"Zra? Zra! Tu est la? ZRA!? Il y a un grumier qui vient, en vitesse!  Zra!" ("Zra, there’s a big logging truck, coming fast!  Zra!"). For seemingly the hundredth time, I heard our driver, Abubacar, give that urgent call on our little two-way radio, and for almost the hundredth time, Laurent Zra, our Cameroonian guide and logistician, didn’t answer.

Laurent was in the middle car of our five-car convoy filled with 13 American adventurers and support crew. He was supposed to relay any messages from the front or rear vehicle back or forward, to warn of hazards on this dangerously rough and dusty road or notify us of a breakdown.

As the "grumier" roared past, I had visions of one of our vehicles behind swerving to miss the speeding behemoth and losing control on the severely washboarded road. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what happened. . .

Stopping in the next village to wait for rest of the convoy, where luckily it was market day and the rest of my clients were easily distracted, I became more and more worried as the minutes ticked by and the last vehicle in the parade still hadn’t arrived. Then another car arrived in the village and the occupants said there’d been an accident somewhere behind.

Laurent jumped in one of our vehicles and headed back while I stayed with the group, trying not to let on how worried I was. A few minutes later, to my great relief, both cars came rolling into town, but upon closer inspection, my relief turned again to worry as I noticed the caved-in side and broken window on the almost-new Toyota 4X4 pickup we’d just picked up that morning. Luckily no one was hurt beyond a scraped elbow from the broken glass, and we disinfected and bandaged that and duct-taped some clear plastic over the window and were on our way. 

Two and a half days and many small (and a few not so small) adventures later, we finally arrived at our destination at 2 a.m. Dusty and weary from a 20-hour day on the road, we collapsed into our beds at Doli Lodge in the Dzanga-Sangha Reserve in the southern Central African Republic (C.A.R.). We had just crossed the breadth of the country of Cameroon in three days with 11 American tourists, five drivers, one mechanic, two Cameroonian guides, a representative of the other sponsoring tour company, and myself, the tour leader. “This’d better be good,” I mumbled to myself as I faded into oblivion and dreams of giant logging trucks chasing me around a dusty jungle.

Seemingly just minutes later, we awoke to the sound of paddles dipping in the Sangha River just outside our balconied cabins as local fishermen made their way upstream to try their luck with their cast nets. A myriad of birds called and a troop of monkeys hooted and frolicked just out of sight in the forest. In the distance, we heard BaAka (the BaAka are one of several subgroups of the Pygmy ethnic group) women singing and chanting to celebrate the goodness of life in the forest. Magical morning. . .we had arrived!

Sleepily, our group descended to the beautiful open dining room overlooking the Sangha River. Now we could see the graceful pirogues, hand-hewn from a single tree trunk, being poled or paddled slowly up the river highway by local Pygmies or Bantu (most West and Central African tribes other than Pygmies and Hausa/Fulani are of the Bantu group), fishing or just visiting. After a breakfast of fresh fruit, bread, and coffee or tea, we were on our way!

First, we all accompanied a wonderful local Bantu guide on an introductory two-hour hike in the surrounding rainforest in order to familiarize ourselves with some of the more common varieties of plants and insects, and their uses. Then back to Doli Lodge and a tasty lunch before splitting into two groups – one to attempt to find and visit lowland gorillas (only three people each day in addition to the researchers are allowed to approach the gorillas in order not to disturb their daily routine) and the other larger group to trek into the forest to observe elephants.

An hour's drive through dense rainforest on barely passable roads (and this was the dry season!) and we pulled into a rough clearing by the "road." "From here it's a half-hour hike," our guide, Seraphin, said. "Follow me." Periodically removing our shoes to wade a shallow, winding tributary of the Sangha, we followed elephant trails through the forest until suddenly the tracker held up his hand for us to stop and listen. In the distance we could hear an elephant trumpet and snort. "Quiet!" Seraphin whispered, "There may be others in the forest anywhere around here. If you see one, stop and stand very still. Usually they don't charge." 

Usually...?   

An exultation of elephants

A few moments later we were safely up on an observation platform, witnessing what few Westerners have ever seen – almost 100 forest elephants spread out over about a 30-acre clearing. These clearings, called salines, are mineral-rich areas of the rainforest, where elephants and other animals have been coming for centuries to dig and slurp and roll in the mud. All this activity has created a opening, free of vegetation, which is what makes these spots so special for us homo sapiens – here we can actually see forest wildlife that is usually invisible, camouflaged by all the vegetation.  

