Introduction

My parents both studied in the United States and Europe in the later 30’s to early 40’s during the twentieth century. In the beginning of World War II, they went back to China.

I was born in China and grew up under Communist rule. At that time, China was totally closed to the west. An individual Chinese has no right to choose where to live and it is absolutely impossible to travel abroad. When I was young, I often heard my parents talk about America and Europe. In my house the Singer sewing machine, the model of Eiffel Tower, an ashtray of the model of the Colosseum and the print of Mona Lisa from the Louvre accompanied my growing up. At that time, learning foreign languages was sensitive politically. English was prohibited; we only were allowed to learn Russian. I remember that when my parents don’t want us to listen, they talked English to each other. I was envious of them and never dreamed I that I would have a chance to travel outside of China.

The world has changed, as has my life. In 1981, I came to the United States. I now had the freedom to travel anywhere I wanted and anytime I wanted. That is really a privilege for me. I have a passion for traveling. I want to see the rest of the world to make up for the isolation in the first half of my life.

The variety of natural beauty and the diversity of the people and culture have always fascinated me. They give me a visual satisfaction and fresh inspiration. They refresh my mind and provide harmony in my life. Traveling has become an important part of my life.

 

                                  I am American

Going to Africa and participating in a Safari has been at the top of our list of travel plans for a few years. Somehow the trip never worked out until 2002. Then we finally found a travel agent who met our interests. Bill and I decided to go to East Africa in March 2003.

We left the United States on March 17, 2003. That was the day our President Bush gave Saddam Hussein his last 48 hours warning.

                                                Amsterdam Airport

From Los Angeles to East Africa is not an easy trip. We first had to go to Europe then transfer to a flight to Africa. The flight and waiting time together were almost 26 hours. In the early morning of March 17, 2003, we took Northwest Airlines for a flight to Detroit, and then transferred to KLM for our flight to Amsterdam. We arrived at Amsterdam Airport on March 18 in the morning. The flight was crowded. Because of the war with Iraq, people were afraid to travel. The airline cut back the flights then concentrated passengers to the remaining flights.

We were waiting for our next flight to Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. Across from my chair sat two Africa men. They wore common sports hats, had tight, thin faces and smaller size bodies. Their expressions and manner were clearly different than American blacks. I started to sketch them. They were shy and curious. I learned that they were distance runners from Tanzania. They had just finished a Marathon in Korea and were now going back home.

A few seats away another black man sat there dressed in a suit. He was the manager for the two runners. “We just had a Marathon in Los Angeles a few weeks ago. The number one and two winners were both from Kenya”. I excitedly then told them we were going to Tanzania for a safari. It seemed that we had friendly and common things to talk about.

In the terminal, the big TV screen was continuously showing the CNN news about the War with Iraq. The manager was talking to a white man next to him. I could faintly hear that they talked about the war. Suddenly I saw the white man use his finger to point to Bill and me. Speaking with a European English accent “We don’t want the war. It is the Americans that want it.” I was surprised and my sketch pen stopped, “What did you say?” my high voice with a little anger asked back.

At the same time in the terminal, the megaphone announced that our flight was boarding. We stood up and walked to the waiting line. That white man’s voice was still in my mind.

                                      Tarangire Sopa Lodge

The Lodge is set in the center of the Tarangire National Park. When you walked in to the wide-open lobby, the cold air caressed your face immediately.  The attendant brought the cold juice and cold wet towel to you. That touch really made you relaxed. After passed through the lobby that is decorated with African woodcarvings, we saw on the right a bar with a huge seating area. On the left was the dinning room with a high ceiling and surrounded by glass windows. On the back (south) side, after opening the glass door, you could walk to a wide wood deck. The deck extended along the whole south side of the lodge with a panoramic view of the park.

On March 20, 2003, about noon, I was sitting in the shadow of the deck and looked out. The white clouds were hanging all over the Turquoise blue sky. The Baobab trees with giant trucks and dark green leaves scattered and adorned the yellow grassed hills. Their extreme girth and height make it a prominent tree. Elephants scraped off the bark, eating and absorbing the moisture. The Baboons eat the cream of tartar seeds from the fruits. The Umbrella Acacias had winding arms with thorns stretched out and up. The leaves grew just on top of the branches and end up creating flat horizontal lines. The giraffes with their long vertical neck and legs, stand next to the Umbrella tree and strip the leaves off of the branches elegantly. The air was hot and dry; the park was quite.

The lodge was almost empty. I started painting my favorite Baobab trees. Soon a short waiter from the lodge walked towards me, standing behind my back quietly, “Seems we don’t have a lot of people here?” I started talking while painting. “Because the war, people are afraid to travel”. His voice was shy and quite. Minutes later he asked, “Where do you came from?” I answered “From Los Angeles”. Then “How do you think this war with Iraq?” It was not a surprise, since he knew I am American that it would be the first question to ask. I hesitated a few seconds. “I don’t like the war; America people don’t like the war either”. Since I had the label “an American”, I had the responsibility to explain the America action to him. I talked about the September 11, 2001 terrorists’ attack that has changed our life forever. I stopped my painting and with emotion talked five more minutes. I didn’t expect this of kind conversation would happen in the paradise of the animal’s kingdom.

