As I walked towards him, he still hadn’t moved from surprise to bewilderment. My hand was extended. ‘Hello. We are with the BBC,’ I said, in a tone that suggested we might be filming for Blue Peter. I acted as if I was greeting him in a hotel lobby. As he moved into the bewilderment stage, he actually shook my hand. ‘Hi. I’m Donal MacIntyre; how are you doing?’ I went on. Then panic slowly set in: I could see it in his eyes. His hand went limp and slipped out of mine, and then the screaming started. ‘I think it’s time to go,’ I said to Jay, beginning to panic myself. He was standing on a wall, getting as many shots as possible before we were forced to make our getaway. ‘Jay, just jump,’ I shouted, as the zoo-keeper’s screams got louder.
I grabbed Jay’s khaki shirt and dragged him back to where we had come over the wall. We used a rock and a tree to perch on and managed to get over the wall before reinforcements arrived. We hit the ground running, laughing like nine-year-olds who had just robbed an orchard. We jumped into the van and sped off. ‘Keep your head down,’ the driver shouted to us. Just like in the movies, the Police cars raced past us on the other side of the road, oblivious to the culprits making their escape. We were safe and we had the pictures. After the investigation was made public, and on foot of our evidence, the zoo was forced to return the gorillas to South Africa. They continue to deny that they knew it was an illegal trade, a denial that has been treated with some scepticism by wildlife organisations.
* * * * *
A while later, we returned to the area of Baby Bibisi’s kidnap in the Virunga Mountains, but this time we were travelling across the border to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), an even more lawless and dangerous place than its neighbour, Rwanda. The DRC has an active market in orphaned baby gorillas, so we came here to search for Baby Bibisi.
The border was heavily guarded by the military on both sides, and customs personnel turned our vechicles inside out to make sure we weren’t smuggling any contraband.
This was Goma. If genocide and civil war were not enough for the people to cope with, the city had recently been decimated by a volcanic eruption and there was a tent city growing up around the grass-thatched huts that the permanent residents lived in.
We hadn’t travelled far across the border when we received intelligence that Baby Bibisi could be about 100 km away, deep in the middle of a warzone. The area was off-limits to foreigners but I persuaded some wildlife officers to take me in search of the little creature. Looking back on it now, I must have been mad. My head was saying: ‘Stop, stop; snap out of it.’ Then we heard from a Police source that a trader wanted to do business and sell a baby gorilla for big bucks. My mind was made up. I decided to pose as a foreign buyer and we drove into the unknown, on dirt roads carved out of the jungle. As foolhardy escapades go, this one would take some beating.
Of course, there was a problem. Our guide was a man called Modest, who we had met in Goma. He was a local who knew the criminals, and we had been advised that he would get us close to them and to the information we needed to get to Baby Bibisi. The problem was that we didn’t know if he could be trusted. He could have been setting us up and even if he wasn’t, life is cheap in this part of the world, so we could easily end up dead on the whim of some warlord who didn’t like the look of us. It is no secret that neither foreigners nor wildlife officers are very welcome in the area. Over 190 Virunga park rangers have been killed in the line of duty in recent years. The perpetrators are believed to be members of the militia acting to protect their revenue from bushmeat and other illegal trades.
I was accompanied by Joseph, a Rwandan wildlife officer, who was steady and calm. At 44 years of age, he was already ten years beyond the average life expectancy for a man in the region. In these parts you need an old dog for the long road. I was grateful for Joseph’s experience and knew that he could be relied upon for wise counsel.
We found ourselves driving on what is known as an AIDS highway: a connecting road that runs through the heart of Africa and carries trucks the length of the continent. Roads like these provide contact points for drivers and prostitutes and have helped to accelerate the spread of HIV in this corner of the world, where urban antenatal clinics have found that up to 33 per cent of women are infected.
We stopped at a little bar about 60 km from Goma, and waited while Modest drove deep into the jungle to make contact with the seller. We waited and we waited and then, after hours of waiting, we got worried. Modest had gone off in the jeep and we were holed up in this tiny hovel feeling very vulnerable.
I decided to call the team on the satellite phone. We were having problems but I figured they must have been getting worried, too.
I managed to make contact with the producer, who was in a hotel near Lake Kivu. Just as I began to tell him what was happening, my attention was diverted by the reappearance of our jeep. Any relief that I felt was soon quashed by the fact that it was surrounded by armed men and had an angry-looking soldier type sitting in the driver’s seat. In any part of the world, this would have been a cause for concern, but here it was a reason to panic.
‘What’s a soldier doing in our jeep?’ I asked Joseph, who was looking very worried at this point.
‘The warlord wants to take you to his boss in the region, but I don’t know for what reason,’ he said, roughly translating.
‘Oh dear. Are we being taken on a wild goose chase?’
When I suggested that we refuse to go with them, I was told in no uncertain terms that this was a kidnap and we had better do as we were told or else we wouldn’t be doing anything else ever again. Not a wild goose chase then. Message received and understood.
