I took advantage of a three day weekend to go to Kibale National forest and see the chimps. It was only a 4 hour bus ride away. I love, by the way, how four hours (or in fact even 6 or 8 hours) on a bus have become “only.” The fabled African patience is definitely affecting me. I stare out the window and set my mind free to roam across the plains, linger in mud houses where children pump water and old women shell peanuts in the shade, or dart among the trees with the birds and monkeys. Before I know it, the time has passed. I even half-wish the ride could go on longer, reluctant as I am to return to myself and to figuring out the logistics of the next phase of the trip.

This particular bus ride went off without a serious hitch, if you don’t count the two and a half hours we spent sitting in Kampala waiting while the bus was stuffed absolutely to the gills with paying customers. Perhaps they were also waiting to give the passengers a final opportunity buy any newspapers, muffins, chapattis, portable radios, lotions, Cokes, chickens, loaves of bread, secondhand shoes, plastic jewelry, or de-worming medicine that we might need for the trip. About 10 minutes before departure they signaled their intent to leave by turning on the engine and bathing us all in diesel fumes so thick they were actually visible inside the bus. But then we were on our way, lung damage forgotten in the excitement of motion. As we pulled out of the bus station we noticed a slogan painted on the back of another bus waiting to depart: “God likes patience.”

Upon arrival in Fort Portal, despite having heavily sampled the constant array of food products offered through the window of the bus by vendors along the road including Cassava, ears of corn, and roasted bananas tasting halfway like plantains, (but avoiding the meat –on-a-stick like the plague it most likely carries) we stopped for lunch at a lovely outdoor restaurant with an extensive menu, at least a third of which was presently available. We then hiked into the town proper where we engaged in protracted negotiations to get a special hire car to take us to the park. Thanks to Tammy, we managed to bargain them down from 500,000 Ush to 25,000 for the 45 minute ride. The catch: all six of us had to ride in one small Japanese import. We managed with four in the back and two in the front, including 6’7” Mike. Forty-five extremely pothole-ridden minutes later, we pulled into the national park’s lodge where we learned that a) there were only four beds left, and b) seeing the chimps now cost over twice the price listed in our guidebook: $50 per person. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if we had brought more money. But with no credit cards accepted and no ATMs in sight, we were in serious financial straits. After huddling in a corner and adding up all the money we had in our wallets, socks, deep backpack pockets, and belly bags, we figured that we would have just enough to cover the chimps, the park entry fee (25% student discount thank heavens) 2 nights in the lodge (for 4 people), and transportation back to Kampala, with a tiny amount left for food, water, local transportation, and incidentals. I had to borrow the most money. I had discovered the night before that the stack of bills that have been hidden under my mattress since I unwittingly withdrew 10 times what I intended on my first day here had shrunk considerably, and I was only in possession of 80,000 shillings (about $40) for the whole trip. Since we were scheduled to depart at 7am, I didn’t have time to visit the ATM on the morning of, so I was relying on borrowing a bit from my friends. Fortunately Prashanth and Kara had been a lot more forward thinking than I, and had brought enough to cover the unexpected expense for themselves and for the rest of the group.

It was too late that day to see the chimps, and they were booked for the next morning. So we had dinner at the lodge’s restaurant, the first of many meals where everything was calculated to maximize the calories-to-shillings ratio. We settled on chips (aka French fries: 1500 for a huge steaming plate) and Spanish Omlette (2000, but which turned out to be just omlette so more chips were called for). Before we knew it darkness was falling, and we retired around 9pm. We’d decided to share the four beds in two bandas among the six of us, and the two boys, and by virtue of being 6’7” and about 6’, got their own beds in their own banda. The girls got to sleep two to a bed, which actually was not nearly as uncomfortable as it sounds. The beds were slightly wider than NYU’s hateful “extra-long twins,” and we didn’t even have to spoon. After slathering on bugspray and paying a visit to the long-drop squat toilet (following the customary female practice of always going in teams) we squeezed our bodies into bed.

