by Farley Mowat
This last was a reference to the fact that Anita and a number of other Houghton Mifflin employees had been fired a few months earlier as part of an economy measure. Dian’s sense of loyalty had been outraged, and she had been waging war with her publishers ever since.
Although she had been physically drained by the past two months—her physician of many years, Dr. Ralph Spiegl, was now adjuring her to “preserve yourself; throw away the cigarettes; gain some weight; do some exercises; stop phoning your parents”—the experience seems to have stimulated Dian’s imagination.
I’m going to introduce an entirely new idea for the protection of the remaining mountain gorillas; one that, hopefully, will eliminate once and for all the barriers that continue to divide native blacks from white expatriates, pit one country against another (Zaire/Uganda/Rwanda), and one organization against the other. My idea is based upon the very simple fact that gorillas live in groups.
I call it the Guardians for Gorilla Groups plan.
I would like to see each of the forty-five or fifty gorilla groups scattered throughout the Virungas made the sole responsibility of a small staff of “guardians” consisting of one or two park guards, perhaps some of their family members, and a few black or white assistants.
Ideally each gorilla group would be contacted by a guardian at least every second day so that the location and status of every gorilla within the Virungas would constantly be known to a central registry. In addition to regular salaries, the guardians would be rewarded on a merit basis.
The American and European public, instead of being asked to give toward the general cause of gorilla conservation, would be invited to adopt a gorilla group and contribute to the expenses of that group’s guardians. These sponsors would receive accountings of the work of the guardians and reports on the status of the groups, and of named individual gorillas within the groups.
The idea is so simple it can hardly help but work, and I do not understand why I have not thought of it before. The surviving gorillas are now very unevenly distributed because of the very unequal degree of protection they receive. For example: Mt. Muhabura, shared by Uganda and Rwanda. In 1955 there were over fifty-five gorillas living on that mountain. The Karisoke Research Center census of 1981 found only six survivors in two tiny groups, and a solitary silverback. This is because this area gets no protection from the Parc National des Volcans guards, and none from Uganda. Yet Mt. Muhabura is ideal terrain for mountain gorillas. My Guardian plan could save what individuals remain and help the buildup of a new population there.
I don’t believe I am being unduly optimistic, not after all my years of experience with the local people. I will present the proposal to the new director of ORTPN upon my return to Kigali. At worst, he can only turn it down, but I intend to be convincing.
While Dian was still in Ithaca, devoting her depleted energies to refining her gorilla guardian plan, a letter arrived from Richard Barnes. It was a shocker. “The center is now bankrupt,” he announced curtly. “There is no money left to pay the staff…. On Tuesday I will pay the men’s wages out of my own pocket, and then it seems that I will have no other option but to close down the center…. If that happens the consequences could be serious: the news will get around outside the park and (a) potential poachers will realise that our gorillas are unguarded, and (b) robbers will know that it is easy to raid the camp.”
Dian received this doomsday announcement with incredulity and bewilderment. She had left Barnes what she believed to have been more than sufficient funds and as recently as October 18 had sent him an additional five thousand dollars by bank transfer. She was still trying to make sense of the situation when Dr. Snider telephoned in great perturbation. He too had received a copy of Barnes’s dire warning and wanted an immediate explanation of what had happened to the National Geographic grant monies.
Very much on the horns of a dilemma, Dian had no ready answer. She had convinced herself, and wished to believe, that Barnes was the right man in the right place—an able lieutenant who not only could assist her in restoring the center to its former state of effectiveness, but one who could exercise effective command during her absences. “He is calm, reasonable, and above all, reliable,” she had insisted.
Her written reply to Snider was defensive of Barnes. She maintained that Karisoke could not possibly be short of money. As for Barnes, “he is an exceedingly conscientious person who has, I fear, become overly fatigued by patrol work and trying to keep up with various fringe groups of gorillas. Therefore he is not putting the camp’s objectives into their proper perspective; fatigue is the biggest cause of ‘bushiness’ that I know of, and who could be a better spokesperson on that topic! … It is my fervent hope that the camp will live up to its past standards despite the current slump, which I feel certain will be remedied.”
