Wild Spirit

by Henderson, Annette

  I could feel my excitement mounting as we boarded the pirogue. I had anticipated this day for so long. My new Pentax camera with its 300 millimetre zoom lens was slung around my neck, and Win had brought his movie camera.

  A deep silence blanketed the river as we approached the island ten minutes later. The pinnassier cut the outboard, and we drifted slowly into the muddy bank. Thick forest cloaked the island – a mosaic of green shapes, clear in the morning light. Huge rope-like loops of mottled grey liana crisscrossed the understorey and hung from the high canopy.

  The chimpanzees grew highly excited at our arrival, screaming, hooting and swinging from vine to vine. We watched their performance from the pirogue. It could have been a scene from millions of years ago. I sat speechless and had another of my ‘pinch me’ moments – could it really be me, here, seeing this?

  Hugo explained that the group comprised one male, two senior females – Dodo and Albertine – another female, and two juveniles. When the initial excitement had abated, Dodo climbed down from a tall tree and headed straight for the pirogue, where she reached into the prow, grabbed the nearest bunch of bananas and hauled it up the muddy path. We watched as she climbed back up the same tree, trailing the heavy bunch behind her, settled herself on a sturdy branch, and began to eat, skilfully balancing the bunch in front of her.

  Meanwhile, the pinnassier unloaded two more bunches. Albertine came down to the pirogue next with her two-year-old infant Josephine, and dragged a bunch up to the clearing. We watched them for perhaps twenty minutes, filming and listening to Hugo’s commentary.

  ‘Some of these animals have been on the island for five years,’ he explained. ‘Dodo is eight now. She’s the dominant female.’ I had guessed that by her confident behaviour. There were many questions I wanted to ask, but it was time to move on to the opposite end of the island.

  As we approached the shore, there was no sign of the animals.

  ‘You must be very quiet here, and make no sudden movements,’ Hugo warned, ‘and you need to put your camera out of sight. It might frighten them.’ The pinnassier ran the pirogue up on the bank, and we stepped out.

  A narrow earth track led from the water’s edge to the line of trees. Suddenly two chimpanzees emerged from the underbrush and bounded down towards us. First one then the other leapt up into Hugo’s arms, hugging him tightly and rubbing their faces against his cheek. He cradled each one to his chest, rubbed their backs and talked to them – a ritual of mutual ecstasy. In their excitement, the chimps threw themselves about and greeted Rodo, Win and me in turn. One launched itself at me with its arms outstretched. I scooped it into my arms, hugged it to my chest and stroked its back and head. Lost in the joy of the moment, I looked into its face.

  Hugo looked on amused. ‘That’s Bouéni,’ he said.

  Bouéni looked back at me exuberantly and pouted his lips for a kiss. I buried my face in his, nuzzled up to his cheeks, and planted a kiss on each one. He had his legs locked around my waist and seemed set to continue our love affair indefinitely, but I gently eased him to the ground, where he took up a position with his back against my legs while I rubbed his shoulders and head. I tried to picture the years of dedicated nurturing he must have had in captivity to give him such trust in a stranger.

  We turned to move up the narrow path towards the vegetation. At that moment, one of the gorillas appeared at the top of the track. He was an impressive sight – thickset, with a prominent brow ridge framing deep-set eyes. He stood quite still, regarding us with an intense expression, then moved tentatively down the path in a shuffling gait, his knees bent and his arms straight, occasionally touching the ground with his fists.

  I was at the front of the group. I was excited, fit to burst, but knew I must maintain an outward appearance of calm. I hoped this magnificent animal might passively accept our presence, but I didn’t expect more. I had no idea what the protocol was for greeting a gorilla. I shot an inquiring glance back at Hugo, who watched from behind.

  He quickly reassured me. ‘Celui-là, il est très, très gentil. Il s’appelle Ikata.’ His name was Ikata, and he was extremely docile. Ikata was now just metres away from me. Every hair of his lustrous coat shone in the sun. His eyes, lit with a mild curiosity, fixed on mine. No-one spoke: everyone watched the two of us. Then he reached out both arms towards me, and moved in closer. This was my cue: I stretched mine towards him, palms facing upwards. Would he trust me enough to let me touch him?

