98.9% of our DNA

East Africa has been one of the great highlights of our trip. We have seen and done so much. We never got tired of safaris or tracking some critter in the jungle. This is one of our exploits from Uganda.

We had to struggle to jam my backpack between the ceiling and the stack of camping gear in the back of the red Mitsubishi Pajero 4X4. On one half of the rear bench sat a large cooler and Geoff's backpack. The other half was the small space that Geoff and I had chosen to squeeze into for the 6-hour drive to Kibale National Park, and we were damned glad to. Our trip to Bwindi Impenetrable Nation Park had been, as Geoff put it, an assault. We had been jammed onto a small, unpadded bench seats for 11 hours, and that made us luckier than the 20-plus people who were tossed about in the aisles with the goat and chicken. The toxic body odor and bad breath was strong enough that we could most literally taste it. We had passed the time yelling at each other over the deafening rattle of the loose glass windows and commenting on the fried grasshoppers and skewers of roasted goat that where thrust at us through the bus windows at the frustratingly frequent stops. So when Dortes and Peter offered to cram us into the one available seat of their 4X4, we took one deep breath of the soapy clean air emanating from their bodies and jumped at the chance for a non-stop ride to our next destination.

Even though Geoff and I were more stacked than seated in the back seat, we enjoyed getting to know Peter and Dortes . The conversations were typical travel banter: a stream of questions-and-answers about our respective countries. I have met several Scandinavians and whenever I finish a conversation with one of them I remind myself that I really want to visit that part of the world one day. It is the one place that I would consider living in other that Portland. I try to direct the conversion to focus on Denmark rather than the US. We have met travelers from all over the westernized world, but such a strong, consistent view of the US has evolved internationally that we rarely get an original question or comment. Our answers have become so pat that I hear Geoff give the same answer verbatim as I would and vice-versa. It's more interesting to hear about their lives and views of the world.



Charles stood from the table in front of the ranger's station when we arrived. He welcomed us sincerely with a warm, timid smile and a soft handshake saying repeatedly "Welcome. You are most welcome." After some conversation we discovered that if we hurried we could take a quick lunch and be ready for the next chimp walk that was to leave at 5PM. But where to get lunch? Charles pointed us in the direction of the Bigodi Women's Canteen, which, oddly enough, was staffed only by men. This was the only restaurant for 20Km. The canteen's dusty, wooden shelves were stacked with the usual: 3 stacks of local cigarette packages, a few bottles of whiskey, a few bottles of gin, a selection of half a dozen African red wines and several rows of Ugandi - the local fire water. In the corner stood the glass-front refrigerators that Coca-Cola seems to have supplied to even the smallest, most remote shops the world over. The fridge was stocked with local beers and local soft drinks. There was not one coke product, but the glossy, logo-ridden 1.5'X 2' poster on the wall preached in bullet form to:

"Keep a large supply of Coca Cola a product on hand so you can always meet your customer’s needs and increase your profits. Keep all Coca Cola products cold and refreshing. Ensure any stale Coca Cola products are replaced during each visit by your local sales representative."

The slick corporate propaganda seemed grossly misplaced on the reed wall. It was obviously having no impact on the canteen attendant who had most certainly never seen the likes of the crisp, corporate conference room inside which some executive had decided that there was a need to increase awareness of the importance of "availability utility within the supply chain". The poster was absurd, but hey, they got a fridge out of the deal and they could fill that with beer.

We ordered spaghetti Bolognese and struggled to power down the overcooked noodle paste covered in ketchup sauce. We were grateful when Charles rescued us from our meal. The chimps were sometimes hard to find, so we needed to hurry if we were to locate them before dark.

As we were packing up our water and film for the excursion, two tired, sweaty, happy Brits emerged from the tropical forest. It had been hard going for the five hours that it took them to find the chimps, but it was obvious by their excitement that it had been completely worth it.

Charles was energized by the Brits return. They had sighted the chimps in the west side of the park, not to far from the ranger's station. If we hurried they could still be near. As we moved from the hot, sunny trailhead to the thick, lush tropical jungle I was glad for the cool shade. The ivy, ferns, and earthy smell reminded me of the Horse Tail Falls trailhead in the Columbia Gorge.