We were bundled into a jeep and kept under the watchful eye of a rag-tag bunch of armed soldiers. I tried to phone my BBC team but there was no signal and the satellite phone was losing power. Things were not looking good. I remember thinking: ‘Ok, if this be the time, well so be it.’ We were driven at high speed along jungle tracks deeper and deeper into the DRC. We had no idea who had kidnapped us or where we were being taken. It seemed that our friend Modest had set us up. He had disappeared with some of our money and we were now in the hands of warlords – it was difficult not to link him directly to our predicament.
The Rwandan government have notional control of this part of the Congo but the truth is that layers of warlords and rebel leaders are in charge of this volatile region. I was aware of this but put it to the back of my mind and tried to stay positive.
We arrived at a kind of jungle clearing and were kept sitting on the ground in the open. We weren’t beaten or threatened, but then we didn’t need to be. They could kill us at any moment without consequence, and there was nowhere to run to, even if we chose such a ridiculous course of action. Joseph was translating for me and said that the gunmen were talking about the baby gorilla they were trying to sell. ‘They know we have money and everyone in the region is talking about it and us,’ he said. The timing of the availability of the animal for sale indicated that it was most likely Baby Bibisi.
I got a call from London on the satellite phone.
‘How are you?’ the breezy voice asked from the comfort of the BBC White City office.
‘Well, I’ve been better,’ I said, with a little understatement. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but could you give the producer a shout in Goma and tell him that I’m fine but I’m not, so to speak. I’ve been kidnapped. Ask him to make some calls to the Rwandan generals in charge here to see if they can threaten or cajole our release.’
Then the line went dead.
We waited for hours in the clearing. Then we waited some more, before finally getting our instructions – to continue waiting. The frustration was mounting, but there’s only so much you can take out on a group of armed rebel soldiers, so we kept it to ourselves.
There was silence for a long time and then a phone rang nearby. There were raised voices. It appeared that the warlord who had kidnapped us was getting a roasting from a more senior warlord. Things could go either wa
y. He could react badly and kick off with us or he could be submissive and do as he was told. The phone call ended and there was silence for 30 minutes. It was a long 30 minutes.
Then Joseph and I were taken aside by two of the soldiers. They took out two AK-47s and loaded them in front of us. I honestly thought that this was the end. The guns would be unloaded into us and our bodies would never be found and that would be the end of it. But things got even more surreal as we were handed a gun each and told to get into the kidnappers’ jeep. They then drove us to a motel.
And that was that – we were officially unkidnapped! The warlord had been told that I was not worth the bother and that the Rwandans would be very displeased if anything happened to Joseph and me. So we were free but we were not yet safe.
Although we were just two hours from the comparative safety of Goma, it was now dark and the road was not safe to travel, not for warlords and certainly not for us.
The motel was a filthy but friendly place: too friendly, perhaps. It was what is known locally as an ‘AIDS motel’ and there were over 50 prostitutes peddling their wares on the premises. Robbers, bandits, killers, girls and us: we were quite a merry band of guests. I figured that we were at greater risk from the food than from the guns, so we ordered a strong local whiskey to line our stomachs.
So, there I was in a Congolese motel room, drunk on local hooch, with an AK-47 in my lap, a Gideon’s Bible in my hand and prostitutes banging on my door. For the first time in my life, there was a queue of women looking to see me. ‘Bonjour, Mr Donal. Muzungo, muzungo, you want lady?’ The knocks kept coming, despite my polite refusals of the offers of female company.
I remember playing with the gun, entranced by the shiny metallic killing machine and the power to go postal. I read from the Bible as if it were a John Grisham novel, so I must have been really drunk at this point. Outside, gunfire crackled in the air. I didn’t know if it was the sound of celebrations or executions, but we had been told that Russian roulette was played at the hotel for sport.
When we returned to Goma, I handed my gun and my stolen Bible over to Joseph. I was upset that we hadn’t found Baby Bibisi after everything we had been through. But my mood was lifted when news filtered through that a tiny baby gorilla had been found hidden in a cave in a bamboo forest. It sounded promising. Like our missing infant, it was a female and about two years old, so we were praying that it was her. Whether it turned out to be our lost gorilla or not, it would still be something for all to celebrate. It was a miracle that she had been found. She had been taken off the mountain and was in the hands of the specialist animal ER team at the Karisoke Research Centre, which was established by Dian Fossey over 25 years earlier.
I made my way to the research station and found the baby gorilla healthy and doing well in the care of these great professionals. The camera crew were nearly moved to tears at the sight of the only infant mountain gorilla in captivity in the world. No mountain gorilla has ever survived for long in captivity. Naturally, the vets wanted to reintroduce her to her family, but there was a danger that she could have picked up human germs from the contact she had with her kidnappers. The DNA tests were run and sent to London for verification. Meanwhile, the vets set about repairing her health. Sadly, the DNA results came back negative and so the fate of Baby Bibisi is still unknown.