These hopes were dashed when a worried Warren Garst, recently returned from Rwanda, called to tell her that conditions at Karisoke had become chaotic and that Barnes had also told him that the center was closing down. Bewilderment was followed by disillusionment, then anger as Dian heard from another source that Barnes and Jensen would be joining the staff of the Mountain Gorilla Project under the ubiquitous JeanPierre von der Becke.
By then it was time to fly back to Rwanda, accompanied by Warren Garst, who needed some additional footage for his film. The pair arrived in Kigali on November 22 and remained in the capital for the next several days while Dian tried to rally the Rwandan authorities and other interested parties in support of her gorilla guardians scheme. On December 15 she sent the National Geographic a formal account of what had transpired in Kigali, and of what had awaited her when she climbed to Karisoke.
As if fearful that the Society might not credit what she had to tell, she invoked the services of a witness:
“I have been fortunate in having Dr. Warren Garst present … during most of the events that occurred following my arrival in Rwanda….
“I had a meeting with Laurent Habiyaremye, the new director of the Office Rwandais du Tourisme et des Parcs Nationaux (ORTPN). Mr. Habiyaremye has been a friend of mine for some ten years at least, from the time when he used to direct an import company…. We had an excellent meeting. He appeared very pleased with the new plan, Guardians for Gorilla Groups….
“Dr. Garst and I invited J.P. von der Becke to dinner, along with Drs. Alain and Nichole Monfort, who serve as advisers now for the A’Kagera Park. J.P. had just returned from a six-week stay in America and Belgium as you know.
“J.P.’s attitude could only be described as a mixture of hostility and smugness. He stated that he had been asked to lecture at the National Geographic Society … and that he had had ‘discussions’ with members of the N.G. Research Committee. If this is so, could I be informed about any decisions made, please? He was not talking.
“J.P. alone, of those I spoke to in Kigali, did not care for the Guardians for Gorilla Groups proposal, stating that it required too many extra guards, which is not so at all. Personally I feel that he was miffed that he had not thought of it first…. In quite an outburst he stated that my ‘book was all lies,’ as were my lectures.
“Dr. Garst and I climbed up to camp on Sunday to find that Karen Jensen and two family members of Richard’s had packed up their belongings and left the previous Thursday for J.P.’s home near Ruhengeri. Dr. Garst went to Richard’s cabin to invite him for dinner, which was refused; but a 10:00 A.M. meeting was scheduled for the following morning. Dr. Garst was present throughout.
“Without any formalities Richard announced, ‘It will not come as any surprise to you, but we are quitting.’ He then proceeded to hand over a check for 270,000 Rwandan francs (which were the unspent funds on hand)…. No accounting was given of any money spent since the end of June…. I asked about my .32 Walther pistol…. He responded, ‘I threw the gun away in the forest. It was not registered and was therefore illegal in this country.’ … No answers except ‘Bullshit’ were given to my inquiries about three missing Olive
tti typewriters…. There were no reports or summaries of research activities after the end of September. As well, the Karisoke seal is missing.
“Richard left at 10:45 along with the rest of his belongings…. During the course of cleaning up the mess in his cabin, I found several letter copies from J.P. von der Becke to the director of ORTPN stating that Karisoke should be part of the Mountain Gorilla Project, therefore under his jurisdiction…. This explains, to a great extent, why work permits have been held up. Without researchers, a research camp is simply a collection of buildings awaiting occupancy by tourists. I don’t intend to let that happen.
“I had a lecture series arranged in South African universities beginning January 25, to be followed by a book tour in England through February. Unless something in the way of a miracle happens, I don’t see how I can now keep these schedules.”
