Someone Wishes to Speak to You (3 page)

‘That’s excellent advice; I shall do a little preparation before I meet him. I can quite understand why he’s so protective, I would be exactly the same, but rest assured I will abide by his guidance – I share his aims completely.’

‘As you have some free time, you could take the early morning
vedette
to Goma, on the far northern tip of Lake Kivu. The Virunga volcanoes are nearby – they span the borders of Zaire, Rwanda and Uganda – and there you will find the fragmented montane forest habitats of the remnant populations of the endangered mountain gorilla,
Gorilla g. beringei
. You may be able to visit their habitat if you go to the tourist office in Goma to see whether a guide is available. Virunga Park call them their “Tourist family groups”, it could be worth a try.’

So it had been at 7.30 the following morning that Mathew had taken Lucienne’s advice and had climbed on board the
overcrowded
vedette
. He had found himself to be the only European on the daily ferry to Goma. Lake Kivu’s eastern coastline represented Zaire’s international border with Rwanda and, during the boat’s six-hour voyage to the top of the lake, it chugged its way past and between numerous islands, the majority of which sadly had been shaved of their blankets of forest and provided little refuge for the lake’s wildlife. It was while taking some photographs of the attractive Rwandan landfall that Mathew was tapped on the shoulder by an aggressive-looking African who snatched the camera from his grip, gesticulating that in Zaire it was forbidden to take photographs of an international border. It was only after several minutes of Mathew’s protestations in his smattering of French, repeating that he was a research scientist at the ‘
Parc National du Kahuzi-Biega – Sanctuaire des Gorilles
’, that his camera was returned by the security official who was to address him as ‘comrade’, squeeze his hand, and to pat him forcibly on the back before returning to a bottle of beer that he had left nearby.

Prior to the boat docking at Goma, Mathew was afforded the dramatic view of the most westerly of the group of eight Virunga volcanoes, and could see the smoke issuing forth from the summit of one of the two still-active younger ones. If time had been on his side, and permits had allowed, Mathew would have loved to visit the Albert National Park, the history of which he had recently read about. How Carl Akeley, the famous naturalist and sculptor, had shot five gorillas at the Virunga volcanoes in 1921 for the American Museum of Natural History, and had subsequently become so impressed with his quarry and the mountains in which the gorillas lived that he urged the Belgian government to set aside a permanent sanctuary for the animals where they could exist in peace and be studied by scientists. The Albert National Park was established in April 1925, and in July 1929 was enlarged to include the whole chain of volcanoes, which undoubtedly
represented a fitting tribute not only to Carl Akeley but also to King Albert of Belgium, after whom the park was named. However, it was not until the 1950s and 1960s that the two doyens of long-term field research, George Schaller and later Dian Fossey, arrived to study the mountain gorillas of the Virunga volcanoes.

Lucienne had advised Mathew to stay at the Hotel de Grand Lacs during his three days in Goma. Like so many other buildings in the region, it very much resembled a mere apology to its former glory – in some places a series of shrapnel scars could be seen on the walls. She had also suggested that during his time there he should go to the Nyiragongo lava lake, as it was a dramatic moonscape spectacle not to be missed. But Mathew had made it his priority to do everything possible to see the mountain gorillas, even if it meant having to visit them with a group of sightseers, so he walked to Goma’s small tourist office only to find its heavy green wooden window shutters firmly closed, and its front door securely locked and bolted.

At the nearby police station a burly and surly, suspicious-looking sergeant, who had a sizeable scar on his left cheek, meticulously studied Mathew’s passport and visa, at one stage even holding it up to the light as if looking for some evidence of forgery.

‘I’m sorry, Sir, but it is impossible to go into gorilla country without first crossing the Zaire/Rwandan border – and there are political problems at present. It could be dangerous for you, so I cannot grant you permission to do so. Also, if you were to go into Rwanda, you would not be allowed to reenter Zaire as your visa clearly states that you can only enter the country at Kinshasa or Lubumbashi.’

Mathew contemplated offering the policeman a $US 100 bribe to secure a visa to record an additional place of entry into the country, as well as a letter of ‘free passage’, and to receive the sergeant’s advice as to the safest way to travel
without encountering any problems. But due to the policeman’s increased hostility, Mathew had the feeling that for some reason or other he didn’t care for Europeans and that he had therefore taken a dislike to him, preferring to be left alone in his office at the earliest opportunity. He decided it was best to thank the policeman for his time and beat a hasty retreat.