I turned my head back and looked at him. He was dressed in the waiter’s uniform; a white and blue stripe robe, His face looked to be not very young, “how old are you?” I asked. “37 years old”.” Are you married?” my next question followed. ”Not yet. I have to support my brothers and sisters.” Then I understood why he was worried about it. The war with Iraq affected his job, life and future.

In a geographical way, the Tarangire Sopa Lodge is far away from this conflict. They don’t even have a TV. But today the world has become smaller. The conversation with the waiter brought me back from the isolation of the Tarangire to the real world.

That was the day the war with Iraq started.

                                                            Village Walk

Under the fig tree in the shade, two peasants sat there resting. The older man was dressed in a traditional Tanzania robe and hat. The younger man had western style shirt and trousers. He wore a watch on his right wrist. My guide Kerry, a native Maasai, used Swahili to talk to them. I didn’t understand their conversations, but from their expression, I knew I was the topic of their interest. When they learned that I came from the United States, the younger man started his conversation with me.

“I don’t like Bush”. Kerry translated.

 “Why?” I was surprised at his sudden statement.

“Because he started the war with Iraq. Every country has their problem. Tanzania has our problem; you can not just attack them.” He kept talking. Kerry picked some sentences to translate.

“Do you know what happened September 11, 2001?” I asked him. “They killed almost three thousand innocent America civilians”.

“I feel sorry for that”. His face showed a softer expression. But a few seconds later he went back to his opinion. “I like Clinton better. Which president do you like?”

I laughed. “I am not going to talk about politics here. I am just your friend.” And I walked away with Kerry.

On March 22, 2003, while at the Lake Mayanyara National Park area, we spent that morning on a game drive. Afterwards, Bill went back to the hotel room to rest. I chose to visit the local village to better learn of the people and their culture that always has been of interest to me.

Kerry met me in the hotel lobby. Our green safari truck with totally open seats started from the top of the mountain down through the bumpy, rough and dusty unpaved road to the village.

We walked into a yard where smiling children with big curious eyes watched me. The goats, chickens and ducks were all over the ground. The cows quietly chewed the grass under the straw shed. Once in a while, the cock stretched his neck and made a long crow. Kerry told me that people who lived in this village came from more than a hundred tribes. They lived peacefully together. In this area, the soil is very rich and the water supply is plentiful. They produce good rice.

After walking through the field, we reached a peasant’s house. The house was rather like a miniature stage house. It was structured of wood sticks with clay used to fill in between the spaces. After the clay dried, it acted to bond together the sticks, which still showed unevenly. Here the banana leaf is a common material for the roof. The clay walls and leaf roof combined together harmoniously.

I had to lower my head to be able to pass through the door into the house. Inside, the artistic feeling I had enjoyed disappeared. The interior of the house was very dark. There was no floor, no interior wall and minimal furniture. I could see some sky through the banana leaf roof. The entire house was approximately an 8’x10’ space, divided by a grass weaving mat. Behind the mat were two beds with two mosquito nets. I sat on a bench and looked around at the rest of the house. One big bag of grain was stacked in the corner. Next to it was a yellow plastic water container. A few cooking pots lay on the floor. On the wall next to the oil lamp, a bow with an arrow attracted my eye. The father took the bow down and showed me how to use it. His two children sat in the corner watching me. They both had short, curly hair and were between 8 to12 years of age. It was only from their clothes that I was able to recognize that one was a boy and the other was a girl.

  A small shed located to the left outside of the house was the kitchen. A young woman with bare feet was squatting down next the wood burning fire. Three big rocks built the stove and a big, boiling metal pot on top of the rocks was filled with bananas, rice and white milky juice. She kept pouring the coconut juice into the pot. I learned that she was the mother of the two children and was cooking the lunch for the family.

When I asked permission to take a picture of the family, the father asked if I could send the photo back to them. I knew that for them it was not possible to own a camera. I promised that I would. Ten minutes later, in the same village, I had the conversations about war with Iraq with a young peasant.

Another ten minutes after, I went back to the top of the mountain to my elegant and stylish hotel. I wanted to clear my mind after the past hour and half. What I had been through in the village brought back to my memory some forty years ago in the Chinese countryside. In China today, the primitive life style is gradually disappearing. But I found it in Tanzania. The villagers made everything by hand, fresh vegetables and fruits grow right on the field in back of their house. They obtain nearly everything from the earth. They live in a basic, rather poor condition. But they had such harmony with the natural environment. They are simple and kind, pure and honest. How do they cope with the contemporary world? How does education enlighten their human desires? The modern civilization always requires material things. When they lost their innocents, their mind could go either way. Sometimes it can be ugly and wild. The limited information and narrow living circle could make their opinion prejudiced. In the modern history today, so many ambitious politicians use their simple minds to lead them into the chaos or even a war. It could be a disaster. That really is our human tragedy.