We had our chimp walk scheduled for the afternoon, so we got up early before sunrise to catch the 7:00 bus to the crater lakes, just 10k down the road. We didn’t see the bus, but a packed matatu (small bus/van sporting Japanese characters announcing the name of a school) soon came along. True to the spirit of the trip, two empty seats magically became six as the other passengers squeezed over and made room for us. We traveled out of the deep forest spotting to our great excitement (and the amusement of our Ugandan passengers) a pack of baboons by the side of the road, past rolling hills covered with tea plantations and mist. At the park we found a small guest house and restaurant offering tours of the lakes. We met an extremely kind woman who seemed thrilled that we were volunteers, and Americans to boot. She raved about a zoo in North Carolina that had sponsored several of their employees to attend an ecology conservation course, and showed us their diplomas mounted on the walls. She also showed us a framed picture of Khadafi and the local Torro king, a boy of about 14. She explained how the ancient Ugandan kingdoms had been abolished under Idi Amin, but had be reinstated under Museveni. All the kingdoms wanted their king back save one; apparently he’d been a tyrant. Khadafi had donated a lot of money to support the destitute kings and provide for their education and upkeep. “He is genius at public relations,” the woman proclaimed. “He saw what people wanted, and gave it to them.” Something to think about. We explained our financial situation to the woman, and she kindly agreed to knock the price of the walk around the lake down to 2000/ head. We eagerly agreed, and set off with our guide. It was a lovely walk past fields and forests, along an up-and-down and winding path. We passed banana plants, plots of corn, Irish potatoes, fig and avocado trees, eucalyptus groves, and peanuts growing in the earth. We saw families working in the fields, bent over their potatoes or peanuts, and they all stopped and waved to us as we passed. Small children ran up to us and smiled shyly. We asked “what’s your name?” and “how old are you?” A pair of tiny boys wielding nothing but a stick apiece herded seven of Africa’s amazing long-horned cows down the path to greener pastures. The walk took only about 2 hours, and afterwards we sat at picnic tables and split a coke and a fanta between the six of us. Several small monkeys came along and peered at us from the trees next to table. Then we set off to for our camp at about 10:30, hoping to walk a while and take photos of the tea plantations before the 11:00 bus came along. The tea plantations were gorgeous, the most stunning green imaginable. They completely cross-hatched the hills with their rows and plot divisions. We walked up and down, over the tops of the hills and through the valleys. The road was red dirt, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun was shining on the green tea leaves. We passed children with machetes and bundles of sticks balanced on their heads, and the boys with the cows again. But we saw no bus. We kept walking, enjoying the view and the road and the sunshine. We entered the forest, and the shade was cool. Butterflies fluttered ahead of us, flying up from great clods of shit when we startled them. Dead butterfly wings also lined the road, casualties of run-ins with birds or matatu grilles. Still no bus. We kept walking. Two and a half hours later, the lodge’s distinctive wood carved chimpanzee sign finally appeared around the bend. Covered in road dust, feet aching, water depleted, skins burned to crisps, with only leftover bus-muffin crumbs in our stomach from breakfast we practically ran up the road to the lodge to order our lunch. A bit of a splurge this time, with spaghetti and roasted vegetables, supplemented of course by chips. We were exhausted and the World Cup was coming on in a few hours, so we postponed the chimp walk for the next day and went to read in the shade and nap before going to watch the cup.