Five minutes into the hike we stopped by the huge buttressed roots of a tree. Charles stoically announced "We will now have the briefing". I was expecting this. We have been pleased to discover that tourism is a much more organized, professional affair in East Africa than in the other developing countries that we have visited. The briefing included an informative explanation of the local ecosystem, a recitation of propaganda about the need to protect the environment - which was more memorized than understood - and an inquiry into the goals for our expedition. This logical, customer-centric approach was more appreciated by us sometimes frustrated long-term travelers than Charles would ever understand.

As he was giving his briefing I was thinking that Charles is a bit of a contradiction to me. He is very knowledgeable and confident, but, like most Ugandan's, he body language is demure, almost submissive. His uniform is clean, pressed and crisp, almost to the point of being starched. Like the great majority of Ugandans he obviously talked great pride in his appearance. So why is it that he smells so bad. Geoff and I joke that South America is the noisiest continent and Africa is the smelliest one.

From the large buttressed tree we set down the wide, well worn path and Charles advises us to "be quiet and listen for the chimps."

It's another 15 minutes of silence before we hear our first cries. In the distance there is a sudden outbreak of screams that would rival any victim in a Hitchcock movie. The cries are disturbingly human. It was more like a dozen people screaming in distress. We gave each other a wide-eyed look. We were lucky. We had already found the chimps, now it was time to track them. "Quickly, they are moving" Charles said, so we pick up the pace and leave the beaten path to push our way through the dense jungle-like forest. Charles moves through the forest quickly and we fit the Mazungu (white people) stereotype of weak as we clumsily struggle to follow behind. He becomes very concerned with the small backpack that I am carrying. "Give me. I am very strong. No problem." he says. I decline twice and give in out of politeness the third time.

It was 10 more minutes of fumbling over roots and ripping through sporadic vines before we saw our first chimp. I had fallen a little behind, so as soon as he had pointed the chimp out to everyone else he called after me impatiently "Hurry!” I finished untangling my foot from a loop in a vine and made my way over. The chimp had moved on. "You missed it" he scolded. "You must hurry when I call" I smiled at his enthusiasm. It was clear that my failure to see the chimp was wholly unacceptable. If he was to succeed I must succeed.

It was just a few more minutes before the alpha-male came over to inspect the intruders. He grunted and pounded his chest. Three other males near by scurried off in a show of deference to him. He seemed to size us up as nothing more than the common-place humans who regularly come though and he moved off.

We pushed our way into a clearing. That is when I saw George - the spitting image of G. W. Bush. He sat back to me in the shade of a mahogany tree. He peered sporadically over his shoulder at us for several minutes, then, for no reason I could understand, he started to scream. Dozens of chimps started to scream and grunt in response. The sound was chilling. Totally amazing. I will never forget it. I had been so fixated on Dubya that I hadn't noticed that we were surrounded. There were chimps on the ground in the shrubs. There were chimps in the low level branch of the tree. There were chimps eating fruits at the top of the trees some 60ft above the ground. Charles estimated that there were more than 30 of them screaming. A female passed by on feet and knuckles with a baby clinging to her back. Spontaneously a tree's branches would erupt as a chimp would fling itself from one tree to the next. Peels from eaten fruit would fall on our heads. There was so much going on around us that I couldn't take it all in. I decided to take a closer look at George. Charles suggested that I move very slowly, so I would take two steps then pause for a few seconds, then advance again. Each time I came closer, George would cast a casual glace at me. I got to within 10ft when Charles told me that I was close enough. There is a risk of inter-species disease transmission, so even though George would have let me get closer, I needed to keep my distance. The rangers will not even take you into the forest if you show signs of a cold.

We share 98.9% of our DNA with our chimp cousins. But when they walk by on their knuckles they look more like dogs than humans. It's not until you look into their eyes or watch them peel a fruit with their nimble fingers that the kinship is obvious. George would pluck leaves to eat. He'd scratch his chin thoughtfully. He liked to hold his feet while he sat - like I might imagine a child doing. I got to watch him for about 5 minutes before he decided to move on and the chimps moved high into the tree-top, out of sight, to make their nest for the night.