I enjoyed the idyllic scenery and hope the villagers will have a better life and still keep their purity.

 

                           Encounter with Maasai

The first time I saw the word “Maasai” was in the National Geographic magazine. Maasai are the primitive tribe people of East Africa with their unique culture and customs. That attracted me. This attraction became a strong influence on my choice to visit East Africa.

After we arrived in northern Tanzania, I immediately felt the influence of the Maasai. The first night in our hotel I purchased a book of Maasai photos and a three foot long gourd, decorated with colorful shells and beads with leather trim. The gourd is a Maasai drinking container used for their rituals. It holds the animal blood mixed with cow milk. That was pretty stimulating to me. When we drove on the road, we often saw the Maasai boys herding their cattle. From far away we could catch the bright red blankets on their bodies. I understand the red color is to scare the lions.

During our East Africa trip, I had a few opportunities to become closer with the Maasai people.

                                                         Hiking with Kerry

Kerry is a Maasai. He also was our guide for a half day at the Lake Manyara in Tanzania. First he took me to the local village. Later he led three of us hiking. He is a tall young man and was dressed in a Safari uniform. He has a typical Maasai face, a plump forehead, narrow checks, straight nose with thick, nice looking lips. His eyes have deep and tranquil expression. He is rather handsome looking. His only physical defect is that one of his front teeth is missing. After I learned that he is a Maasai, my curiosity made me ask him a lot of questions.

“Are you married?”

“Yes”. He answered.

“How many wives do you have?” because in their custom, a man can have as many wives as they want.

“I only have one wife”. He was little shy.

I asked why. He didn't explain to me. During the time we were together, he told me that when he was young he studied in a boarding school sponsored by Italian missionaries not far from his tribe. There he graduated from high school. No wonder, Kerry was an educated Maasai.

“How often do you go home to see your wife?” I asked.

“I don’t have a regular schedule. It depends on the transportation. I will travel by any cars going in that direction.”  It seems that his tribe is in a difficult to reach area.

Kerry had worked as a guide for Lake Manyara Serena Hotel for several years now. The night before our planned hiking, he walked to our dinning table and introduced himself to us. He took his job seriously.

On March 22, 2003, Bill, Terri and I followed Kerry out of the hotel. He held a long spear with a sharp metal end. That was a typical Maasai weapon. I suspected we may encounter some animals and felt a little bit nervous mixed with excitement.

We walked on the flat top of the highland. Kerry looked down to the ground and pointed to us, here were the leopard’s foot prints, there were the hyenas. Then that was elephant poop. Soon he squatted down looked very closely at the ground; I saw a tiny sand circle. He tried to show us the anteater ant. After we stood up, he continued to show us the plants; the Manyara tree was good for making a fence, the Sausage tree fruit mixed with Aloe would make a good wine. Some of the tree had poison; some of the tree was used for medicine. Seemed every thing we saw related with Maasai life. I was amazing at how Maasai survived and assimilated with nature. So far, I felt this should be called a nature lesson rather then hiking.

But things were not that simple. Soon we were exposed to the hot sun and passed through a high elephant grass land. The dried long grass scraped our bared legs. Our skin itched and ached alternately. We regretted not wearing long pants. Ten minutes later, we stopped in front of a cliff. I looked down a vertical steep slope all way to the bottom of the gorge.

“Oh no!” Terri naturally reacted.

My hart started leaping. I knew things were getting serious.

“From here, we are going to hike all the way down to the bottom then along the river until we get out of the mountain range”. Kerry peaceful announced.

“I am not prepared for this”. Terri was muttering while we started following Kerry. I was behind her, Bill was the last one.  The steep hill had no path; the soil was loose and slippery. The only things we could grip on were the weeds and branches. Kerry held Terri’s hand and sometimes used his spear to balance. Sometimes he put Terri in a safe spot, then came up to helped me through a difficult step, then help Bill. Until we all reached a relatively safe space, then we started to move again. When I looked down, I felt dizzy. I had to sit down and used my bottom to support my balance. I slid down while I announced to Bill:

“This rock is stable”. “That branch you can grip on”. Actually it was to comfort myself.

Half an hour later, we took a break in the middle of the slope.

“How come you wore sandals to go hiking?” I asked Terri.

“Before we went, I asked Kerry. He said the sandal were ok”. Sure. That was ok for Kerry. He is a Maasai.

