Pygmy-Ville, Gabon (1.6.2006)

We were hundreds of miles off the tar road, deep in the rainforests of Gabon, searching for the Baka, or Pygmy peoples. We had left our car with the mayor of Minvoul, a neglected provincial town in danger of being swallowed by the surrounding jungle. After finding a Fang guide to take us deep into the forest the following day, we sought out a local 'spirit walker' for counsel. In a dimly lit room on the edge of town, he stressed the importance of fortitude and respect for the natural order of the jungle. Our impending journey was not one that should be taken lightly. He whispered that many strange things happen in the forests. He equipped us, in his own fashion, for the days to come.

After securing provisions early the next day, we struck off into the bush on foot with our guide and two Pygmy trackers. It wasn't long before the cultivated land surrounding Minvoul transformed into dense forest. The damp heat was stifling. I wore sweat like a winter coat. The jungle gradually consumed the trail. Suddenly, we hit water and were brought to a halt.

I had not expected that 'rain forests' were underwater. When we started our expedition, I did not think that we would be navigating a nearly impenetrable maze of waterways in our search for the shifting Pygmy villages, slowly moving deeper into the forests. This unanticipated ecosystem had a swampy feel straight out of the Degobah system. Surprisingly, it lacked the abundance of small bugs and pests that one might expect. Large trees, emerging from the shallow waters below, provided an inviting home for a host of vines. Much of the remaining space was consumed by large drooping fronds from stout river palms. Very little sunlight light reached the forest floor beneath.

The pygmies fetched two dugout canoes and we piled in. After navigating into a small river, we cut back into the swamps and hit dry ground. Our guide informed us that our staging base, a small Pygmy village, was only a short distance away. As we hiked up to higher ground, a few scattered banana trees materialized and abruptly, we stepped into a clearing. The houses, built with mud bricks on a bamboo and palm frond skeleton, were grouped together to form a few family compounds. While the men were slightly taller than I had anticipated, none of the women seemed to be taller than four feet. Many were returning from the forest, with wicker backpacks overloaded with wood.

We spent much of the afternoon learning about the Pygmy way of life. While they are best known for their honey collecting and elephant hunting, many of the pygmies are also engaged in trapping, fishing and small scale agriculture. One of our Pygmy guides offered to take us out to check his traps. He led us back into the forest, turning quickly off the narrow track into the village. As we ambled through the forest, he pointed out trap after trap that were almost invisible even with his assistance. Most consisted of a small tree bowed to the ground, held delicately in place with a metal lariat as its trigger. Anything that stuck its head, arm or foot inside would be snatched, thrown into the air, and left dangling helplessly. The smaller ones were used for porcupines, bush rats and duikers, while the larger ones were set for gazelles and panthers. I was genuinely terrified during a great deal of the time spent checking the traps that I would suddenly find myself launched into the air only to find myself painfully hanging from atop a small tree.

After returning unscathed back to the village, we heard more about the changing nature of Pygmy life as the outside world steadily encroaches on their traditional way of life. Many Pygmies have embraced certain aspects of Western culture fervently. While only a few generations before they wore bark, now they wear jeans and t-shirts. While still hunting elephants with spears, now they fire them out of specially constructed guns. Mass produced gadgets and toys are fancied. Yet, because of their traditional lifestyle, earning money for these things is difficult. There seem to be no easy solutions and many feel neglected and ignored by their own government.

Evening came quick and the chief informed us that we were lucky to be in their village that evening; drumming and dancing were to be performed to appease the forest god. Men manned a few big drums and beat them fervently while the women wailed. The local 'witch doctor' put on a many layered chain link metal butt mask and shook his way back and forth in front of the fire in time to the music. Tuuli and I contributed a long forgotten glow stick and the party really got going. Soon, the 'witch doctor' informed us that the forest god needed alcohol. (This very same 'witch doctor' fell into the fire the next evening while professing his undying love to Tuuli.) While satisfying a forest god's craving for booze seemed a strange request, we offered a bottle of local manioc liquor. It was ceremonially offered and left by the fire. Tuuli was especially pleased to see one of the woman run over and grab it a few minutes later; she demolished the bottle with the rest of her friends. The party soon petered out and we returned to our tents to sleep.

The following day, we hired three dugouts to take us on a long trip to the earliest Pygmy settlement in the region. A tiny village much deeper in the rainforest, we were told it would take us much of the day to get there. There are only six Pygmy settlements in the region, yet they are scattered widely and difficult to reach. When Nate asked how often they visited this village, one of the pygmies responded "I've been there a couple of times. We only go when somebody important dies."

Two to a canoe, each of our guides sat in front. Nate and I debated a bit why this was the case; the answer quickly became apparent when after only a short while we cut away from the main river into the narrow waterways. There were no 'swamp trails'. Our guides slowly cut a path through the swamp, putting their machetes to work as the paddles took a back seat. It was nearly impossible to believe that the pygmies had any clue where they were going until I noticed my guide mark a tree with a strange sign. Increasingly, I began to notice other trees with similar markings. Hours went by. We continued paddling. I kept expecting Yoda to pop out from behind a tree. And then, no land in site, our guides told us that the boat portion of the trip was finished.

I got out in knee deep water. We trudged along, sinking deep into repulsive mud. My sandals broke. I went barefoot, gashing my feet at every opportunity against submerged sticks, logs and razor-sharp fronds. We continued in this fashion for nearly a kilometer. Land appeared and a short while later, covered in mud, we stumbled into the village. The Pygmy chief met us and gave us a brief history of the village. It had been there for around 40 years and was the first settlement. Most of the Pygmies in the area had come south from Cameroon. They still build their houses strictly from palm fronds. The village is used as a hunting camp for elephants. Last year they had one tourist, a Japanese man, visit them. After a short stay, we had to get back on the river because of the great distance between villages. We said goodbye and headed back to our camp; the following day we returned to Minvoul and hit the road, with Libreville our intended destination.
* posted by Sean at 11:32 AM