by John Fowler
Moss’s book also outlined the complex social system of many species of antelopes. A horned male impala or gazelle keeps watch over a group of hornless females with which he breeds—he must constantly defend his harem from the advances of other males in violent duels. During our travels, what at first seemed like animals randomly scattered across the savanna took on new meaning. We would notice the attentive male Thompson’s gazelle near a group of thirty females, and we contemplated his struggles. We saw other males in the distance vying for the herd, and we knew what they wanted. We began to understand that grasslands had a structure and complex order to its robust vitality.
On our leg to Amboseli, Kenya, we visited Moss’s camp of canvas tents and simple wooden tables tucked in a gallery of acacias. A notebook sat on a table next to odd-shaped bones, bleaching in the sun. Khaki clothing hung on a line stretched between two trees. Far from modern conveniences, the camp looked comfortable and idyllic. Moss’s neighbors were elephants, rhinos, and lions from the surrounding grasslands, which were warm and dry, stretching farther than we could see. What else did anyone need?
Moss was away from camp that day, but at the end of our stay in Kenya, she came to visit us in Nairobi. She was laid-back and soft-spoken with medium-length wavy brown hair highlighted by the sun, which had given it the color of the dry savanna grasses. She began by thanking us for reading her book and told us she had come to Kenya from the United States years previously on a writing assignment for Newsweek magazine. After that, she didn’t leave.
Her love for Africa was apparent in the tales she told us. Casual and relaxed amid our group of students, she patiently answered all of our questions about her life and work, unable to conceal a special admiration and fondness for elephants. This gracious behaviorist autographed each of our books before she left. I opened mine and read: To John, With best wishes, Cynthia Moss, Nairobi, August 10, 1979.
I marveled at her resolve, and understood her desire to live in Africa because I felt it myself.
Back at UGA that fall, I tried to knuckle under again for academic life. My pre-vet club needed speakers for future meetings and I thought of Terry Maple. He wasn’t an authority on veterinary medicine, but he could talk to our group about his study-abroad program and provide an inspiring diversion to the sometimes uninspiring drudgery of undergraduate studies.
I called Terry at Georgia Tech, and he agreed to speak to our club. After setting a date for the next meeting, I told Terry yet again how much I enjoyed traveling in Kenya and seeing Africa’s abundant wildlife firsthand, and learning so much while among them. In response, Terry surprised me with a request of his own.
“How would you like to go to Rwanda and study mountain gorillas with Dian Fossey?”
I was dumbstruck.
“Where? Who?” I stammered. Maple, an ambitious man with a profound interest in great apes, explained that he had learned of the opportunity from a fellow primate behaviorist, Dr. Ramon Rhine of the University of California at Riverside, who was on the research advisory board for Karisoke Research Center.
Dian Fossey was then little known outside the world of primate behaviorists, and I had to ask Terry more about her. As he explained that the National Geographic Society funded her and she had written articles in their magazine, I did recall seeing the stunning images of her sitting with wild gorillas. Rwanda, a tiny country in the center of Africa, was then little known to the rest of the world.
Terry explained that Fossey was looking for up to three students to staff her research camp because she was planning to leave for a year’s teaching assignment at Cornell University. Terry’s tone changed as he went on to say that through conversations with Dr. Rhine, he had learned that Fossey could be difficult to work with. Many students had clashed with her and left camp, “. . . and she hasn’t been as productive with her research as expected.” Apparently, Terry added, she felt men were more suited to the work and that women were not suited for mountain gorilla research and the Spartan living at Karisoke. This seemed bizarre to me because she was a woman, after all. I wondered what kind of a woman she was.
“She may just need a friend,” Terry said.
This comment stuck in my mind. Although Maple and I briefly discussed research topics like mother-infant behavior in great apes, befriending Dian Fossey loomed as my primary objective. An easy task, I was sure. I saw myself as even-tempered and nonconfrontational. She wanted helpers, and I would be at her service. Someone doing such great work and not being appreciated for it, I thought, was sad and worthy of remediation. I honestly took the opportunity to assist her to be an honor and a privilege, not a problem. Without hesitating, I said, “Yes!”