Back at the Hotel de Grand Lacs, Mathew described the encounter to the hotel’s Indian manager. ‘He was nothing short of hostile, to tell you the truth. I don’t know what I’d done to offend him but he just refused point blank to help in any way.’

‘Don’t take it personally. There was terrible fighting in this region during the upheavals ten years ago, at the time of the country’s independence from Belgium. A group of heavily armed European mercenaries arrived in Goma, shot dead some of the townspeople then caught and tied the policeman to a chair. As he wouldn’t help them find the men they were looking for, the mercenaries gave him a severe beating – you may have noticed the wound on his face.’

After their conversation, Mathew recalled how he had read similar accounts of beatings of African-Americans in some of the prisons in the Deep South. He could well understand the degree of racial animosity that he had just experienced at Goma’s police station.

So, with Mathew’s ambition to have at least a brief encounter with the mountain gorillas being so conclusively thwarted, he decided to return to Bukavu the following morning and to await Deschryver’s arrival from Nairobi. He would also see whether Lucienne would have time to accept an invitation to join him for Sunday lunch in order to try to gain her confidence, as well as to learn as much as possible about Adrien Decshryver and the eastern lowland gorillas of Kahuzi-Biega that he had done so much to protect.

*    *    *

Bistro Zanzibar was situated on the south-eastern shores of Lake Kivu. It offered a sizeable shaded veranda dining area that extended out over the water, supported by some irregular-looking wooden stilts. In this way, the bistro’s guests were able to benefit from the comfortable gentle breeze that came down the rift valley from the mountains to the north-east of the lake.

Mathew had arrived at his rendezvous with Lucienne a good fifteen minutes early. This was not only to select the best table, but also to follow his mother’s advice that whenever entertaining a lady guest to always be sure to arrive in good time to welcome her, and to position a chair at the table to provide her with the most commanding view of other diners and of the overall environment.

Lucienne’s arrival was heralded by a warm welcome from the bistro’s manager, and admiring glances from some of the other customers. She was wearing a colourful, loose-fitting blouse with a floral pattern, her hair tied back in a ponytail with a ribbon of the same material. Her pale sky-blue slacks and matching sandals completed the outfit, which perfectly suited her ebullient personality. ‘Mathew! How nice to see you again – you must tell me all about your trip . . . so sorry it didn’t go quite according to plan,’ said Lucienne as she approached the table. Mathew wanted to welcome her with a kiss on both cheeks, but decided to deflect such a spontaneous temptation by just formally shaking her hand. ‘There’s not much to tell!’ laughed Mathew as the waiter drew out Lucienne’s chair for her to take a seat. ‘Is this table all right for you? I thought it would give you a good view of the lake. Now, let’s order some wine . . . Sauvignon Blanc?’

To any onlooker observing this young couple during the course of the meal, enjoying a dish of freshly caught lake fish and with the wine having started to dilute their inhibitions, it would be fair to assume there was a degree of intimacy. One would suppose from the way they were speaking to one
another that they were either close relatives nostalgically recalling past experiences, or perhaps even a couple on their first date, such was the apparent degree of familiarity and the strength of like-minded thinking between them.

With the lunch over, which Mathew could not have been more pleased to have hosted, Lucienne drove along the lake’s picturesque shoreline, past small stands of the ubiquitous eucalyptus and clusters of the slender-shaped fishing boats, back to the Hotel Metropole. As Deschryver had now returned to Bukavu, he had asked Lucienne to arrange to pick Mathew up from his hotel at 6 a.m. the following morning and to collect him from his home on the slopes of Mount Kahuzi, so that they could all go on together to the national park. Once preparations had been made, and after a goodbye that felt rather awkward on Mathew’s part, Lucienne sped away in the Park Department’s open jeep with a flourish of farewell waves and the happiest of smiles.

2

Mount Kahuzi’s Kingdom of Gorillas

It had been just after 7 a.m. the following day that Deschryver had picked up the two Pygmy trackers by the entrance to the Kahuzi-Biega National Park. They joined Lucienne in the back of the four-wheel drive vehicle, while Mathew sat in the front passenger seat as they drove on for twenty minutes or so, until turning off onto a small track and parking under the shade of a sizeable stand of bamboos.