Not only had Richard Barnes failed to live up to Dian’s expectations, his departure with Karen Jensen stripped the Karisoke Research Center of researchers, leaving it—in the opinion of her detractors—without legitimate purpose. It also left Dian effectively rooted to her volcanic aerie in the role of caretaker and general factotum.
In this emergency she began beating the academic underbrush in the United States for new students. She also bethought herself of David Watts, to whom she wrote and cabled, asking him to reconsider taking on the job of center director.
She needed researchers not just to keep von der Becke and his ambitions at bay, but also to justify continuing financial support for the center.
Without research data’s being generated at camp, it is not possible for me to ask N.G. for funds to support Karisoke. For the time being, until new students can be found, I am monitoring the gorillas as best I can with the aid of the trackers. When N.G. funds run out-probably at the end of January of ’84-1 will have to keep the camp going entirely on my own funds for at least three months until research gets properly under way again. For the time being, because of the money earned lecturing in the United States, we can survive.
Although Dian was beset with difficulties, Karisoke comforted her. On the first morning after her arrival home, even before the somewhat bizarre meeting with Barnes, she had spent an hour on the meadows watching the biggest, most inquisitive bushbuck she had ever seen; and had been greeted there by the resident pair of white-necked ravens accompanied by two young-of-the-year. The adult birds flew directly to her and lit on the ground only a few feet away. Dian could not be sure that they had recognized her, but felt they had.
On her second day home, “feeling very fit,” she accompanied Garst on a filming foray to Nunkie’s group where that sage old silverback obliged the camera by staging such a convincing mock charge that Garst fell over backward with his tripod on top of him. “If gorillas could laugh,” Dian noted gleefully, “Nunkie would have been having hysterics.”
Garst departed on December 18.
I am now alone with my white elephant, Karisoke, my wonderful Africans, my gorillas, and all the other animals. It would be ideal, if not for future problems having to do with money and the efforts of outsiders to make as many difficulties as possible.
A few days later Anita McClellan arrived for a two-week visit. This was a happy time. Dian introduced her friend to the forest world and to the gorillas, and they spent long evenings in front of the restored living room fireplace talking of their dear departed dogs and other subjects close to their hearts. They also made excited preparations for the revival of one of Dian’s cherished Karisoke traditions— “the Wogs’ Christmas party.”
Anita and I had to work nearly to dawn wrapping extra presents and making more food because Gwehandagoza came up with the news there would be one hell of a big crowd coming. The party is supposed to be just for the Africans who work here and their close relatives, but now they have the idea it’s for the whole extended family!
Well, we had it on the twenty-fourth as per schedule. Eighty-one men, women, and children climbed up here-and eighty-two went down. Yes, I delivered my very first baby yesterday, in between passing out lunch and passing out the Christmas presents!
No, I did not pass out too, but it sure was an odoriferous and intriguing experience to say the least. The mother was the wife of my tracker Kana, and he and she are both Batwas. Most of the other women present were Bahutu, and so none of them particularly wanted to help her out, so that left you know who to order the boiling water (I never saw so much boiling water in my life) and take up where the poor lady had to leave off.
The problem started after the whole crowd had spent two hours dancing and singing and drinking pombe and just generally having a good time. I got into this myself, and I guess Kana’s wife and I both overdid it, but the results were worse for her. I had started taking Polaroid pictures of each family group for presents, when it became obvious that Kana’s wife wasn’t able to smile. He poked her and ordered her to smile, which she did momentarily, but that poke was the “straw that broke,” only in this case it was the bag of waters.
I had her carried to the guest bed in my spare room and rolled up my sleeves the way they do on those TV movies of a prairie homestead.
When the baby was out, I cut the cord properly with my bread knife (fortunately just sharpened) on the breadboard, then tied the cord with whatever was handy-a pipe cleaner-then slapped the hell out of the baby, who didn’t seem to be breathing at all. The mother seemed in too much pain to be much interested (the baby was a month early) as I held him upside down and slapped away. But she smiled when he finally screamed and began breathing.
