The New Year begins in the rainforest of Northern Gabon:

I thought Sean's strong desire to see the "Pygmies" of Northern Gabon was just another manifestation of his unusual ability to be entertained by little people, so I did not go out of my way to make our visit happen. Thankfully, Sean's indomitable urge propelled us to Minvoul on the outskirts of a large rainforest where we were instructed to introduce ourselves to the Mayor and the Prefect. They registered our intention to visit the forest with officials in Libreville and then introduced us to Maturin who could facilitate our plan.

Maturin is developing an organization called Edzengui that promotes ecotourism within this neglected corner of Gabon; Edzengui is the name that the Baka people have given to the protective spirit of the forest and it is the Baka people who make the work of Edzengui possible. They are one of many distinct tribes that have long been referred to as "Pygmies" by cartographers and people who categorize by height.

The oldest Baka village in Gabon dates back just forty years, when it was founded by people who left Cameroon and Congo to flee from more powerful ethnic groups that crowded them and threatened their way of life. The village where we camped for two nights could be accessed from the nearest town after an hour long hike and a twenty minute canoe ride.

I had not understood that something called a rain forest could actually be more like a tree studded lake or a fresh, slow flowing swamp. Transportation is made possible by dug out canoes that take between seven and ten days to carve out of large hard wood trees. They are steered from the front with their prows no more than two inches from the surface of the water and the sterns rise up almost to dryness in response to the weight of the paddler-this fragile balance is possible because there are absolutely no ripples or wavelets; at all times the water, nearly black, perfectly reflects the forest above.

Plant life crowds in from every direction. The boats draw just several inches of water, but they inevitably grind over submerged trees and root systems, sometimes scraping to a halt on extended obstacles. The paddlers have machetes ready for palm fronds that slump across the narrow waterways or for larger trees that have barred the way. Most of the time however, these are ignored if it is possible to lift them temporarily or lay back flat and glide beneath them. Everything that is cut down may clog the narrow streams. Often when the Baka paddler sees an opening that is growing shut, with river grasses or creeping vines, he will deliberately plow the grasses down or slice at the lianas in his perpetual battle for breathing space. Despite the fact that these are forest dwellers, fish is a staple of their diet.

Jean-Hillaire, who piloted my pirogue for several hours toward a village that received two western visitors all last year spends his days fishing. He pointed out a favorite spot of his and boasted of its dependable bounty. I asked him if he was worried that it would run out of fish if he continued to return to that spot with such frequency. He laughed and said it will have many fish forever, "Even if I come here for ten years, there will always be many fish. There are countless fish in the forest." At several points we saw the sudden flop of somewhat surfacing fish; Jean-Hillaire was paying close attention and planned to return. Fishermen leave nets, small traps or baited hooks, marking their spots with fresh chopped palm branches driven into the riverbed that are almost impossible to see against the backdrop of greenery crowding into the black waters.

Our visit coincided with the dry season when the water level is one or two meters below normal. Far fewer paths were open to the navigator and they were more treacherous; Sean's boatman broke an oar while pushing aside resistant underbrush and sprung a leak in his boat while floating over sharper logs. The relative scarcity of water forced us to moor our boats a solid hour's walk from the second far-flung village that we sought. After that point we took our shoes off and waded through thigh deep puddles, sinking to our shins through rotten branches and into soft warm mud; less enjoyably we snared our feet on strings of soggy thorn and stumbled over roots that were obscured by the mud clouds churned up by those who walked in front. The only environment I know that strongly resembles this one is the Degoba system. I emerged with feet scratched red and pierced to gentle bleeding. Thankfully, the doxycycline that I take as a daily prophylaxis against malaria prevents my cuts from becoming infected by rainforest bacteria and other tiny evils.
* posted by Nathaniel at 10:40 AM