Despite my obvious enthusiasm, Terry said, “Take the next twenty-four hours to think about it and call me back.”
My roommates, Jeff and Kevin were stunned by my news, but not more so than my parents were. My mom’s reaction was, “My God, a whole year in Africa?!” But after having raised four sons to adulthood with minds of their own, she didn’t try to talk me out of it.
After twenty-four hours had elapsed, I called Terry and reconfirmed what I said before, “Yes, I want to go back to Africa.” There was a thrill in the ensuing pause in our conversation. Terry seemed as excited as I was. “If I had an opportunity like this when I was your age, I’d go,” he said. I knew then that he was living vicariously through this chance of mine.
Terry didn’t know the exact time line for departure, but said that I might have to leave soon. I didn’t care, and was foolishly willing to drop out of fall quarter if it was necessary.
From that point on, I struggled to remain focused on my studies while dreaming of mountain gorillas. Terry called me almost weekly to brief me on his progress with making things happen. “Dian is particularly interested in students who have their own source of funds,” he said, “but I might be able to get a benefactor to pay your airfare over there.” I told Terry that I had about five hundred dollars that I could live off of, and he put this all in a letter on my behalf to Dr. Rhine on the Karisoke Board. Dr. Rhine forwarded that on to Dian Fossey, and I wondered how many other students had been contacted and were being considered. We waited for an answer.
I sat through my microbiology course and remember nothing about it. My study sessions in the campus library turned into searches for the National Geographic magazines with articles by Dian Fossey about the mountain gorillas. Nights that I started working on my paper in Principles of Human Ecology and Evolution turned into evenings reading George Schaller’s book, The Mountain Gorilla.
“You’re going to Rwanda young man,” said Terry on the phone near the end of the quarter. “Dian has selected you and two other students to go to Karisoke. And I’ve found a woman named Betty Wisdom from New Orleans who will pay for your airfare.” I was really going back to Africa. When I told my roommates and fellow pre-vet students around the UGA campus that I was going to Rwanda to work with mountain gorillas, I tried to be nonchalant instead of giddy. They were amazed. Is she that woman who works with chimps? How did that happen? Why you?
Why me? I wondered too. Just an undergraduate hoping to get into vet school, I had no research or field experience other than Terry Maple’s course. I didn’t dwell on my lack of qualifications, but struggled to remain focused on my studies while dreaming of mountain gorillas. I soon received the following letter from Dr. Rhine confirming my acceptance.
Dear John:
I am very pleased to inform you that Dr. Fossey has wired acceptance of your application for research at her Karisoke Research Center in Rwanda. I had informed her that you are financially self-sufficient, will stay a minimum of 12 months, and can leave sometime around the first of the year . . .
Remember, you may well hate Rwanda and Karisoke, especially during the first three months or so. After that, you may or may not learn to tolerate the place or even gradually fall in love with it. Be prepared for never-ending frustrations and loneliness.
I’ll be in touch again before l
ong.
Sincerely yours,
Ramon J. Rhine
Professor
University of California, Riverside
Getting this letter was like winning the lottery, and I shrugged off its foreboding undertone. How could I hate anything about this great opportunity?
Fall quarter ended and I went home to Virginia. Terry had forwarded a letter to me written by Peter Veit, the only student remaining at Karisoke. Veit recommended equipment and supplies that the new students should bring with them to Karisoke. My brother Steve, the forestry major, helped me shop for a pair of sturdy hiking boots, a backpack and a cheap set of plastic raingear. Veit had recommended bringing a compass and waterproof paper. Steve, who had spent past summers working as a land surveyor’s assistant, also helped me find a good compass and the expensive waterproof paper at a surveyors’ supply store.