Lucienne seemed quiet in comparison to her high spirits during their lunch the day before but during the journey, Mathew was relieved that she was directing secretive smiles and glances towards him when the opportunity arose. Deschryver’s opinion was so important to Lucienne that she didn’t want him to think that anything – or anyone – was distracting her from their mission.

‘OK, now we’ll follow the trackers into the forest,’ said Deschryver in a hushed voice. ‘Just remember to keep vigilant, silent and calm. They know exactly what they’re doing.’ The three of them followed the trackers along a well-worn trail into the denser foliage of the montane rain forest of Mount Kahuzi, where the trackers kept stopping to examine food remnants, faecal deposits and gorilla spoor that looked comparatively recent. As they had picked up such a recent trail, they became as alert as a brace of tracker dogs having just caught scent of their quarry – although in contrast to a pack of hounds they now remained silent, only communicating
with each other by way of hand signals. As they continued to deftly cut their way through the thick blankets of bamboo with their menacing-looking metal pangas, laying each bundle neatly to one side, they continued searching for every telltale sign of the direction that the gorilla family had taken.

The small party negotiated their way through the density of the vegetation – in some places it was impossible for them to even walk upright. They had on a number of occasions to either crouch, or even crawl, through the undergrowth in order to follow the gorillas’ spoor. Some of the mature stands of bamboo measured up to 8-10 cm in diameter and their lush feather-like branches reached almost 20 m into the light mountain air. After almost an hour there had become increasing evidence that a group of gorillas had only recently traversed the trail that the guides were following. Small piles of sheaths of bamboo shoots, deposits of light-coloured faeces, broken branches and varied sizes of foot and knuckle prints could be seen in the forest’s sponge-like peaty ground, which all provided additional evidence that a gorilla family was close by.

‘Have you seen piles of shoots like these before?’ whispered Deschryver to Mathew during one of their brief pauses for rest. Mathew shook his head. ‘At this time of the year, between September and February, bamboo shoots are in season around here – the gorillas take full advantage. They gather a handful, settle down in a favourite spot and enjoy the delicacy of the hearts of the shoots. Once they’ve eaten what they want, instead of discarding the leftovers like a troop of baboons would, the gorillas arrange them in neat little piles of between four and twelve.’

As they progressed further, Mathew’s nostrils detected the familiar effluvium musk odour of the gorilla, an aroma that he had been first exposed to in the late 1960s while viewing the solitary male lowland gorilla (Willie B.) in his original Victorian-style cage at the Atlantic Zoo, and later while
observing some of the gorillas at the Yerkes Primate Research Center. The guides soon became more hesitant, stopping to listen carefully, before using their pangas to hack at some of the sturdier ringed stems of a nearby bamboo stand to create as much noise as possible among the vegetation, in order to alert the gorillas as to their presence. Within no more than thirty seconds of the disturbance, the tranquility of the forest was broken by the deep-bellied roar of an adult male silverback that had been in quite close proximity to them. This was soon to be followed by a further roar, the noise of breaking branches and the crushing of nearby bamboo stems.

With a gorilla so nearby, Deschryver had taken over the lead position; the Pygmies immediately looked more at ease as they smiled at each other in seeming relief and gratitude. Then, after the party moved on a little further, through a gap in the heavy foliage Mathew gained his first sight of a magnificent eastern lowland gorilla in the wild. The young silverback was sitting on the far side of a fallen tree; his jet-black head, sparsely haired chest and the long hairs on his arms and stomach contrasted significantly with the light grayness of his silver back. As soon as Deschryver had seen the gorilla he had taken some leaves to chew, and by not looking directly at the silverback, he kept making the soft, rumbling noise of a gorilla welcome and repeating in an equally soft voice, ‘com-com’, ‘com-com’, ‘com-com’. The silverback responded to this by giving a deep yawn, throwing his head back and displaying a fine array of ivory-white teeth, which were set within an oasis of pinkish gums. He then shifted his position slightly and suddenly stood up, executed with his cupped hands the familiar gorilla chest-beat display of ‘pok-a-pok’, ‘pok-a-pok’, ‘pok-a-pok’, ‘pok-a-pok’, then turned his back on them and disappeared out of view into a small valley beneath where they had been standing.