We used our whole bodies to manage to survive. By the time we reached to the bottom, we already had passed 1,000 feet. Every one of us had scratches or bruises. Terri fell down on her back a couple times. She complained of her painful bottom. Bill’s leg had a few long bloody scratches. My hands were swollen. Only Kerry was in a perfect shape.

The gorge was beautiful. In the highland it was dry and hot. Here it was green and cool. The huge fig trees stood very high. Their bold trunks had smooth bark but tremendous ridges. The roots started above the ground, extended broadly in between the rocks and water and showed their ancient age. Along the stream, the verdant trees almost covered the whole gorge. The murmur of the stream with the gentle breeze cooled down our bodies and relieved our fatigue. A peasant woman with her two young children collected the firewood on side of the stream. I couldn’t believe they came down this way almost every day and rejoiced that we had passed the most difficult part of the hike.

But as we continued hiking along the stream, I realized the situation was even more serious. To be able to pass through, we needed to keep crossing the stream back forth. In some parts, the water was wide and rapid. Our feet could only step on the rocks or the dead trees that lay in the water. We had to force our weary bodies to be alert again. Kerry became busier, he ran back and forth over and over again to give a hand to each of us crossing the water. After we reached the side of the stream, we often were trapped in tangled vines or faced the vertical slopes. The spear was more useful now. Kerry either used it as a knife to cut a path through or poked it into the bare slope as a handle for us to grip. In an hour, we crossed the stream eleven times.

The last pass was the most challenging one. When I saw the two thin branches filled with moss between the rocks and almost at the same level as the water, I was not sure I would make it. This time Kerry took Bill across first. He held Bill’s right arm, I was standing on a rock and held Bill’s left hand. Terri stood on the ground and held my other hand for balance to help Bill start. As I watched them cross, they stood side by side on the branches and slowly moved laterally. When they reached the middle, the thin branches started to bend. I held my breath and couldn’t blink my eyes until they passed through the ten feet of slippery wood. Probably Bill’s success gave me some courage. I passed ok. Terri was the last one. By then, there was nobody to help her on the other side. Kerry walked all the way back to hold her arm and very slowly walked across. Luckily nobody dropped in the water.

We hiked another some forty minutes. Finally we reached out of the mountain range. Now I could have a breathing spell.

“We never had this kind of hiking before”. I told Kerry. Since we were sitting in the car watching the game, we thought we needed to stretch our bodies, so we decided to go hiking. We were not professional athletes. But in our middle age, we were fairly active. We often hiked in the US national parks. But then the hiking path was always there. Those were designed for travelers. We never dreamed we would face such a difficult situation. For a week after this hike, Bill and Terri complained about how stiff and painful their bodies were.

It seemed this hike was not designed for tourists. Or rather it was not designed at all. It was naturally for local people. That’s why Kerry felt so normal and easy. Kerry thought that was what hiking was. He never understood about our feeling. Now hiking had a new meaning for us. It was not only a physical experience; it was a mentally serious challenge and tempered our willpower.

As tourists, we had rare opportunity to experience real Maasai life. On this point, Kerry was still a real Maasai.

                                                 Maasai Village

Our Range Rover drove down from the top of the mountain. From far away I could see the Maasai village set on the side of the mountain slope of the Ngorongoro Crater. That is a huge wide open land. It is a famous natural wonder and rich in Safari animals. Originally it was Maasai land. In the early 60’s, this crater became a national reservation. The Tanzania government gave Maasai tribes a permit to still live on this land. They are the only people allowed to share the land with Safari animals.

When we came closer, I could see the village was surrounded by a wooden fence. Inside quite a few mud sheds circled around next to the fence. In the open space at the center, there was another circular fence. That is where they keep their cattle at night.

The first Maasai we met was their chief, a short man with a round face, perhaps in his 30’s. He inherited this position from his father. He was dressed with a typical Maasai red blanket with lots of jewelry on his neck and wrists. He spoke good English. Right away I associated him with Kerry, our hiking guide. The chief must be educated too.

After we walked inside the fence, a strong, stinking smell assailed me. I saw several Maasai women were sitting on the ground either holding children or stringing beads. The flies were all over their faces and bodies. I noticed the mud on the sheds was cattle dung. No wonder there were so many flies.

A group of young warriors lined up on one side. A group of women stood on the other side and started to sing. That was a welcome ceremony for us. Every warrior held his spear and was dressed in a red tone blanket. But in a variety of ways, some tied the knot on their left shoulder, some knotted under the arm, some just pull over to their neck. Most of them had large holes in their ear lobes. The colorful jewelry on their ears, necks and wrists, with mainly white tones, made a nice contrast with their dark skin and red blankets. Interestingly, they had sandals made simply of rubber tires. That, probably, was the only modern world influence. With a deep rhythmic song, one or two of the men from the line leaped up and down, their bodies held rigid high up in the air and their faces set in fierce concentration. The women’s group had a broad range of age. Their jewelry was more extreme. Some of the earrings were over a foot long, and the flat necklace was almost a foot wide.

