Spent all day yesterday traversing a huge swath of Uganda, from Kabale to Fort Portal. It’s not uncommon to spend ten hours on a bus, usually some 70’s model rust bucket reject from a rich nation sent to Africa to die. I suspect drivers are paid a bonus for arriving early at their destination since they all drive insanely fast. Either that or some inexplicable combination of testosterone and stupidity, which are often good buddies. I figure my chances are best in the middle of the bus. A seat up in the front and I’ll be launched through the windshield. A seat in the back and I’m too close to the main fuel tank. Some buses in Africa have the reassuring proverb “In God We Trust” painted on the rear windshield.
Long bus journeys here force one to do some window shopping. At most stops when arriving at a new town, while passengers are loading, locals approach the bus windows hawking everything imaginable: fruit, newspapers, drinks, batteries, toilet paper, nuts, unidentifiable meat kababs, cassettes, clothing, cigarettes, sunglasses, etc. You have about a two minute chance to browse, choose, pay, and get change (the entire transaction done through the bus window) before the driver starts off again. The desperation on the faces of the vendors to make a sale is heartbreaking. A few weeks ago in Tanzania I saw two young boys sprinting across a crowded intersection to sell a newspaper to a man waiting in his vehicle. They were nearly hit by other cars, to earn a two cent profit.
Last night I arrived at Kibale National Forest, a lush tropical forest with the highest density of primates in Uganda. It’s home to chimps, colobus monkeys, and mammals as well, including many forest elephants. I stayed in a banda (round African hut) in the forest and the symphony of buzzing insects was piercing, the most vociferous forest I’ve ever been in. This morning I went to buy my chimp trekking permit ($50 fee) but was told there were none available due to a large group of Japanese tourists who bought them all. I was informed that my options were to either leave or to pay another fee for a guided walk (unescorted walks in the forest are not allowed) to a non-chimp area. This is after having paid the $20 park entrance fee last night for the privilege of being on national forest property. Relative to other wildlife activities in Africa, these prices are ridiculous. The head warden had an arrogant sneer that I was determined to wipe off. He was wearing gaudy fake gold jewellery, maybe thirty years old, tops, and his staff were poor local villagers twenty years his senior who knew far more about wildlife than he did. He only had the chief ranger position cause he was one of the few that could speak English. He knew he was sticking it to me, actually enjoying it, since I had already paid the non-refundable park entry fees but was going to leave without seeing a single chimp. So I paid the extra small fee for a guided walk and decided to get my moneys worth.
It took me a full day of travel with three transfers to get to this forest and I’ll be damned if I ain’t leavin’ without a stroll through the green. Muzungu’s (whites) in Africa get extorted on a daily basis, it just comes with the territory. You have to accept it, fight off that thug feeling, and take your lumps for your team. Prices for everything are generally higher for honkeys. It’s just the way it is. Normally I just let it go. Not today. Nope. This mother trucker is pimpin’ chimps so I’m gonna get me some.
His other staff were busy guiding chimp visits so he himself had to take me on this guided nature walk. Perfect. What’s more, he had a young new ranger-in-training with him. Even better. We began hiking at a slow pace as he talked about various bird and butterfly species. I told him, in lieu of seeing our simian cousins, I was more interested in really seeing a lot of the forest and asked if we could walk at a quicker pace ( butterflies are for lovers and poets, aren’t they?). I took the lead and set a brisk pace without stopping for a long time. I could hear them both, panting heavily behind me. Columns of intermittent sunlight penetrated the canopy, dappling the forest furniture with shadow and light. He asked if I’d like to stop for a drink of water and I said “no” without turning my head. Put me on a soccer field and I’m winded after fifteen minutes. Put me in a forest and I’ve got Ever Ready bunny juice in my legs (ah, the advantages of not owning a car since 1993!). Once I was done Armstronging him (I think Lance deserves his own verb, don’t you?), I started spreading some embarrassment butter on him. I served up a volley of extremely specific questions.
“So Chief, how does the soil content affect the density of the tree canopy in relation to humidity levels?”
“Um…well”
“How are you monitoring rainfall and what processes do you have in place in case the water table falls below minimum levels for the wildlife?”
“Er…well you”
“How are you zoning your secondary forest growth to retain sustainable biodiversity while accounting for drainage, fire protection, ecotourism, and natural regeneration?”
“Ah…well you see”.
I looked at the trainee ranger, then glanced at his new boss, and then smirked back at the trainee with a dismissive eyeroll. Being smug has to be one of life’s most pleasurable indulgences (so long as its done with humble affection, which, of course, there was none of here). Now that the butter of shame has been spread, I thought I’d add some humiliation cream cheese. When the trainee asked a question about some scat (animal droppings) on the ground, I waited until the chief was done with his simplistic uncertain answer. He offered weakly that it was most likely bushbuck dung. I immediately chimed in that it was from a female duiker, who dropped it about three days ago, and that she is pregnant based on the odor (all complete bullshit of course but spoken with a strait confident face).
As we continued our walk, I went to great lengths to be the ultimate conservation purist, dropping lessons on our fine young trainee that Righteous Ranger Rick never thought to initiate. If there was a spider web spanning the trail, I walked around it to avoid disturbing the arachnid. If there was litter on the ground, I picked it up and hand carried it back to camp. If there were ants crossing the trail, I high stepped over them. This was all done at a Tour de Lance pace to ensure that when we arrived back at camp, the chiefs’ uniform was soaked in sweat.
Some days, you’re just full of piss and vinegar and the only relief is to urinate.
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