The land of Dian Fossey

Note: I haven’t had internet the last few days, so I’ve uploaded about 5 posts today. You may want to scroll back so you don’t miss them!

So, my surprise reveal for this trip is that I paid the exorbitant cost of a trip out to the mountains of Rwanda in order to see the gorillas in a truly tourist trekking adventure. To ease the feeling of indulging in myself just a little too much, I also brought along a Rwandan friend who had never seen them before. Honestly, I didn’t plan to do this trek until I got all the way here. I’d waffled several times at home and ultimately determined that I couldn’t bear to spend the money. But, after I arrived in Rwanda, I discovered that my professor and our other travel companion would be leaving about 3 days before me. What to do…what to do? So, I got a gorilla pass and had some extra cash wired to Kigali, and determined that I would do this. All I really knew is what they tell you when you buy the pass from the tourism board: Wear long sleeves, don’t sneeze toward the gorillas, wear good shoes.

I told you all about the drive there in my last post, so catching up from there…

A five am wake up call had us ready and at the trekking meet-up point just before seven am. My Rwandan friend that came along said there probably wouldn’t be many people there, but she was definitely wrong. I suddenly became acutely aware of just how privileged a journey this was as shiny new Land Rovers started rolling up and dumping their high-tech equipped guests at the door. Boots and titanium hiking sticks and packs and booties to cover their boots and protect their pants from the mud. As I was admiring all the equipment strolling through the entrance, a group of traditional dancers performed for about half and hour as coffee and tea were served. Seriously. This was high class. And it felt a little exploitative…for the dancers, I mean. I have a hard time with the prostitution of culture for the amusement of rich visitors. But, maybe that’s just me…

At some point, the people waiting were divided into groups. I’m not exactly sure how this worked because our driver stepped in to negotiate where we’d end up. I have complete faith in him, and he’s been several times himself, so I just let it happen. It turns out that the rich woman who specifically requested guides all to herself (and later a porter to carry her day pack!) was nearly outraged at being put in our group. The Belgian in our group was a bit older, and she was clearly distressed that my Rwandan friend had shown up in sneakers, a flower-printed corduroy suit and a scarf wrapped around her head. People kept asking if she’d brought any other shoes with her. It was embarrassing. For them, not for us. Do you reallyneed all that high-tech gear to climb a mountain? Most of the community members who live under the gorillas do it in flip-flops or barefoot. Calm down.

The trek was no joke. And I’m not particularly fit, especially at high altitudes. Because the rich lady complained that she didn’t want to go for any kind of short trek (she’s already been to see the gorillas three times), our guides adjusted to make it unnecessarily long. We climbed up a mountain in mud so slippery and dense I lost a shoe at one point. Then we zigzagged up and down the side of the mountains for a while until we miraculously ended up near some armed trackers. Of course, they knew all along exactly where the gorilla family was that we were scheduled to see. The guide told me later that they did this just to please that woman so she wouldn’t complain later. Thanks. Really. I just wanted to see the gorillas, not fall on my arse 4 times in ankle deep mud or slide down the banks only to catch my fall in a pile of stinging nettles. It was jungle. For real jungle. On the last leg of the journey to the family, when I was nearly at my wits end wondering why I decided to do this in the first place, the guide was hacking through the jungle and making a mat of vines for us to stand on as we clamored up the hill (or fall through, if you’re me). Suddenly, the group stopped and I quieted my panting just enough to notice that they were staring up in the tree.

The whole world melted away as I realized that just about 10 feet above my head sat a huge silverback gorilla. He noticed us, but they’re very used to people (we had to leave all our bags behind though) so he lazily looked down at us as he chomped on some vines. The stinging in my hand faded away as we moved around and realized the gorilla family was all around us in the trees! As we stood there, more and more members revealed themselves to us by sliding down the vines.

Eventually, in what was a bit of a scary moment, the silverback decided it was time to move on and exited the tree with a series of low, rumbly growls. He brushed past us just 2 meters away and led his family farther down the hill. We followed them around for about an hour snapping photos and watching the babies summersault from the vines above. It was a truly magical experience and worth every penny and every slip in the mud. As I write this, I’m sitting in a posh hotel in Kigali where I convinced the young man working the desk at the gym to let me have a hot shower. I was sooo dirty, and the stinging nettles are only just now starting to wear off. It was worth it though. All of it.