We were told that this village was based on two families. They share everything together. The chief let us walk into one of the sheds. The door was extended out and was very low and small. We bent our bodies half way down to squeeze in. Inside it was totally dark. Half of the space was fenced for the calves. Then the other half was for people and sleeping. I realized that cattle are so important in their life. It is their only wealth. Kerry told me, if a Maasai man had one thousand cattle, he could have ten wives. Since they shared the land with the wild animals, their life style was based on how to protect their cattle and survive.

Children were important for Maasai too. Their community common greeting was “How are the children? How are the cattle?” We listened to a group of children singing. Their smooth, high voices with the rhythm and enthusiasm and their innocent expression moved me. I asked myself, what would be their future? In twenty years, would the Maasai life style still survive?

One hundred years ago. The Maasai ruled over much of East Africa. Today, Maasai were restricted to a reservation only in South Kenya and North Tanzania. While the pressures of the modern age build up all around them. How would they continue to cling tenaciously to their culture and customs? Quite a few times during our East Africa trip, the Maasai warriors came to our hotels to perform. When we city folks watched their movement, their colorful costumes and martial bearing with savage characters really affected us. That was what travel to Africa was all about. We wanted to see something we never experienced before. It was the same seeing the Safari animals, because they are rare and they are in wild nature. That was why we were willing to pay the high price. Maybe the modern world tourism industry’s connection to the Maasai society helps them survive.

When the wild animals are in front of the tourists, they are still natural. They are not self conscious. But Maasai are human and they can’t resist the modern world corrosive influence. Money is so powerful. When money becomes a standard to judge their value, the innocence will disappear. The many Maasai rituals are loosing their meaning. Remaining is only face value and become a show case. The Maasai village has become a point of interest for tourists.

Sadly I saw it.  Not only in East Africa, almost all over the world.

 

 

 

                           Adventure at Uganda

                                 ( Gorilla Tracking )

When Terri heard Bill and I were going to go Gorilla Tracking, we were traveling in Tanzania together. Her reaction was; “Are you really going? That tracking is very challenging and difficult.” I know she was mostly concerned for Bill because of his age. I am not sure whether this encouraged or discouraged me.

Why did I want to see the Gorillas? The Mountain Gorilla has always fascinated me. They are very rare and only exist in the mountainous area along the Uganda, Rwanda and Congo borders in Africa. They are giant, gentle and very close to human being. Today they are in danger. The local poachers kill them to sell their palms and capture the infants for the pet trade or for zoos. Then the human conflicts and developments destroyed much of the natural vegetation remaining in their habitat. The Mountain Gorilla population is endangered. I am afraid that some day we may only see them in the zoo.

Because of the civil war and rebellion in Congo and Rwanda, today the only option to see the gorilla is in Uganda Bwindi National Park, located in the southwest corner of Uganda. The park does have the Gorilla Tracking program open for tourists. They established very strict rules to protect the gorillas. Visitor must have Gorilla Permits (each permit cost $275 per person per day) arranged and paid for in advance. They only allow 10 to 16 people into the park each day to see them. The visitors need to be in good health and between 18 to 65 years of age. Tracking in the dense forest at elevations up to 8,000 to 9,000 feet and traversing steep mountains and ravines can be tough, arduous and wet.

I checked the U.S State Department web site and learned that the Uganda government sends the army into the park to protect the gorillas and tourists. My sister Ru-Lian was interested in going with us. When she heard that we would travel with armed soldiers, she was frightened and decided that she definitely was not going. My son Chien and other relatives told us that area was not safe.

The war with Iraq was becoming more and more intense in the news media. The threat of terrorism affected our every day living. It seemed our life was surrounded in a nervous and fear atmosphere.

I was worried and hesitated. But my desire and passion to see the gorillas and safari animals was still strong. I wanted to challenge myself; that probably is in my personality. For Bill’s age, I did not want to delay too long. We thought the places we were visiting are mostly wild animals and far away from human conflicts. We wanted to take advantage of it. So we decide to go to Africa this spring. We planed the gorilla tracking at the end of our East Africa trip with the hope that this most challenging part would be the highlight.

                                        First Day In Uganda

Uganda is still new for Americans. I don’t know what we are facing. On April 2, 2003 in the early morning we flew from Nairobi to Entebbe Airport.

When we walked out of the airport lobby, we quickly saw our name sign held by a smiling guy, our guide Francis, a tall, handsome looking man with a straight forward expression. He pushed our luggage cart and walked us to our vehicle, a black Toyota Land Cruiser. I immediately felt relieved.

