more frequent. The agonizing pain in her left hip meant sleepless nights. Years of inadequate diet had drained the calcium from her, and she had snapped a bone in her ankle while searching for Kima’s favorite toy a few yards from her cabin.

I had almost forgotten how it hurts to break a bone. The awful sweat, vomiting, and a green face.

She set the ankle herself, but although it healed it was never again fully trustworthy.