IMAGES: VOLCANOES SAFARIS; ALAMY
UGANDA
of masculinity, he sprawls on his back and lets out a long, satisfied fart, legs splayed, eyes closed, his belly lifted towards the sky. When the encounter is over, we begin our slow
descent from the mountain and to distract myself from the ache of leaving the family behind, I quiz Hosea on the situation of gorillas today. Confined to a small area across the volcanic ranges of Uganda, Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo, the mountain gorilla is the only great ape whose numbers are rising. Fewer than 300 in 1991, their population has climbed to more than 1,000 today. The magic I felt watching them only makes
this fact more moving — it’s significance impossible to overstate — and it’s clear much of the credit belongs to local people who have taken conservation into their own hands. “My work is everything to me,” Hosea says simply. “But here, we also know what helps the gorillas, helps us. Tourists come to Uganda to see them. They’re the country’s golden ticket and protecting them is the most important thing.”
PEOPLE OF THE FOREST Hosea’s words ring true. While the guests at Volcanoes’ Mount Gahinga Lodge gush about the landscapes (“so green, so lush”) and the people (“the nicest we’ve ever met”), most are here for one thing: gorillas. I fall into conversation with an American couple,
John and Colleen, in the sitting room as raindrops the size of acorns soak the earth and thunder growls throatily overhead. The wild weather makes the room even more inviting. A fire crackles, the sofas are so soft it’s hard not to sink into a stupor, and tea arrives courtesy of a team who seem to know exactly what you want before you ask. On the walls, the art is a shrine to gorillas: faces stare out from photographs, ranges are traced on framed maps of the country’s national parks and their presence is immortalised in a row of remarkably lifelike wooden masks. For an hour, we marvel at our encounters; their
From top: The beautiful rooms at Mount Gahinga Lodge are built from locally sourced materials; the Batwa used a deep ancestral knowledge of plants and animals to survive without damaging their environment
soulful expressions, how even a casual back scratch feels profound. But when cameras are lowered and conversation turns to economics, the mood shifts. Twenty percent of park entry fees go to surrounding communities, John confirms after a quick Google, but not everyone feels the benefits. Behind the success story of gorilla tourism lies another tale: that of the Batwa, a people who have shouldered the hidden cost of conservation.
One of Africa’s oldest forest-dwelling tribes, the
Batwa lived in harmony with mountain gorillas for centuries, sustaining a hunter-gatherer culture deep in the heart of the jungle. When the land was declared a national park in 1991, they were forcibly — and controversially — evicted without compensation. Cast out from their ancestral home, the so-called ‘pygmy people’ have faced bullying and exclusion, struggling to find a place in society. When the storm subsides and birds resume their
tuneful whistling in the lodge’s gardens, I head out to meet the Batwa for myself. The village of 32 families was built and funded entirely by Volcanoes Safaris, which also employs many of its residents. My guide, Deus, is one of them, a smartly dressed 18-year-old with serious eyes and a stoicism that seems to define this community. “My parents were born in the jungle,” he says.
“We didn’t need to be taught about conservation, my people lived and breathed it. We respected the forest and the forest respected us. We’re used to our lives now but my mum still misses the wild honey; she’s determined nothing else tastes the same.” We stroll between mud-brick homes, pausing
first to greet Jane, the village chairwoman, before stopping beside a lady peeling potatoes beneath the shade of a thatched roof. Cloaked in a colourful shawl, she works with steady rhythm while two piglets snuffle at her feet, grunting with pleasure as they gobble the scraps she tosses aside. “The gorillas were our neighbours,” she
reminisces. “When I used to pick passionfruit for my family, I’d often stand beneath the trees and the gorillas would drop them down to me. One for them, one for me. We just knew that when they made their beds in the evening, that was the time to keep our distance. After all, everyone wants a good night’s sleep.” It’s a story that lingers — proof of the bonds
possible with great apes and a reminder of just how human they are. This familiarity follows me when I next venture into the forest, this time in Bwindi, a bone-rattling four-hour drive north.
UNLIKELY PROTECTORS Led by a rifle-wielding guard and followed by sure- footed porters carrying our rucksacks, we’ve been walking through Bwindi Impenetrable Forest for over an hour. The name is apt. The jungle here feels indomitable, a living being that tests every step and swallows our voices whole. Above, the canopy arches like a vast ribcage, while roots coil beneath
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER – EXPERIENCES COLLECTION 57
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