The new infant was placed back into the group and remains healthy to this day. I am told that there is little likelihood that Baby Bibisi has survived. But the search for her has gone some way to raising awareness about the desperate need to protect the surviving mountain gorillas in this turbulent part of the world, and that is at least some consolation.
* * * * * *
Our investigation brought attention to the plight of this endangered species and mobilised others to do the same. It was exasperating that we could not do more to solve the problem and that simple solutions are not easy to hand. War and famine have made the protection of these animals difficult, but the people of Rwanda have now made the conservation of the mountain gorilla a national priority. Great strides have been taken towards making the Virunga Mountains a safer place for this endangered species.
Future generations should have the right to gaze into the eyes of these great apes and to experience the ‘mutual understanding’ that Sir David and I were able to enjoy. Five years after my trip to Africa, the charity, Born Free, asked me to help them draw attention to the plight of the mountain gorilla once again. So I found myself dancing on ice with gorilla-suited skaters on an ice rink in front of the London’s Natural History Museum to help them spread the message that gorillas are skating on thin ice. I can’t think of a better reason to make a fool of myself!
I can’t say who was responsible for the haircuts but she was a dab hand with a pudding bowl.
Tadhg and me at home in Kildare in 1975.
Holy Communion time for my twin, Des, and me.
Tadhg, aged six, and me, aged ten, in 1976. We would work together undercover nearly 30 years later.
Chelsea Headhunter, Andy ‘Nightmare’ Frain, filmed covertly as he holds court in the back of my car. He would get seven years in jail following my undercover investigation.
© BBC
Ten years after the investigation, Ameera and I were attacked by thugs sympathetic to the Chelsea Headhunters’ cause.
© Dare Films
My time with the Bedouin and the Al Amri family. There are good reasons why an Irishman and a camel should not spend any time together!
© Five TV
Dominic Noonan watches over his territory with his henchmen in Manchester.
‘By day it’s run by the Police, by night it’s run by gangsters.’
© David Wootton Photography
I filmed Dominic and his gang for over five years.
© David Wootton Photography
Noonan walks the streets with his posse of young men in their ill-fitting suits.
© David Wootton Photography
Graham Johnson and I display our haul of Semtex. It was all going to plan until we were told that we had buried the explosives in the middle of a minefield.
© Sunday Mirror
In December 1999 the Radio Times ended my anonymity with an unusual shot of me on the front cover. Four years later, after my brother Tadhg and I worked together undercover, they reinacted that shot, this time with both of us, wired and dangerous.
© David Wootton Photography
My Wild Weather adventure sent me around the globe to play guinea pig in the most extreme weather on the planet.
© Five TV
On surveillance duty, chasing down the bad guys.
© David Wootton Photography
An X-ray image of my covert recording kit. I wouldn’t have a chance of getting through an airport scanner.
© BBC
My worlds collide: skating to bring attention to the plight of the mountain gorilla for the charity, Born Free.
© Born Free
Like the Queen and Margaret Thatcher, Johnny ‘Mad Dog’ Adair talks about himself exclusively in the third person.
© David Wootton Photography
Adair adds yet another tattoo to his collection. Factum non verbum – Actions not words.
© David Wootton Photography
The usual suspects congregate for a photo shoot for the MacIntyre’s Underworld series. L to R: Johnny Adair; Newcastle’s most notorious gangster, Paddy Conroy; me; suspected cocaine king, Andrew Pritchard.
© Robin Culley
My worst disguise ever. Jonathan Ross said I looked like an elderly Italian accountant.
© David Wootton Photography
Gary Booth, my friendly mugger. ‘You were lucky I mugged you. Some of my friends would have stabbed you.’
© David Wootton Photography
The Haitian Voodoo Mafia, or Zoe Pound gang, strut their stuff when I meet them in Little Haiti, Miami.
© Five TV
One of the leaders of the gang, ‘Blind’, shares his wisd
om with me.
© Five TV
The best of enemies. Face to face with Wayne Hardy ten years after I exposed him as a drug dealer, for World in Action.
© Robin Culley
Wayne has not had a conviction in over four years – he has either gone straight or got smarter.
© Robin Culley
The Insect Tribe of Papua New Guinea welcome me to the Sepic River and the village of Swagup. They taught me how to hunt wild boar and crocodiles.
© Five TV
Chief Joseph of the Insect Tribe in his traditional headdress. He stole the show when we attended a charity ball at The Dorchester.
© Dare Films
Enjoying the open air while filming Wild Weather during the monsoon in Goa, India.
© David Wootton Photography
Florentine Houdiniere and me dressed in spandex and sparkle for the launch of Dancing on Ice. We skated to REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’, or ‘Everything Hurts’ as it became known after I dropped her on a number of occasions.
© Phil Christiansen
With Katie Derham on my first day as an anchorman. She made sure that I survived my debut without any major hitches.
© Niké Komolafe
Family – my greatest adventure!
Ameera and me getting hitched.
At home with Ameera, baby Tiger (3) and Allegra (8).
Hitman, Gangsters, Cannibals and Me Page 14