  There was no precedent in my life for this moment. I was approaching an eight-year-old male gorilla who had never seen me before. He already had the strength of several men. All I had to rely on was Hugo’s assurance that he was gentle. In seconds, I’d taken in everything about him: his round-topped head, not yet mature enough to have the sagittal crest that would mark him as an adult male; the leathery texture of his fingers and face; the pushed-in shape of his nostrils; the cleanness of his thick black hair; and the intensity of his gaze. His body language conveyed a deep calmness; his movements were relaxed and deliberate. He was not afraid – so, taking my cue from him, nor was I.

  Slowly we approached each other until less than a metre separated us. I held my breath. Then, with exquisite gentleness, Ikata moved forward and enfolded me in an embrace of greeting. In my wildest imaginings, I had never anticipated this. Time seemed to stop. I was both inside the moment and outside of it – abandoned to the ecstasy, yet somehow aware of myself.

  We were the same height, his face level with mine, just inches away. As he took my measure, I moved one hand up and rubbed the domed top of his head, made small noises of reassurance, and stroked the sides of his face as I looked into his eyes. He moved closer, nestled his face against my cheek, and extended one arm around my shoulders. His delicate touch belied the enormous power in his hands. As he honoured me with this extended greeting, I continued stroking his back and head. All this time, he made no sound. My mind raced. This gentle animal trusted me completely – how could it be?

  As I looked into Ikata’s serene face, a fine intelligence looked back, and in those few moments, the boundary between our species dissolved. We communicated, across millions of years of evolution, what was common to us both. Beyond speech, I stood motionless, transfixed. I’d had to live thirty years and come to this African wilderness to discover my vocation.

  Eventually, Ikata transferred his attention to the others, and we all moved up the track to a clearing which served as the feeding station. There, the second gorilla, a female named Pascaline, sat quietly on her own. The pinnassier had brought a bunch of bananas up and placed it on the ground near her. She took no notice, and focused instead on the sight of Win’s and Rodo’s bare arms and legs.

  Ikata calmly sat on the ground, his belly collapsing into rolls, his legs loosely crossed and his arms folded across his chest. I sat opposite him, cross-legged on the ground with the bunch of bananas between us. Glints of sunlight filtered through the canopy and patterned the leaf litter on the forest floor with patches of gold. I was immersed in his world, conscious of no-one but Ikata and myself. At eight years old, he was sub-adolescent. For the moment, Hugo had said, he was still playful. He loved nothing better than being jostled in a bout of mock wrestling. He would not be sexually mature for another three years.

  He reached out and picked a single banana from the bunch, peeled it and took each mouthful fastidiously, smearing no fruit on his face or chest. He ate just two before turning his attention back to me, reaching out and lightly touching my arms and legs. When he noticed the gap between my socks and trousers, he reached out, lifted up the edge of one trouser leg with his thumb and forefinger, and bent over to look inside. I sat quite still as he explored the texture of my skin with his leathery fingers.

  Then I moved in and faced him at close range. This must have been the signal that I had presented myself for social grooming: he reached across and pulled gently at the strands of my long hair tied back in a ponytail. Bit by bit, he teased it out of the elastic band unti
l all the hair fell loosely over my face, then ran the strands gently through his fingers, focusing intently on the texture of the hair, and fossicking on my scalp. I could scarcely believe my feeling of connectedness with him, but I was conscious that one inadvertent move on Ikata’s part and he could scalp me.

  I slowly eased the clumps of hair out of his grasp, careful not to alarm him, and tied them back out of reach. The grooming session was over. He sat back, resumed his Buddha position, and stared impassively into space.

  Hugo’s voice reached me as if from far off. ‘It’s time to go.’ I stood slowly and took a last look at Ikata sitting placidly in the sunlight. I wasn’t ready to leave. For me, this had been a day like no other. I wanted to laugh, cry and shout out that I had finally decided what I wanted to do with my life. Like Biruté Galdikas, I would study to be an anthropologist and, if things worked out, I would work with great apes, as she, Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey were doing. I kept the decision to myself, but 13 March 1976 would resonate through my life for all time – the day I looked into Ikata’s eyes and glimpsed eternity.

