It wasn’t always a straight and clear path, but in the end, we made it.

The beginning

The briefing session was supposed to start at 8 am. And for all intent and purposes, it probably did. We just happened to show up at the park late for ‘reasons.’ If the travel guides were upset, they didn’t wear it on their decorated sleeves. 

While we waited for them to make time for us, we goofed around with a sculpture of our distant cousin, situated at the entrance of the main building, then proceeded to film what I hope will kick off a travel series.

I might have ruined it with the dad joke at the start (“Bwindi’s called that because it B windy”), but at the time, I hyped myself up to ridiculous levels (Goodness, I’m hilarious, ask Ryan Reynolds to call already).

The briefing session involved watching a video imploring us to pledge to look out for the gorillas. I was distracted by the accent because I couldn’t quite place it. 

I know It shouldn’t be a big deal who’s telling you to do the right thing, especially considering the gorillas won’t magically pop up and make the appeal (this isn’t a live-action session of The Planet of the Apes), but sometimes it is the small things.

The ‘accent of unclear origin’ asked us to keep our masks on when we were near this beautiful endangered species. While they are primarily chill and have no qualms with much of the stuff we do, they draw the line at our distribution of whatever flavour of COVID is trending. 

There was nary a mention about using sanitiser. The definition of social distancing seemed a little more flexible than what was being enforced at the chimpanzee tracking place, so it stands to reason that if a gorilla asks you for a high five, it’s only polite to oblige, DeltaCronMagma be damned

The guide also mentioned there was a provision for ‘bathroom’ breaks. Long story short, if you wanted to go for a number one, they’d point you in the right direction, “You go there!” The number two is where the drama unfolds. 

Your irresponsible gut would force them to dig a hole for you (‘no, please, allow me…’) and potentially cover it up when you were done. 

There would be no small talk during your performance, and you would, in all likelihood, be struck off the guide’s Christmas Card list. 

You can also bet there would be no high-fives for you after you conquered the dangerous trail.

Questions unasked:

• Would the guide stick around to ensure I wasn’t attacked, or would I be alone if a forest dweller showed up? 
• And should that happen, would you be expected to drop what you’re doing and put on a mask?

And off we go.

In being informed that we’d be tracking the Katwe Group, no one thought to ask whether it was so-called because we’d essentially be walking from Buhoma to Katwe to find our unwitting hosts.

While the first part of the trail created the false impression the little makeshift route replete with red ants was our new portion in life, crossing a bridge and commencing our ascent made it clear that the path and the ants were but a distant memory.

Thus began the new Ugandan reality show, “Am I Actually Doing This?”.

Every excited gorilla tracker glosses over one important detail: the nature of the terrain or lack thereof – I’ve planted my feet on floor tiles and pavers wider than what mother nature was dishing out in Bwindi. 

We were handed walking sticks to make our trek manageable but would have probably benefited from a briefing telling us how to use them. You learn pretty fast that approaching the whole thing like you’re skiing is not practical because;

– You’d actually need a second walking stick

– You actually don’t have enough ‘path’ for that silliness.

What you do have going for you is a guide with a sickle and two guys (one in front, one at the back) in uniform wielding guns. The sickle guy clears what bit of path you may encounter and offers trekking pep talk, whilst Gun guy one and Gun guy two are charged with firing into the air if a rogue elephant shows up and kicks off a vendetta that will follow you into the afterlife.

Of the three, the sickle guy is most likely to let you strike a pose holding his weapon.

As we moved along, we received a stern warning to be careful about our hand placement as some tree bark may be laced with toxic substances- Easier said than done, seeing as the tree bark kept showing off its makeshift green fur coat (‘Gurrrrl, Woolworths?…”).

Speaking of trees showing off, we were encouraged to look out for a ‘male’ and ‘female’ tree, categorised thus because of how similar in structure they were to sections of our anatomy. 

The other trees identified as, well, trees and didn’t draw too much attention to themselves.

Midpoint musings;

• Gumboots are supposed to be hella effective for this journey, but I think trekking boots do a better job. If you’re of the slaying persuasion, this makes even more sense. 
• NO ONE EVER ASKS WHERE YOU BOUGHT YOUR GUMBOOTS!

You’re advised to carry at least two litres of water for your journey, but if you’ve had any interactions with ‘stitches,’ you might reconsider the whole thing.

The ‘third-way’ mark has a little slab of stone whose shape inspired the name “Africa corner.”

• Does it look like the continent? A little
• Does it not look like the continent? Yeah. Sort of.

The thing is, the more tired you get, the more susceptible you are to suggestions. You could have sold me on some `hydrogen-vortex-core’ theorem at that point, and I’d be eternally grateful for your contribution to humanity.