We drove along Lake Victoria with the dense banana trees and giant palms standing along side of the lake. The coffee and black tea shrubs were spread all over the hills. The papyrus grows on the side off the road and stretch as far as the eye can see. Here it is greener, more tropical than Kenya and Tanzania. The red tile roofs and green trees set each other off beautifully.

The farm market right on the side of the road had large bunches of green bananas piled on the ground. Women dressed bright and colorful carried every thing on top of their head, a bag of grain, a bucket of water, a bundle and even 10 feet long sugar cane, you name it! The huge horn cows were eating grass on the side of the road. Once in a while we would have to stop to wait for them to slowly cross the road. Past the market, we soon saw the vegetable stands lined up on the side of the road. For several miles there were these stands with hanging, colorful wood stools. A few minutes later a lot of the vertical bundles arranged in the row attracted my eye. ”What is that?” I was curious. ”They are charcoal.” Francis said.  “What is that for?” Francis explained to me it was for heating and cooking. They are cheaper than the electricity, even the city people buy them.  Inside of the car it was silent. As our Cruiser was moving I continuously saw the people used the yellow plastic containers to hold the water on the top of their head, carry in the hands or on the bicycles. I realized that people that live in the country side don’t have electricity and plumbing. Uganda is an agricultural country and the peasants still live in the primitive life style. They are poor but full of vitality.

Half of the road was paved. The traffic was light. Once in a while we saw some of the trucks pilled full of bananas or big horn cows or goats. When they passed by, they lifted the dust high up in the air, we quickly rolled up the windows. Surprisingly I saw the back of the trucks had Japanese writing. Francis explained that they were second hand cars bought from Japan.

It took us almost 10 hours drive to reach to the Queen Elizabeth National Park. The whole day we didn’t see a single white face. After we had a short game drive in the park, we were to go to our first night hotel, the Volcanoes Queen Elizabeth Camp. We were very tired.

We left the park back to the main road and soon turned left to a bumpy dirt road into a village. The sky was getting dark. I started to fell strange. The road was getting narrower and the scene was desolate. Finally we stopped in front of an ugly wire gate. “This is the Camp.”  Francis announced. After we went into the gate we were in the dark wet land surround by tall weeds and ruins. A few men showed us a small gray concrete house in the corner. We walked in and saw only two beds without sheets or towels. The windows had no glass, only some wood panels. Where is the bath and toilet? A short young man led us out of the house and we walked through the high weeds for 40 feet to reach the portable toilet. I couldn't imagine in the middle of the night, how do we reach there? This place couldn’t recover our fatigue; we are going to be sick. How could we facing a more challenging schedule ahead? Plus in the whole place there was only the two of us Americans with no security. By then the whole bad pictures came to my mind. We were like hostages not tourists. I was frightened.

I determined that we could not stay in this place. Francis called on his cell phone. A few minutes later we left. “We are going to the Mweya Safari Lodge. It will be 30 minutes away.” Francis explained. “This lodge is a four star hotel, you may have to pay the difference.”  Whatever, we have to find a place to stay. “That is ok.” I reacted. We drove in the totally dark park bumping around. My mind was empty, my hands were trembling. Just go! I was panicked. Suddenly, our car stopped. In front of our car, a group of elephants was standing in the middle of the road. They were so close to us, but I couldn't see any thing behind their bodies. The darkness made me feel weird. The elephants were not accustomed to the high beam light from our car and slowly moved away and disappeared in the dark.

We checked in the Mweya Safari Lodge. Bill was exhausted. I dragged him to the dinning room. There were only a few people, but I noticed three Americans. I couldn't wait and stopped a young man with a beard when he was passing by. I then told him our story. “That is not strange; in Uganda the tourism is still pretty new. You found the right place now.” His calm answer made me relieved. I had acted so childish, but after I spoke out I felt much better.

 Bill was sound asleep on our hotel bed, but my mind was still too exited. By 2 AM, I got up to take a sleeping pill. That was only the second time on this entire trip.

                                                        Gorilla Tracking

Our Land Cruiser drove through the winding, bumpy and dusty road on April 3 in the afternoon. The elevation was getting higher and higher into the deep forest mountains. About 4 PM, we arrived at Bwindi National Park.

Our car stopped half way up a mountain hill. The first thing that came into view was a big green and luxuriant mountain in front of me. Our camp was just across from the gorge. The heavy gray clouds covered half of the mountain, a few minutes later the bright sun light brought out the blue sky. The sound of the chimpanzee’s screaming came out of the hill so close to us. That immediately brought the wild life atmosphere to us.

The next day in the early morning Francis drove us a short distance to the headquarters of the Bwindi Park. A guard moved the bar on the gate to let us through. Soon we saw an open space with a few simple buildings. In the middle there was a wooden pavilion, crowded with local young men gathered there. I guessed they must be the porters. Ten minutes later we were advised that today only two of us were going to go to tracking. Before the trip, I had prepared so precisely about clothing, equipments etc. Yesterday we met a British couple who had just come back from the tracking. Then I learned that there is no way we can carry our lunches, drinking water, rain gear and cameras to tracking. We have to hire porters to help us, better have two.

