Finally, coming face to face with our primate cousins

Me with the massive apes

Restless all night with excitement, I was rudely awakened by a rap on the bungalow door announcing it was 0530 and time for me to get up.  The fact that I'd only managed no doze off about 2 hours ago, seemed immaterial to the rapper (sic) - and indeed it was.

I was going gorilla trekking - something I'd wanted to do since seeing "Gorillas in the Mist" way back in '87 or thereabouts.  I was about to savour every minute of it.

Rwandese dancer - the basket didn't fall once

We were soon off to the briefing centre where we were treated to a local dance with head-dresses waving and the balancing of woven baskets on ladies' heads.  Acrobatic jumps and broad smiles were the order of the day and it was a good way to wake up.

I'd been assigned to a group of 2 young ladies, 3 older ladies and a couple of the middle age variety.  Our group was quite international with the USA, South Africa, Croatia and Switzerland represented...not to mention the UK with me and by extension Kenya!

Getting with it

Patrick, our guide, ran through the dos and don'ts of the trek and we set off down a rather bumpy dirt track to the drop off point.  Here we each took a porter to carry our rucksacks etc and started the ascent - with the aid of sturdy mountain gorilla engraved walking stick.

Enjoying his work?

Great hairdos

About an hour of uphill slogging later, and after tens of smiling kids had encouraged us on our way, we reached the boundary wall which had been built along 70km in 2003 by locals to keep the buffalo and elephants in the national park and off their potato crops. 

And a flick back...!

We duly passed through a custom made gap and continued upwards, but now through dense jungle.  I couldn't help thinking of Tarzan and the black and white movies of his, where he swung through thick forest on vines .... The views ahead were exactly like that.  I must confess, the urge was there; to grasp hold of one of the thicker vines and see if I could imitate the swinging and "ooooouuuooooohoo hooo" - but sensibility got the better of me.  Fortunately, I suppose.

We marched through bamboo thickets, ducked under low-hanging branches covered in lichens and waded through cheek-high (yes, cheek-high) stinging nettles.  We then reached the point where we set our walking staffs down, divested ourselves of bags and other extraneous things and began the last few metres' walk.

There they were: Bwenge's group spread out on the ground without a care in the world.  Bwenge means "the wise one" in the local language and he is the son of the famous Titus. - who even features on Rwandan bank notes.  The troop is twelve strong and we saw nine of the group on our visit.

I was fixated.  I was emotional.  I was in awe.

The silver-back was huge.  And within arms reach.

They didn't do much, I must confess, but just being in their presence and being so privileged to sit with them for an hour (that's all you're allowed so as not to stress them out too much) was truly overwhelming. 

The babies (2) and the juveniles (3) were a little more boisterous and posed for the cameras.  The older females couldn't quite be bothered.  But the troop together grooming, yawning, scratching and snoring was breathtaking and beautiful.

The time slipped away too quickly and I couldn't believe it when Patrick said we had to be on our way back down the mountain. 

I'd been the last to arrive on the scene with the magnificent apes, and I was the last to leave.

Patrick, our guide

Bwenge, the silver back

A baby - about 2 years old

Local kids, waving us on up the trek

Bwenge having a good old yawn

And a scratch

You lookin' at me?!

Being a caring dad

Rwanda Day 2 - of genocide and driving

 

The 2^nd morning, was always going to be a bit draining.

 

Seemed odd to have a cafe on-site

I was off to the Genocide Memorial & Museum.  Having been to Auschwitz earlier this year, I must confess to having been disappointed with that experience; I wasn’t quite sure what to expect in Kigali.  The former had felt like a Disney-conveyor-belt type of encounter: where we were hurried along past gruesome exhibits of prosthetic limbs and human hair, without a chance to take it all in; without a chance to let the gravity and thus emotion of it all sink in.

 

The Rwandan display of man’s most heinous depths was a complete contrast.

A "few" names of the thousands who perished

 

For a start, there were far fewer people, so managing crowds wasn’t really an issue.

 

I picked up my audio guide (which thanks to being a resident in East Africa, was much discounted at US$5) and began my leisurely stroll around the memorial gardens.  There were roses planted in remembrance and fountains representing life – ironically the fountains seemed to be under repair, so the absent flowing water added to the eeriness of the place.  In the middle of this were several huge slabs of concrete, where several thousand people had been buried en masse.  This was such an horrific event, carried out over such a compacted range of time, all the names are not even known for the remembrance wall.   

The mass graves

 

It’s staggering to think that one group (the Hutus) could be so prepared, so psyched up and filled with such blind hatred to manage to slaughter over 800 000 – yes EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND – of their fellow countrymen (Tutsis) in a few bloody nauseating weeks.  

But they did and humanity slumped to its knees once again as it did with Nazism, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge and even more recently the Balkan massacres in and around Bosnia.

 

I took it all in my stride, pausing, reading, disbelieving but accepting.  The audio guide whirred with one fact and historical reference after another.  We did background, build up, colonial posturing, butchering, aftermath, UN ineptitude, re-building.  But I then had to brave the worst room of all – the children’s room.

 

Here, contrasted with bright orange painted walls, was a gallery about the lives of about 20 children, whose super-enlarged photos were posted around the place.  Each had a brief list of the same things: name, age, favourite game, hobby and how they had been killed: shot, machete’d, beaten to death or simply thrown against a wall.  The terrible, wasteful result was the same – so much lost and for what?!  The emotion was palpable and I was glad this was the last room.  I’d had enough.

 

Walking out into the bright sunlight, and with a panoramic view of the “new” Kigali and by extension the “new” Rwanda, you almost forget what you’ve just witnessed inside.  The juxtaposition is unnerving.

 

However, we had to move on.

 

The volcanoes come into view

We started our drive to Musanze, which is where the Virunga national park starts.  The winding road weaved its way upwards, climbing all the time on newly Chinese-funded Tarmac.  And greenery, lush, fertile greenery.  The volcanoes had done their job in making this corner of Africa incredibly fecund and almost every available inch of the hillsides were peppered with little farms – terraces neatly carved out of the steep slopes, some of which were almost vertical.

 

After about 2 hours, they finally came into view: 3 majestic (extinct) volcanoes, looming in the distance – and these were only part of the Virungas – there are 5 in total – one even with a lake on the top.

 

I got to the lodge shortly after and chilaxed as they say in my room, complete with roaring fire and watched the film "Gorillas in the Mist" on my iPad.  I then snuggled up with my hot-water bottle under the covers and tried to get some sleep before my 0530 wake-up call and the trek to see the animals I’d longed to see in real-life for over 15 years.

 

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t sleep a wink...!