Regardless, we move

The announcement that we were almost there came renewed zeal for the trek. Suddenly, a keen interest developed in the surrounding trees, “Oh, how old is that one?” “Wow, that one’s huge!” and “Can I feel that one’s bark?” seemed to be trending as a burst of energy emerged from the additional declaration that the rest of the path was ‘flat.’ 

They should have said “most of the rest,”. 

Every so often, the trail threw a few steep surprises in our faces with every turn here and there. 

I was happy to take my time, letting the rest of the group rush to find the troop of gorillas – it’s not like the certificate you get at the end says “First To Find Silverback” or anything.

Then I got lost.

At the risk of taking him down with me, Guide with Gun at the back also got lost, but this was because there was a fork in the road, and it was anyone’s guess where everyone else had gone.

In hindsight, the more conventional coin flipping approach would have less finger pointing than “­Me, I think they went there…”. 

So committed was the guide to finding our ‘friends’ (friends don’t leave friends behind), he bolted ahead to fast-track the search. 

The amazement at his efficiency quickly faded when I realised that it had left me exposed. If an animal were to mount an attack, all I had was a walking stick (which, mind you, I was not taught how to use in the event of abandonment) and a stack of dad jokes that would likely rile the animal even more.

There we were, two guys running through the forest trying to find our people. When I finally caught up with him he stopped, paused and declared, “They are not here.” I didn’t need to have ‘Guide training’ to arrive at the same conclusion. 

We turned back and took the other path. And then, VOICES…. And FACES. It wasn’t our group, but their guide said they had met them along the way. 

She also tried to offer a high five, but in my exhausted state, I assumed she was holding up her hand as a symbol that warded off predators. 

I still feel bad that I didn’t high-five back.

Walking to find my crew (previously, ‘friends’), I realised that this whole trekking business triggers the sort of camaraderie/solidarity among its participants that smokers share. Some members of the returning teams offered warm smiles that translated to, “We made the things that it cannot make that lungs to be done!“, “See how we continue to punish our lungs for selfish reasons.”

FINALLY

The books would call it a clearing, but the place we wound up was anything but. 

We knew we were in the right place when the guide asked that we surrender our walking sticks and don our masks and whispered, “Go there,” while pointing with his unsurrendered walking stick.

With the number of flies swarming about, even the most battle-hardened ‘chin-wearer’ would be forced to cover their face with a mask as they ventured forward to look at these majestic beasts.

“Move closer,” the guide implored. 

The sheer size of the silverback was a deterrent to any movement, which is a little silly considering it just sat there, unbothered, chewing what the guides said was sugarcane, but it didn’t look like any I’ve had before.

“If you see it coming towards you, stay still,” the sickle guide offered as we took photos. 

Not content with having the patriarch hog the limelight, other family members started to show up. I counted four babies, their mum, and what had to have been a grandma. 

Grandma, meanwhile, sought to test my resolve by walking toward me to get to her feeding spot. If Jaja had paid more attention in class, she’d have employed other vectors to get there without inconveniencing either of us.

I won’t claim the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as she approached me, but I did try to move backward, out of her way.

My friend, probably thinking this was the right thing to do, pushed me back and whispered, “don’t move!” If we were allowed to shout, I’d have pointed out that his actions were facilitating more movement.

The whole family seemed unbothered by our presence, what with the dad minding his stick of ‘not-sugarcane-i-swear” and granny regarding us as a cougar might.

Forty-five minutes or so later

The return leg of the trek was billed as more accessible but also demanding and shorter but also long; however, it was the part of the trip that allowed us to sit down and whip out some snacks while talking in hushed tones. 

While it’s easy to assume the new sound settings were borne out of reverence for what had just transpired, we were likely trying to conserve what little oxygen we could.

My fitness tracker decided to record the whole trek in little incremental bits, making it hard for me to adequately show off my achievement (8+ km looks better than ‘2km walk, 1.4km walk, 600m walk, etc), a non-issue if you’re not in the company of fruit phone holders talking about their ‘rings’.

The route back seemed to be a task unto itself, what with having to find stable footing and the right angle to support your weight while gravity laughed maliciously at your effort.

Final thoughts

• The certificates really should have more than our names on them… ‘Conqueror of the Impenetrable’ would be an excellent addition to my LinkedIn profile; as it stands, I’m not sure anyone will be moved by the revelation that I tracked gorillas and chimps.
• The guides were great, and it sucks that they have to dig holes in the ground.
• I bet Granny Gorilla would never have thrown me a second glance if I was wearing ‘gumboots.’
• Where does the lady who voices the video at the start of the journey come from?