After the briefing the manager called two names from the crowd, two men walked towards us, the rest of the group walked away. I gave the bigger bag (including 8 one liter bottles of water) to the thin, taller guy and smaller camera bag to the short one, and then I asked “what is your name?”  “Jimmy “the taller guy answered, and then I heard a girlish and melodious voice, “Ada.” I am surprised, then I looked at her, it is a girl! She probably is only four feet eight inches tall, small body, dress white shirt with red vest, cream color pants with side pockets and white sneakers. She has an oval shaped face with soft lines. Her chest bulged up. I was fooled by her curly, short hair. That is great! I have a female company. I was delighted, but doubted that she could carry the heavy stuff while climbing. Then I remembered that she is local villager and may be used to it.

A truck brought us to the foot of the mountain. Then about 8:45 AM our Gorilla Tracking started. A soldier with a rifle walked in the front of us, our guide Medad, a slim, middle size and sharp looking man, followed. I was behind him, then Bill, Jimmy and Ada, arranged in a single line. Two more soldiers followed us. We hiked through the hillside villages, dense banana forest and gradually went higher and higher. The air was humid. I looked at Medad’s back. He was dressed in an olive green uniform, his radio communication speaker clipped on his belt. Surprisingly he was wearing a high rubber rain boot, but amazingly he walked on the mountain path so easy and steady. Ten minutes passed, I looked back saw Bill’s face turned red, his shirt almost soaked, but Medad just keep walking. I called to him. We had our first break and took a deep breath. I know this is just the beginning. We have a long way to go. The long walking sticks we took with us really helped. When we climbed higher, the hill was getting steeper and our breath was getting shorter. Then we took another short break. After a few more short breaks Medad decided to make a longer one. We found a shadow of a tree and sat down for a few minutes. That felt really good. I looked upward, but could not see the top of the mountain. Then I looked down. The whole village was in my view.

More than an hour passed. I heard the soldier in the back speaking Swahili to Medad. We stopped. Medad quickly walked down. I looked back, Ada was missing. “She has malaria, “Jimmy said to me. She must be suffering from malaria fever. I felt sorry for her. In Africa malaria is the number one killer in some countries. A few minutes later Ada showed up and looks ok. Then our line began moving again.

 Medad talked on his radio frequently. He also used a hand held GPS (Global Positioning System), referring to it frequently. Bill was amazed such up to date technology was used here. “How long have you had this equipment?” he asked. GPS is used in aviation navigation. “About three to four years now. “ Medad answered. I looked at his machine. We were some 6,800 feet elevation now. Soon the mountain path stopped. Medad pointed up “from here up will be the Bwindi National Park.” I looked up, there was no road! The closely packed layer upon layer of trees, shrubs and vines tangled together all the way up to the top of the mountain. Medad used his long machete to cut out the vines to make a path through. We either have to raise our legs to cross the vines or stoop down to go under them.  My feet rarely touched the soil. I could not know what the next step would be. My mind kept telling me we will be through this soon, but my aching back and legs slowed me down. I lost track of the time and just crawled along the trail behind Medad at a snail’s pace. Eventually we reached the top of the mountain. I took a deep breath and looked back. Wow! The panoramic view was really fantastic! The lush tropical forest continuously covered the rolling hills. On the left, behind the peak of the mountain, is Congo. Down in the canyon, the villages seemed so tiny. I know we were really high and far.

We kept winding around through the jungle, and then walked on the relatively flat mountain top. Medad liked to talk. I learned that he is 36 years old and has 6 children. He has been working as a guide for 10 years now. ”How did you and your husband meet?” Suddenly he dropped this question. People in America often asked this, but it seemed funny coming from him. I gave him our brief love story. He has seen many different tourists, but probably never had people like us, a Chinese wife and Caucasian husband.

 Somehow my foot kicked some dry animal poop. “That is Gorilla poop,” Medad noticed. A few minutes later I saw a fresh one. My eyes were wide open and my spirit high. Soon I saw two rangers ahead in the woods. Medad talked to them then announced, “They were an hour ahead of us looking for the gorillas. Now they have found them.” We were so excited! Our fatigue immediately disappeared. I felt so lucky. Yesterday another two couples had to climb two mountains, today we only passed one where we found them.

