Notes from Kenya: Welcome...to Jurassic Park

Her name was Bili. I had not necessarily noticed her among the others. We were a group of 17—some were friends but most were strangers, including Bili. Mid-way through the walk, our guide stopped us in a clearing for a rest. I noticed her, sitting apart from the others, laying on her back on the forest floor. I approached slowly, and sat down next to her. I stretched out on the floor of the clearing, propping myself up on my elbow. She didn’t move.

Bili was young, yet her calm and reserved nature set her apart from the others. Maybe this was why I spotted her, looking alone and vulnerable, while others seemed to be running around, enjoying the moment.

I touched her hair, and starting massaging the base of her neck, just above the shoulders. She relaxed, and I could feel the weight of her head resting on my wrist. We sat like this for a few minutes. She raised her arm, and gently touched my hand with hers. The touch was a sign of intimacy, a sign of complete trust—a magical touch. With that touch we formed a bond.

She laid her head all the way down on the forest floor and gazed up at me with those big reddish brown eyes. The noise of the others horsing around, laughing and playing in the clearing, soon drifted away, and I was alone with Bili. I continued holding her hand in mine, completely engulfed in the moment.

She stirred, and let go of my hand. She sat up, and started to do what I thought was going to be a summersault. Then, with her butt still in the air, she grabbed my hand again, and pulled my hand towards her butt. Now, I realized in her society, this was a further sign of intimacy and friendship, but in my society, this was just rude. I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t touch her butt. I didn’t want to ruin this intimate moment, but I thought the relationship was moving a bit too fast. I slowly pulled my hand away.

She didn’t seem offended, which was a relief. I didn’t want to destroy the moment. She laid back down, this time with her feet near my head, and rested her head on my knee.

After a few minutes, the guide signaled it was time to continue our trek. I stood up, but Bili just sat up. She looked up at me, as if to say, “where are you going?” I reached out my hand, and she took it. Then, with her muscular arms, she pulled herself up on my back. She wrapped her feet around my waist, and threw her hairy arms around my neck to hold on.

We continued walking with the others. I really couldn’t believe this was real. I was walking through an island rain forest, carrying an eight-year-old chimpanzee on my back.

Ngamba Island is a chimpanzee sanctuary in the middle of the Ugandan portion of Lake Victoria. The sanctuary falls under the management of the Jane Goodall Institute, and contains 44 rescued chimpanzees. These chimps are largely confiscated during transit in the illegal pet trade. Quite often, poachers kill mom and dad, sometimes for bush meat (primates are still hunted for food in the DR Congo). The babies are then captured and sold in the illegal international pet-trade market. Most of the local country customs and wildlife services are partners of the sanctuary. The rescued chimps are usually sick, malnourished, and in need of help. While the life on the island may not exactly mimic life in the wild, the alternative for these rescued chimps is an unnatural life of a pet, a lab test animal, or a circus performer.

The 100-acre island reminded me of Jurassic Park. The island remains untouched for the most part, containing a large, unspoiled tropical rain forest. The tiny part that is developed—only 2 acres—contains tents for guests, staff housing, research facilities, and a large veterinary clinic. This uninhabited part lies behind a large electric fence, and from the viewing platform, you look into the wild rain forest, almost expecting a t-rex to come meandering by.

A view of the camp, along the water's edge.

The chimpanzees, while wild, are accustomed to the routine of life on the island. They have an enormous enclosure where they sleep at night, and where they receive breakfast and dinner. During the day, they are released into the forest, and free to roam. Each night, around 6:30, they return to the gate, and are ready to “come home”. Sometimes certain chimps decide to remain in the forest over night, and the staff cannot do anything about it—it is the chimp’s choice. However, most come home each evening, to the safety and comfort of home, where hammocks hang from the roof of the enclosure, and the chimps can rest peacefully during the night (with a full stomach, no less).

The highlight of the weekend was the forest walk—this was the main reason we came to the island. We paid a relatively large sum of money for the 90-minute privilege of walking through the rain forest with chimpanzees. While I had an idea of what it would be like in my mind, it was all expectations and imagination.

Sunday morning arrived, and we got up early for “the walk.” We were given overalls and instructions, all the while nervous with anticipation. After a briefing, we were led up to the metal door in the electric fence, and ushered inside. One of the rangers remained on the other side, closed the door with a thud, and locked us in.

The group of us was standing there, on the “wild” side of the electric fence, with all sorts of wild noises emanating from the forest. We were waiting for our primate cousins to emerge from the other side of the their gate. We could hear them coming. A ranger opened the gate, and they started emerging one by one. There was nothing between us humans and the chimps. It was a nervous, anxious, exhilarating feeling—having no idea what was going to happen next.

One of the "locals"

The chimps looked at us. We looked at them. For a brief moment, there was a tension in the air. Who was going to make the first move? Finally, slowly, the more outgoing chimpanzees walked toward the group, and bonds of friendship were quickly formed. After a few minutes of “introducing” one another, we set off for a walk through the forest.

I must admit, the idea of hiking through a hot, muggy, ant-infested rain forest with 50 kgs (110 lbs) of dead weight on your back, may not sound that appealing. However, the experience was something I will never forget. The heat was unnoticeable, the ants irrelevant, the humidity just ambiance. Our world became the close genetic cousins walking with us, and nothing else mattered.

After walking through the rain forest, mostly with chimpanzees on our back, we arrived at the water’s edge on the opposite side of the island. It was a small, rocky clearing at the edge of the forest. We stood there looking out over the water, having put down the chimps for a rest. One of the chimps (Bili) sort of pushed her way through the humans, and approached the lake’s edge. She put her hand in the water and scooped up some to drink. Then she disappeared up the path.

Almost immediately, she returned with a white plastic bottle, probably one that washed up on shore. She walked back down to the water’s edge, dunked the bottle in, and waiting until the bottle filled. Then she took the bottle, brought it to her lips, and drank the water. After finishing her drink, she disappered with the bottle, up the path again.

As we started our trek back to camp, we saw what Bili had done. Along the path was a hollowed out tree stump. In the middle of the stump laid the bottle, returned to its its place, to be used again when she was thirsty.

It was exactly the same thing that a rational, intelligent human being would have done. A simple task, yet simply amazing.