As elephant biologist Andrea Turkalo, who's been studying elephants at this saline for 14 years, told us later that night at the lodge: "There are over 6,000 elephants using this saline alone, drawing on a huge area of rainforest. So there aren’t many of these very special places. And you folks are especially lucky – usually there aren't so many of them here at once. In fact, I've only seen this many a couple of other times." 

We watched for over an hour as elephants entered and left the "bai," played and rolled and nursed their babies, challenged and were challenged by other elephants to maintain the hierarchy that keeps the peace in this age-old society. A huge old bull with beautifully-shaped six-foot tusks, in the beginnings of "must," the annual period of sexual activity for male elephants, posed and strutted in front of the viewing platform as if he knew we were there (as he probably did) and that we admired his handsome virility. On the other hand, a mother with a three-month-old infant stayed at the far side of the clearing, most of the time keeping her body between the baby and us. “Lucky indeed,” I thought, “so very lucky!”  Tired, but very, very happy, and in awe of what we'd just been privileged to witness, we silently plodded and waded back to the cars and the drive to Doli Lodge. 

The next morning we were awakened by rain on our grass-thatched roofs, which gave us a few hours of much-needed catch-up sleep before we headed out to visit the nearby Pygmy village and learn something of these wonderful people and their relationship with the rainforest. Although no longer completely nomadic, the BaAka Pygmies still live on the edge of some of the most remote rainforest in the world, retaining much of the knowledge and skills that had allowed their grandparents to survive in an environment that to most people would have been quite inhospitable.  As we were soon to discover, to the BaAka the forest provides all things good and necessary to a full and productive life. 

“…and this is for headache; and this relieves menstrual cramps; and this leaf, made into a tea, helps with stomach ailments and digestion; and this bark, boiled and pounded, makes men stronger (giggle, giggle)… down there.”  On and on, as we strolled down an elephant path through the Congo Basin rainforest, three BaAka women explained the food and medicinal properties of various leaves, stems, bark, wood, and fungi. I had the strong impression that they could have continued for hours, if not days. Grocery store, pharmacy, lumberyard, and church – the forest served all these functions and more for the BaAka.   

As we returned along the elephant trail to the road where we’d left our vehicles, I noticed that the women were carrying various parts of plants with them.  One had a bundle of big, roundish leaves and another had an armful of long, slender saplings. When we arrived at the road, two of the women immediately began plunging the larger end of each sapling deep into the ground, in a circular pattern and spaced a foot or two apart. They then formed an igloo-shaped frame by bending the poles over and burying the other end in the ground as well.   

Instant housing

All the while, the other woman was sitting on the ground with the big round leaves (from the mongulu tree, one woman informed me) scoring each one with a machete about a third of the way down from the stem and bending it sharply at that point, deftly stacking the finished “shingles” by her side.  By the time the first women were done with the framework of the hut, the third had also finished her task and all three began hooking the leaves over the pole frame, working from the bottom up and overlapping each leaf with the one below.  As a finishing touch, huge banana-like leaves were placed on the ground inside the hut as a floor.   

In under 30 minutes, three women had built a dry and comfortable shelter!  In contrast, I used to build custom homes in the U.S., sometimes taking a year to complete a home with a five-man crew and numerous subcontractors.

The fact that the BaAka knew so much was impressive; that they were willing to share their knowledge with us was humbling and that they were proud of their knowledge was encouraging. Many indigenous people around the world have lost much of their traditional customs and knowledge because they had lost their value in the minds of the young people in the face of encroaching western civilization. Although tourism can sometimes bring unwanted change to a society, one of its advantages is that it validates traditional customs and values and gives local people a way to continue their age-old lifestyles. The alternatives -- logging, slash-and-burn farming, commercial hunting – are often extremely destructive to both the local ecology and to traditional ways of life. 

The next day, three of our group crammed into one of the Toyota 4X4s and headed out in an attempt to observe lowland gorillas in the wild. Due to the difficulty and length of the trail, several had chosen not to go, which was a good thing because group size limitations and lack of time had necessitated that only a total of six of us would be able to participate.  It was going to be a long drive and a long walk through dense rainforest, and there was no guarantee that we’d see gorillas.  