A woman named Carolyn Phillips called me from Seattle, Washington. She was one of the other students who Dian had chosen to work at Karisoke. Until then, I assumed I would be traveling alone. Carolyn had learned from Dr. Rhine of the third student who had been selected, Stuart Perlmeter, living in Eugene, Oregon. She had called him and asked if they could travel from the West Coast together. Perlmeter told her he wanted to stick to his plan to leave around Christmas—being Jewish, the approaching holidays wouldn’t slow him down. As that was too soon for Carolyn, he would travel alone. My new colleague was relieved when I agreed to coordinate my travel plans with hers after New Year’s, telling me she had never been to Africa. I told her about my previous trip with Terry Maple, and she said she felt more comfortable knowing I had some experience traveling in Africa. From my adventurous but naïve young perspective, I didn’t understand her cautiousness, but Carolyn seemed easygoing and friendly and I looked forward to meeting her.
Going through my belongings from my previous travels in East Africa, I marveled once again at my first passport I had used the previous summer and was thankful that the vaccines listed in my health certificate were still good for entry into Kenya. I wouldn’t need another painful gamma globulin shot in my ass.
I was scheduled to leave for Rwanda on January 8. Terry called me a few days prior to departure to arrange a meeting somewhere between my home in Mount Jackson, Virginia and his in Atlanta, Georgia. He had a one-way airline ticket for me, some research-related reading material, a letter of recommendation to help me get an extended visa, and permission to conduct research in Rwanda.
“Did you hear what I said?” Terry asked. A one-way ticket?” I laughed at the implication, but remained undaunted. I could only think forward, about getting there, so excited was I about the opportunity.
We ate burgers and fries at an interstate fast food joint as Terry discussed the various research topics I could pursue with the mountain gorillas. Terry recommended a mother-infant study, or the role of adult males called silverbacks. He decided, of course, that whatever research topic Fossey wanted would be the way to go. Terry also told me that Dr. Rhine had said that Dian would be appointing one of the new students as acting director of the research center before she departed to begin teaching at Cornell. Terry paused for my reaction. I remained silent, but knew what he was thinking. This was too much. How could I be acting director with such a limited background? I barely understood the research topics and was overwhelmed by Terry’s innuendo. Before we parted, Terry said, “I want you to know that January eighth is Alfred Russel Wallace’s birthday.”
“It is?”
“Do you know who Alfred Russel Wallace is?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“He’s the cofounder of the Theory of Evolution. Along with Charles Darwin, but Darwin publicized it first. Beat him to it. I have an Alfred Russel Wallace birthday party at my house every year. This year we’ll be toasting you while you’re in the air on your way to the mountain gorillas.”
TWO
INTO RWANDA
On January 8, 1980, Carolyn and I traveled through waylays and delays for over five days via Nairobi, Kenya into Kigali, Rwanda. Along the way, we compared notes on how we fell into this opportunity. Carolyn had been a volunteer at Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle and knew the zoo’s director, David Hancocks. Hancocks had learned of Dian’s request for students from Dr. Rhine, the same as Terry. At thirty-four, she was eleven years my senior, and well read on Dian Fossey and her work. Petite and attractive with long dark hair, her qualifications consisted primarily of her zoo volunteer work; other than that, she had a BA in English, and a supportive attitude toward Fossey’s work, with admiration bordering on reverence. By comparison, I felt ashamed to say how little I knew about Dian before this opportunity arose.
Upon arrival in Kigali, we were graciously taken in and hosted by US Embassy staffers stationed there. There was that much excitement and mystique about Karisoke and the people involved with it. The embassy’s Communications Programs Officer, Judy Chidester, generously offered us her home, a spacious four-bedroom abode, which her coworkers had dubbed “Judy’s Joint,” with a sign proclaiming just that by the driveway. Judy was a full-figured gal in her early forties with a short crop of dark curls, dressed for the tropics in a sleeveless blouse and bright slacks. Robust and cheerful, she gave us a quick tour of her home and showed us our rooms. French doors in the large living area opened to a wide veranda facing eastward over Kigali’s rolling hillsides. In the distance, we noticed an airplane taking off from the airport where we had just arrived.
I had read that Kigali was at 5,000 feet above sea level, and I commented about the temperature being just right at nearly 80 degrees.
“That’s why I’ve put in for another three years here.” Judy said, grinning. “But we’re just at the end of the short dry season. It’ll be clouding up here in the next few weeks.”
