The ultimate existence

My father calls the life I describe during my 14-day stay in one of the bush camps "the ultimate existence". This reaction follows a message I send him: "It is beautiful here and I enjoy it. However, life here is also primitive and limited. Limited in terms of the possibility of social interaction."
An existence where my whole being, both mentally and physically, is put to the test. A life in the middle of nature, but one that "has to be lived".  New (research) work, an unknown language, a forest full of sounds during the night, no shower and toilet and the lack of a daily smile. This gives rise to daily reflection. What factors determine happiness in my existence here and in that of before? A temporary life without any comfort with challenging research in the middle of nature requires focus, creativity, a lot of mindfulness and family support. That is the conclusion after two weeks.

A day in the Bai Hokou camp starts and ends with the pleasant sounds of a Dutch sports canteen during the third half. Loud laughter and loud discussions come from the communal hut of the fifteen Ba'aka men who work and live here. The Ba'aka the hunter-gatherers living in DSPA. Many of them are now employed as trackers by the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), who follow the three habituated gorilla groups that live in the reserve on a daily basis. Habitat indicates that all group members, after a process of years, are used to the proximity of humans in their environment. I wake up in my bed on the corner of the just completed research hut. A sober, but beautiful in its simplicity, wooden accommodation. The hut has four rooms, each with two beds and open windows on all sides with gauze to keep out all the unwanted, stinging visitors. Due to corona, I am currently the only scientist in the camp and the other rooms remain empty.

In the camp, I receive practical help from one of the trackers, Kotto. His age is unknown and he has never had a regular education. The Ba'akas do not learn from books; they learn from each other and from nature.  He has an unstoppable energy and a positive attitude. He also has a contagious smile and feet that everyone respects at first sight. After all, his ten toes are no longer complete; clear user marks from all those hard-worked kilometres in the forest. While collecting the samples, he patiently helps and despite the fact that we often cannot express ourselves properly because of the language, we form a team.
Without GPS or compass, we set off towards a hollow tree where a large group of bats is said to be staying. On my Crocs, I try to keep up silently with the agile little Kotto, who makes his way through the forest at a fast pace. After a few metres, I already feel bad that my mother has had me on her breast too long.  After all, a one-metre-and-seventy-six-centimeters body is unhandy and unwanted in the rainforest.
Kotto carries a small knife with which he quickly cuts all kinds of protruding and stinging branches to clear the way for my tall self. Perhaps this will enable others to follow our tracks should we not return to camp. Along the way, his slipper falls off and Kotto tries in vain to tie the straps provisionally, but continues at the same breakneck pace on his bare feet without complaint. And that, while here, among the many leaves and branches, a veritable circus of exotic pricks is galloping on the ground.  "Un petit courier" is suggested, when I see thick black stripes on the ground in front of me. We make a run for it and sprint over the crowds of these ant families, without getting bitten en masse. Every now and then, Kotto stops abruptly, looks left and right, at the treetops, and fixes his gaze on the ground for possible tracks. The appearance of an angry forest elephant makes us stop for a moment. Fortunately, it is a false alarm and we can continue on our way.

The following days form a repetitive series of research work in the camp and the route to la maison des chauves-souris, the hollow tree. Until the magical morning when I join two trackers for the first time to observe the gorillas. The Makumba group is named after its imposing leader.   One of the trackers spots the group's carefully woven sleeping nest. It's wonderful to see how beautifully and meticulously the leaves form an attractive shelter for the sleeping ape. Not much later, the first female gorilla of the group shows up and a little later we meet the whole family. The youngsters play their version of the seesaw and take turns launching each other on bending branches. On the ground, near his fellow group members, silverback Makumba sits quietly chewing on a twig and, it seems, contentedly sitting on the ground.

On one of the evenings in the camp, life feels a bit less bright than usual, and I write the following words on paper: "Difficult to call life difficult, while it is so incredibly beautiful here and few will ever see this." Fortunately, there is something called resilience and reflection. Both provide renewed energy for the day that follows. On that last Saturday, a Landcruiser drives onto the premises, disrupting a resting camp. Normally, only a car arrives here on Mondays and Thursdays to replenish supplies for the trackers. From the off-road vehicle steps out Frédéric, my veterinary colleague, with a broad smile. Immediately, I feel joy. It's a similar euphoric feeling to when, the evening before, freshly baked bread was made in an improvised oven, and a warm piece of bread was handed to me.
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An hour's walk from the camp, the rangers have found the carcass of an elephant. Together, we quickly gather everything needed for the autopsy and sampling of this elephant(!) and depart with two trackers toward the described location. Without GPS, they lead me flawlessly through the rainforest, through swamps and up and down hills, just as they did before. It becomes evident that it's a victim of poaching when we see the elephant. Its head is separated from the body, and its tusks are missing. A sad reality. I learn from the rangers that the number of poaching incidents involving elephants has drastically decreased in Dzanga-Sangha in the past few years. A positive trend in a tragic context.

To all those considering it, be your adventurous self and explore here in Dzanga-Sangha or at home. Go hiking in nature and experience it. If you are of the adventurous type and purchase a plane ticket to Bayanga: the beauty of nature here and its inhabitants will not disappoint. Unfortunately, Dzanga-Sangha is currently closed to tourists. As soon as COVID-19 chooses a different target, you are welcome.