Following the rangers, we walked quietly. I held my breath and felt my heart throbbing. I saw the branches ahead were shaking, and then a black arm pulled out. They were here!  We quickly took our cameras out, then more gorillas showed up. A heavy pregnant female gorilla climbed down from a tree, followed by a few young and babies. They were gracefully up and down then rolled over in between the vines and trees. They were so close to us, a baby gorilla hanging on the vine rolled over above Bill’s head, and then he jumped to another tree, started picking up the fruits and dropped them to the ground. “That is for his mom.” Medad quietly told me. That was touching. I took a close picture of the pregnant mother under the tree. Another young male walked towards us. They are bigger than Chimpanzees, but very quiet. The whole time we were there, I didn't hear any noise or screaming. They were comfortable surrounded by humans. There I was standing closely in between rare and wild Gorillas in the humid, wet and dark tropical jungle, watching them acting in their natural environment. That is an honor. This combined both a satisfying and a weird feeling that I never had before and may never happen again. But I am sure this experience will be in my memory for ever.

We followed their movement. Finally we saw Silverback, the huge master for the group. His weight was probably over four hundred pound. He was in behind the shrubs under a big tree and used his hand to dig into a termite hole, then sucked his hands. He used both hands whisking the termites off of his body. A few female gorillas sat around him watching quietly. After he finished, a female gorilla used a thin stick and pushed it into the termite hole. Then she pulled it out and sucked it. The whole jungle was so quiet, the only sound was the cameras clicking.

“Time is over.” Medad looked at his watch and announced. The park only allowed us to stay with the gorillas for an hour. We were reluctant to leave. I gazed affectionately at the gorilla family disappearing in the jungle.

On the way back, we soon walked into an open space. Interestingly I saw quite a few nests on the ground next to each other and spread in a big circle, totaling about ten. The nets had different sizes and were made of leaves and branches. Clearly they looked comfortable to sleep on. Medad explained to us “that gorilla family slept here yesterday. Every day they change to a different spot and make fresh nests. ”He pointed to a big nest. “That was for Silverback. Everybody makes their own, even a couple make their separate nests, except young babies. They can make a nest in one to five minutes. . I was amazed they were such a charming and organized gorilla family.

As soon as we started to come down from the mountain the sky became dark. Thunder and a rain shower followed. We put on our raincoats. The humidity was still very high and our body was soaked by our sweat under the plastic raincoat. Half an hour later the sun came out. The ground became muddy and slippery. Then the rain shower came back again. I preferred to let the rain soak me rather than perspire with a raincoat on. The shower repeated three times. Our bodies were totally soaked by rain, sweat and a mix of mud. My legs were getting numb and weak. No wonder people often say coming down from the mountain is harder than going up. We needed almost the same amount time to come down and three hours later we finally reached the bottom of the mountain. Ada and Jimmy went back to their village. I held their shoulders while we took a nice picture with them and then gave them good tips.

When we finally climbed into the truck, limp on the car seats, we were completely exhausted, but spiritually we were thrilled.

We made it!  I was very proud of us, especially for Bill, seventy two years of age. Without any help we completed six hours of tracking in the tropical mountain. That has significance for us. We challenged our physical limitation to achieve something important to us. We had the satisfaction not only of experiencing the mountains and the gorillas but also to challenge our mind, spirit and physical ability. Just as in any stage of our life, it was thrilling to achieve a difficult goal. To be positive, to be optimistic, that brings meaning to our life, indeed.

                                                End Of The Trip

In the early morning of April 5, 2003, Francis picked us up at the camp and we started another ten hours journey to Entebbe Airport. We were going to go back to US.

Along the mountain road, the village children stopped, smiling and waved hands to us, sending a warm feeling through my body. They are pure and honest. They live in the deep of the mountain, far away from the civilization. The Mother Nature nourishes them, even though they are poorly educated, they have harmony with their universe. That is their privilege.

 As the dirt road was rough, our car jolted badly for almost five hours. The dusts covered every thing in our car even our faces. When we passed a town name Mbarara I first saw the paved road. “From here all way to the airport will be a paved road.” Francis said while smiling. “We are back to civilization.” I joked.

From the front car seat, I used my video camera shooting the roadside market. Suddenly a young man jumped to the side of our car window, used Swahili yelling at me. I automatically rolled up the car window, as the glass rolled up, he stretched his arm into the window grabbed my visor pulled out of my head then dropped it to the car floor, then he laughed and turned away.” You scared her.” Francis used English to peacefully talk to him. I was terrified.

 Our car drove on the smooth paved road. But my heart was pounding so hard. “That was very rude.” A few minutes later, I mutter to my self. I felt anger and disappointment. The tender feeling from the morning scene was gone. Does this incident indicate a civilized behavior? I asked myself. I would rather go back to the unenlightened world. Or this is a transition between the native innocence and civilization? I couldn't give my self a clear answer.

In the Entebbe Airport lobby, after we check in our luggage we felt relieved and walked to the gate. Suddenly Bill saw Francis standing outside of the glass window holding both arms up and waving to us. That was more than 30 minutes after he drop us off. We couldn’t believe he was still there. I ran over to the window. Thank you Francis! You beautifully made the rest of our trip. Overall, the world is still pretty good.