Carolyn and I thanked Judy profusely for the luxurious accommodations, and joked about how the situation was not going to help prepare us for what we knew would be Spartan conditions ahead, among the mountain gorillas.
“I’ll be heading up to Karisoke myself this week,” Judy informed us, “To help take care of the baby.”
At our surprised confusion, Judy went on to tell Carolyn and me that a baby gorilla had recently been confiscated from poachers and was now being cared for at Karisoke. In order for Dian to leave camp to retrieve us, Judy and her friend, Liza Escher, from the Swiss consulate would be traveling to Karisoke to babysit the little gorilla while Dian came to Kigali. This news just added another layer of excitement about what lay ahead.
“There’s a box of chocolates on the end table there, help yourself to the top layer.” Judy said, as she slipped out the doorway, on her way back to work. “The bottom layer’s mine!” she added with a laugh.
Judy’s friend Ann Yancey, the embassy’s Economic/Commercial Officer and Vice Consul, invited Judy, Carolyn, and me over for dinner at her equally gracious home, to savor a repurposed pork loin, which they and others had already sampled in a meal at Judy’s Joint. Ann, in her late twenties, was as cheerfully adapted to her Rwandan outpost as Judy.
“When we get a good cut of meat like that here,” Ann said, a shock of blond curls bouncing around her fair-skinned face, “we’ve got to take advantage of it in more than one meal.”
A few other embassy staffers joined the dinner party, as did Brooke Stallsmith, a tall, thin, bespectacled young man in his twenties. Brooke was stationed in Rwanda with USAID for agricultural development. It was obvious that Karisoke, the mountain gorillas, and particularly Dian Fossey were subjects of great curiosity, and Carolyn’s and my presence provided a novel diversion and topic of interest. Our own curiosity at the table, about what lay ahead for the two of us at Karisoke Research Center, was met with cryptic responses from those who had already met the mysterious gorilla lady.
“Soon you’ll know much more about her than we do,” Brooke offered.
“Anyone who’s had to live up at Karisoke as Dian has . . .” Judy offered, hesitating with a deep breath, “as remote as it is
, and dealing with what she’s had to deal with, fighting for the gorillas, like she has, and the poaching. Well, that’s got to take a toll on you.”
Just as I thought that Judy had answered this question before, Ann chimed in, “Well, you’ll be able to form your own opinions after you’ve been up there a while.”
To our excitement, Brooke also informed us that a volcano was erupting across the border in neighboring Zaire. Mount Nyamuragira, an active volcano in the Virunga mountain chain, had just recently blown its stack and was spewing molten lava down its slopes.
“Perhaps you’ll be able to see it from where you’ll be up there,” our dinner group surmised.
We also learned from the group that our American ambassador, Harry Melone, Jr., along with family and friends, was currently visiting Karisoke. His considerable clout garnered him and his special guests the favor of accommodations, hosted by Dian Fossey herself, including exclusive access to her research gorillas. The presence of a baby mountain gorilla in camp made the timing all that more alluring and special.
By the time Judy left Carolyn and me in her home, and headed up to Karisoke with her friend Liza as planned, word was that Dian would arrive the next day. But even over the next couple of days, she had not yet arrived. Some speculated that the ambassador’s visit to her camp, combined with the baby gorilla’s arrival were the likely delays. Back then, Kigali was a small city of only 130,000 or so, and Carolyn and I passed the idle days walking its dusty dirt roads and intermittent pavement. To pass the time, we visited Kigali’s central open market, and the shops around town featuring local crafts and souvenirs. The Hôtel des Mille Collines was the nicest venue in town, but too extravagant for us to even have lunch with our meager funds. English was rare, and everywhere we went, I found myself using animated hand signals to help communicate. I bought an assortment of vegetables at the market with a plan to make soup for lunch back at Judy’s Joint. Tiny red peppers Rwandans call pili-pili had also caught my eye, and I added those into the mix as well. The result was too caustic to eat. I couldn’t finish mine, and felt bad for Carolyn who somehow managed to eat all of hers.