Things were looking good, though, because the Italian gorilla researchers said that a pair of gorillas was located and being monitored about an hour and a half walk from the researchers’ camp. After arriving at the camp, we hit the “trail,” accompanied by two BaAka trackers and a Bantu park guide. Although the trek wasn’t quite as difficult as I’d expected, having tried to follow a Pygmy through the rainforest on one other occasion, all three of us were grateful for the two short rest stops on the way.  

Sure enough, after about 90 minutes of brisk walking, Mzima, the tracker in front, stopped and held up one hand, pointing ahead with the other. At first I couldn’t see anything, so I crept forward a few feet until I was right beside him. I still couldn’t see anything. Slowly, with much craning of the neck and straining of the eyes, I saw a dark shape in the undergrowth. “Could that be a gorilla?” Then a part of the shape reached up and pulled down a branch and started munching on the delicate new green leaves on the end of it. “Yes!  But where was the other one?”  

We’d been told there was a young male and his father, a large adult silverback male. I didn’t see any silver, so the big one must be somewhere else nearby.  We’d been told that we should never look a gorilla in the eye – they considered this a threat – and never run, even if they charge.  Usually it’s a bluff.  As I gazed at the young male gorilla I thought suddenly that maybe Dad was gazing at me and not liking the way I was looking at his son. From then on, I did most of my observing out of the corner of my eye as I looked carefully at the ground. After all, this silverback probably weighed three times as much as me and was 10 times as strong. They may be gentle, peaceful creatures, but I still had no desire to make one mad at me. 

We stayed with our little family (Dad finally showed himself) for almost two hours, never getting too close, just following behind at a distance as they moved through the forest. For a time, the young male headed off in a direction of his own, while the silverback munched leaves peacefully in place.  

We decided to follow the young one and see what happened. The ranger said that sometimes the youth challenged the authority of the mature male and it was always interesting to observe the outcome.  Every few minutes, as Junior, who the BaAka called Ngimbelimbé, moved farther and farther away, we could hear Dad, named Mlima, give increasingly impatient grunt calls, ostensibly to call his son back.   

After about 30 minutes of this, we heard (we were far out of sight) a familiar (remember Tarzan movies?) drumbeat sound coming from the direction of Mlima.  Immediately Ngimbé-limbé started making his way back toward Dad, albeit in an indirect and rather petulant manner. Any of you who have raised teenagers know the drill.   

Memories that linger

My few hours with the gorillas was one of the most exciting and, at the same time, one of the most sublime, experiences of my life. My unease in the beginning was replaced by a feeling of calm and serenity in their presence. I felt so very fortunate to have been allowed a glimpse into their daily lives. I hope that the efforts of the Central African Republic and WWF in creating this park and the lodge will make it possible for Ngimbélimbé and Mlima and all their fellow gorillas to continue to live long and fulfilling lives in their rainforest home.   

Although Abubacar's urgent "Zra!  Zra!" still rang loud in my memory and almost no-one in our group was looking forward to the dusty, dangerous road back to "civilization," I, for one, felt so very fortunate to have been allowed the opportunity to see pristine rainforest, rare and magnificent animals, and perhaps most of all, a glimpse into a people's culture little changed with the centuries. I know the way in which I view the world has been forever changed by this experience, as it is every time I travel to places very different from my own.  

Now, several weeks after my return, I find that I don't recall very well the discomfort or uncertainty of the road there and back, though many of the adventures make great stories. But I do vividly remember the sound of an elephant trumpeting in the forest and the contented grunt of a silver-back gorilla in the wild, munching on a tender new stem and then rising to drum on his chest to summon an errant young male who had wandered too far. And I especially remember the BaAka woman whose eyes and hands danced as she explained the wonders of the tree bark with powers similar to, but far exceeding, those of our modern-day Viagra.  

Adventure travel, such as our journey to Dzanga-Sangha, requires some measure of patience and bravery, as well as a willingness to sacrifice many of the amenities and comforts to which we are accustomed. There is no easy way to get to the heart of Africa – there is only the knowledge, once you’ve experienced the wonders of its untouched nature and culture—that it’s worth it.