Our breathing had become labored, and conversation had died
out completely. The sounds of the forest; the chirping of the crickets, the
rustling of the wind in the trees, and the crack of branches beneath our feet
mingled with our panting to produce a curious sound. I was breathing hard but
deep, trying to clamp down the panic that threatened to rise. I have always had
a paranoia about slopes, picturing vivid images of myself rolling down and
hurting every bone in my body. The ground beneath us was wet and treacherous,
so that what seemed like a sure step could become a slippery slope…quite
literally. It was the stuff my worst nightmares are made of.
“Is everyone okay?” the guide called out ahead. In the
silence, his words echoed around us like he was behind, and not far ahead of
us. We grunted our assent as if to say,
“What choice do we have?”
 |
| The look you give when the guide keeps moving and the end is nowhere in sight |
It had not started out like this. We had
spent a night at
Lake Mburo National Park, at par with nature: the graceful impalas, the
haughty bush bucks, the still water of the lake, the large peaceful
hippopotamuses, the
gorgeous loud birds, the grunting warthogs, and the clear blue sky.
 |
| The sky has never looked so blue |
 |
| The clouds seemed to have a mind of their own |
We had
risen early and had a healthy katogo breakfast in Mbarara, surrounded by a
mixture of the hesitant step to city life and the reluctant rural feel
portrayed in the loud shouts in Runyankore about milk and cows, and the
unassuming buildings. The afternoon and evening had been spent playing loud
music and ludo outdoors, and was moved along by engaging conversation and
raucous laughter. The air here was cleaner, and we took deep cleansing breaths
and enjoyed the gentle breeze that had replaced the oppressive heat of Kampala.
After a nourishing dinner of local buffet, we went to bed early to prepare for
the early morning drive from Kabale town to the forest.
We were up at 4 am, giddy with excitement. After a quick
breakfast of omelettes we made ourselves washed down with scalding tea to warm
us up, we were on our way. The drive was beautiful, the roads winding and
steep, the view of the hills of Kabale and Kisoro breathtaking. In the
distance, Muhavura hid behind a thick mist, like a bride awaiting her
unveiling. We stopped many times to stretch, take pictures, and really just
marvel at the sights.
 | |
| Shoe game strong |
 |
| Picturesque, but brutal |
We packed some water and some snacks, and tied our shoelaces a little tighter. Nothing had prepared us for this nonetheless: the steep hill, the slow torturous descent, and the exhaustion. I held on to the walking stick they provided at the starting point and wiped my brow.
The descent eventually got gentler and became almost flat.
After jumping over a little stream, we started the climb. Conversation resumed
even with the panting, and we hoped that ours would be the short walk. As if
the Universe had heard, we were soon shushed. We had reached the gorillas!