  We made our way slowly back to the river, Bouéni and the other chimp following us down to the pirogue, still seeking attention. I stroked them and talked to them. It was too soon to leave – I wanted to spend hours with them – but Hugo was waiting. As we pulled away from the bank, I hoped that Ikata, Bouéni and the others would survive to breed. They were being given every chance, but there were no guarantees.

  That night, back at Louise’s bungalow, I lay awake a long time with a jumble of images jostling in my mind – the island in the river, the dead porcupine, the hammer-headed fruit bats – and the feeling of Ikata grooming my hair. Overriding it all was the vision I had now embraced for my future.

  On our last morning at the reserve, Hugo invited us to his house for drinks. We arrived to find him bottle-feeding twin two-month-old chimpanzees. He cradled one in the crook of his arm and held a bottle of warm milk to its mouth, while the other managed its bottle by itself. They were fed every few hours, day and night. As I watched him nurture them, I saw the depth of his commitment to all the animals in his care. For him, it was not just a job – the animals’ needs took precedence over everything. Like everyone on the station, his work was his passion.

  When the twins had finished their bottles, Hugo carried them outside onto the lawn. Their soft pink faces and huge expressive eyes were never still as they took in their surroundings, romped together, cuddled each other and played with small toys. It was impossible not to feel kinship with these great apes. We are so like them; they are so like us. The longer I watched them, the more entranced I became. Sitting with these fragile and delicate infants, I thought about Josie and how dependent she had been on us. I had no doubts now about the course I had set for myself. Above all else, this was what I wanted to do.

  Just before lunch we farewelled everyone, tried to convey our gratitude for their generosity, and left for the trip back. On the way into town, we told Louise about our campsite at the Djadié. We were determined to persuade her to take a break away from her punishing routine.

  ‘Drive up and meet us at the Djadié next weekend!’ Rodo urged. ‘We can camp there overnight and swim in the river in the morning.’ Louise looked across at us wearily and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. A smile played around her mouth, and she took a deep breath. ‘I’d like that,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Rodo beamed. ‘It’s all settled then.’ It was agreed that Rodo would drive down in the Toyota, we would follow in the Kombi, and Louise would meet us there in a CNRS vehicle on the following Saturday afternoon.

  The day of our rendezvous with Louise dawned wet and muddy – the first storm of the ‘long wet’ had struck the day before. Camping at the Djadié in those conditions was not an appealing prospect, so we made an alternative plan. Rodo would drive down there, pick up Louise, and bring her back to camp for the weekend. They arrived back just on dusk and pulled up outside our door. She was in buoyant spirits and greeted us both with a hug.

  The rain had held off all afternoon, but a storm was building as I showed her to her room.

  ‘Drinks in our flat in fifteen minutes!’ Win called out. ‘And you’ll be eating with us, Louise.’ Rodo left to shower and change, and returned carrying ice-cold bottles of Regab beer and a packet of nuts.

  ‘I’ve just learned there’s a dance on in the village tonight,’ he said, ‘and we four are invited!’

  ‘What’s the occasion?’ I asked.

  ‘I think it’s some kind of ceremony to cleanse Madame Elizabeth and Augustine’s new house of bad spirits, and make it safe for them to live in.’

  I turned to Louise to explain: ‘Augustine is the village head, and Madame Elizabeth is the most senior woman. According to Eamon, she’s actually a witch.’

  ‘We’ll need to take some beer with us,’ Rodo said. ‘They’ll want us to have a good time, and if they see drinks in our hands, they won’t be concerned about their hospitality. They’d probably hesitate to offer us palm wine, and if we don’t bring beer, they’ll feel compelled to buy some. I don’t think we should put them in that position.’ Rodo was close to the men and understood their customs.