Then she sucked the gluck out of his nose and ears (there are limits to my abilities), after which I cleaned off the debris adhering to his tadpolelike form. (Why is it that newly born television babies come out pink and clean and unscummy?) I then swathed him in a towel swiped from the Mille des Collines hotel, handed him back to his mum, and ordered her to nurse him, just as I had seen it done on TV.
Well, was I ever laughed at by the assembled ladies who had crowded into the room to see the fun. According to what I was then told, babies are usually born in the field, and other work usually has to be completed before baby gets a chance to have its first meal. They truly didn’t know that the neonate could suckle in its first hour of life! I didn’t either, but it knew, and it did!
The crowd was now getting restless for their gifts, so I left the mother and child to begin distributing the loot, but before I could get started, Kana gave a speech announcing a successful birth and then he named the new son KARISOKE! How about that! Then the women, some nineteen of them, began a birth chant that was simply spine-tingling. There are no words to describe it, but I shall never forget it.
About 5:00 P.M. the guests left along with Kana and most of his children. An eighteen-month-old had to stay behind too because it was still suckling, and a young girl stayed to spend the night with the mother, change pots, and switch the two babies to and from the lunch table.
Next morning Kana returned along with his mother-in-law, the most gnarled, sweet-smiling, dignified old lady all dressed up in her very very best finery. She had climbed the mountain for the first time in her life to say thank you and to chant prayers of thanksgiving over her new grandson. I was truly touched by her graciousness. It was an extraordinary experience, and a humbling one.
The wife and babe descended at 10:00 A.M. in the rain after Kana and the grandmother had cleaned up the room to the best of their ability. I never thought about it at the time, but the birth of a Batwa baby at Karisoke might have a good influence on controlling poaching activities. Kana and his family are related to all the Batwas in Mukingo, the biggest poaching village in the Virungas. So word will spread that Nyiramachabelli chose to deliver a Twa baby, rather than chase the mother and child into the woods. So this fortuitous event may turn out to have been an effective measure of active conservation!
Kana’s son was not the only unexpected gift to arrive at Karisoke that Christmas. On December 26, Dian received a letter from Ran
e Randolph enclosing a photocopy of a check for ten thousand dollars—a donation to the Digit Fund from two Californians, Harold and Sandra Price—no relation to Richard Price.
Apart from atrocious weather— “Daily rain, fog, and hail”—January of 1984 was unusually kind to Dian. There was still no word of new students on their way or of whether Watts would accept her offer, but Anita remained in camp until the tenth, and on January 5, Dian welcomed another visitor.
Carole Le Jeune is a Belgian “girl” of forty-one years who was born in Zaire and has lived there most of her life. She is an artist specializing in paintings of flowers, very shy and sort of peculiar. She is willing to stay here during the three weeks I might be gone, but I don’t feel totally secure about this since she is subject to attacks of malaria and isn’t feeling so well just now.
Gorillas are doing fine-though I can’t keep up with them as before because my foot is infected again and of course my lungs are bad-and they are ranging so very far away. My biggest problem at the moment is that I am due to leave for South Africa on January 25 and then on to England, but I don’t feel I can leave responsibility for camp just with Carole and the Africans (though they are as loyal as always) because of what might eventuate from down below. So I am on the verge of having to decline these long-planned tours. Won’t cable the sponsors just yet as I am hoping for a minor miracle in the form of “replacements.”
The miracle occurred. On January 18, while driving back to the Karisoke car park after a visit to Gisenyi, Carole Le Jeune encountered that rare phenomenon in Rwanda—a European hitchhiker. Being a kindly soul, she offered him a lift. The sunburned young man explained that he was a farmer’s son from the French Alps working his way around the world before settling down. He had heard about the gorillas of the Virungas and had decided to stop by en route to Uganda. Carole decided to risk Dian’s ire—all too easily roused by tourists—and take him back to camp with her. It was an inspired decision. Dian liked him, and when he volunteered to spend the next three or four weeks at Karisoke, she was happy to accept.