Kristin, Tammy, and I stayed a bit longer in bed, and got a ride into the neighboring small town at 6 to meet Prashanth, Mike, and Kara who had gone in for the 4pm game. We found them sitting on the front steps of the only bar in town, drinking homemade banana liquor out of a gas can with the mayor and his elderly uncle. Staring over curiously from neighboring stoops was a large group of equally inebriated locals. A turkey lurked in the background, puffing its feathers, while the uncle tried to convince us to buy it and cook it for Thanksgiving dinner (never mind that it’s June). We joined the party, and soon were drinking Eagle beers (made from soughum and only 1000 per bottle) and wharai, the local banana moonshine poured out by the mayor with a huge grin. Every time the turkey strutted over, Prashanth seemed to tense up. He explained that the two of them had had a run-in earlier when he’d inadvertently gotten between it and its mate. It was a huge beast, with an evil-looking head atop a long scraggly neck, and giant powerful wings. When it puffed up its feathers it appeared to be the size of German shepherd. It also appeared to be getting ready for Round Two with Prashanth. Fortunately, it never got the chance because we were soon ushered into a small room adjacent the bar where we were served heaping plates of matoke and roasted potatoes smothered in peanut sauce. Ugandan food had never tasted so good. Then it was time for the game to start, and we headed over to the bar where there was a TV set up in what appeared to be a shed, its roof and walls made of woven reeds. People were crammed onto long benches, and we squeezed in in the dark. There was no power in town, but the bar had a generator running. The TV was small but had good picture quality, and the volume was turned way up. Trinidad and Tobago played Sweden, and held them 1-1 with only ten players for most of the 2^nd half. The crowd was heavily for Trinidad and Tobago, and we were too, partially out of solidarity, and partially out of a desire not to be beaten. Sweden’s top-to-toe yellow uniforms didn’t help their case much either. While waiting for the next game, a young man, one of the guides at the national forest who we’d met when we arrived, invited us to his home a few houses down. The town itself appeared to cling tightly to the single road running through its middle, and consisted of about 30 buildings. We stumbled along in the dark to his house, where we were ushered in to a small front room. A table was set with a huge steaming plate of matoke and a pot of roasted beef. This was his dinner, prepared by his wife, but African custom would not allow him to have guests in his home without offering them something to eat. “If you do not take something, the rats will surely nibble my feet tonight.” Custom would also not allow us to decline, so we all took small helpings of matoke and meat, declaring ourselves stuffed and leaving as much as possible in the dish. The meat was excellent, savory and tender, and we didn’t have to dig very deep to sing its praises. After thanking the young man and his wife, we headed back to the bar to watch the final game of the evening: Argentina v. Ivory Coast. Argentina was dominating when we decided to leave, since certain members of our party had taken rather too much food and drink. This time it was seven of us crammed into a small car since a German girl from the lodge had joined us as well.

We awoke at 7:30 for our 8:00 appointment with the chips. It was a misty morning, but the rain held off. We met our guide and set off into the forest. At first we walked along the path, but soon our guide’s ears perked to distant chimp calls and he veered off without warning into the underbrush. We followed as fast as possible, tripping over low roots and ducking under heavily spiked hanging vines. The chimps were hooting, somewhere ahead. After about 15 minutes we came upon three of them, all male, eating in the brush. They were surprisingly big, especially when one stood up and shocked us with his girth and his striking resemblance to a stocky bowlegged man. They stayed for a while and then moved on, walking smoothly on their hands and back legs. We followed them at a distance, and they led us to a sort of clearing. All of a sudden, the trees around us were full of shrieking and hooting. The chimps we had been following took off at a fast run, making for a big tree in the middle of the clearing. They were joined by a steady stream of other chimps, all howling as they loped along. They ran to a big tree and rapidly climbed it, swinging their compact muscular bodies with ease. Our hearts were pounding in our chests: we were surrounded by over 30 powerful and agitated animals. All my survival instincts awoke from hibernation and started howling along with the wild calls of the chimps. I was about to take off running myself, but our guide didn’t seem to be worried all. I tried to slow my racing heart and enjoy the moment. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the group was gone. Our guide motioned us to follow him and we pursued the sounds of howling and hooting getting fainter in the dense brush. We walked for another 30 minutes without success, though we heard chimp calls periodically up ahead. Then we saw them again: of two enormous males, one almost completely grey. The guide told us he was the number three chimp in the pack of about 100, the “deputy prime minister.” The two of them were stretched out in the underbrush, seemingly taking a nap. One rolled over and scratched his belly. We were able to watch them for about 20 minutes. One woke up and started to nibble on a big piece of fruit, the other stayed asleep. Then another chimp appeared in the tree behind us, only about 5 feet away. He started hooting and the other chimps joined, and again we were awed by the power of these huge animals. Then the three took off again. This time we didn’t follow, since our hour with the chimps was up. This troop is habituated to human contact but isn’t supposed to spend more than an hour a day in our presence. We walked back through the forest, slightly shell-shocked. I don’t know what I was expecting: perhaps some cute monkeys performing adorable antics? But what I saw was a group of extremely wild animals engaged in complex behavior I understood next to nothing about. It was actually a pretty humbling experience.

¶ 7:45 AM