  We walked down to the village by torchlight just after nine o’clock. Louise had her portable tape recorder, as she wanted to capture some music and singing. The importance of the occasion became immediately evident. A palm-leaf pavilion had been erected beside the new house, with fires lit at the entrance, and people sat around the sides facing inwards with the drummers seated at the far end.

  Chief Augustine and Madame Elizabeth were sitting at the entrance. They stood and greeted us, and Madame Elizabeth ushered us to a row of plastic chairs that had been arranged for us. She was an imposing figure, tall, solidly built, with a commanding presence. Her broad, high cheekbones framed alert eyes. Her skin was smooth, the colour of milk chocolate, and her mouth often widened into a broad smile, revealing more gaps than teeth. She wore a brightly patterned length of pagne wound around her, with an overblouse and a headscarf.

  About forty people were gathered in the pavilion. While Madame Elizabeth circulated among the guests, chatting, Chief Augustine, a small thin figure, looked on passively. I thought – not for the first time – that his wife’s powerful presence seemed to have eclipsed him long ago.

  I took my seat beside a young woman with a baby on her back. ‘What’s going to happen tonight?’ I asked her.

  ‘Madame Elizabeth is going to dance!’ she said proudly.

  ‘Just by herself, no-one else?’

  ‘Oui.’

  ‘Why isn’t everyone going to dance?’ I asked.

  ‘Because Madame Elizabeth dances the best,’ she replied. It didn’t sound as though I would have a chance to repeat my attempt at Gabonese dancing that night.

  While two men stoked the fires, the other musicians arrived – women with rattles and men with lengths of iron pipe and wooden sticks. They began warming up, and Madame Elizabeth broke into a slow shuffle in front of them, throwing out comments to the crowd.

  Just then, rumbles of thunder sounded directly overhead, and flashes of lightning arced over the forest like strobe lights. In minutes, the storm had hit, and everyone fled the palm-leaf pavilion, scrambling for the shelter of the new hut. It was of the same construction as all the village houses – puddled mud over a sapling frame – with two rooms and a bare earth floor.

  We all sat cross-legged on the ground, pressed closely together around the walls, facing inwards, where hurricane lamps had been set up and a fire lit. The acrid smell of sweat mingled with the fragrance of burning sap, and the fire threw dancing images onto the ochre-coloured walls. At one end of the room, the musicians set themselves up afresh, and Madame Elizabeth retired unobtrusively to the adjacent room.

  Time stretched and warped as we waited for something to happen. Around us, a hubbub of voices rose above the crackle of the fire. Some people smoked the rank-smelling Gabonese
cigarettes. Children sat and stared impassively and babies slept as the rain drummed on the corrugated-aluminium roof. The air inside the hut soon turned hot and fetid: Rodo opened his bag and handed each of us a bottle of cold Regab.

  Our eyelids had begun to close when the door to the adjoining room opened to reveal a terrifying figure framed in the doorway. A collective gasp escaped from everyone seated around the floor. The figure stepped into the room, acknowledging no-one. Its skin was covered in thick white paint, its features picked out in black, red and blue. On its head was a grotesque wig of animal skins, with spiralling wisps of straw projecting in all directions, giving its face a Medusa-like appearance. It was a woman wrapped from the chest down in a stark white sheet; at her waist, a girdle of leopard-skin strips supported a rustling overskirt of straw. Two men accompanied her, one on either side, dressed in flowing white robes and white skullcaps. When I recovered from the initial impact, I realised the woman was Madame Elizabeth.

  The drummers began beating out a slow, ominous rhythm, and the three figures processed forward and started circling the fire. Madame Elizabeth’s demeanour had changed utterly from earlier in the evening. I peered hard at her face as she passed by. It was as fixed as a mask, with no flicker of recognition of anyone, and her eyes seemed focused on some distant point.

  At a shout from the crowd, the two men in white dropped into the background and the whole band crashed into life. Madame Elizabeth’s body became instantly charged with a raw energy. She circled the fire, her gaze fixed on the flames, and her voice rose in a guttural chant. The music grew louder and faster, and with it her movements grew more frenzied until her whole frame shook. Rivulets of sweat poured from her forehead, streaking her make-up into bizarre patterns.