Waiting & Listening: Sunday mid-morning

Shortly after settling in to our hiding place, we began to hear gunshots all the way to 4 km down the road (distance is measured from Epulu village eastwards along the road towards villages Eboyo @ 1-4km and Bapukeli @ 5-7km). Our tiny maize field was positioned just below the crest of a hill which sloped gently down towards the river. This would protect us from being heard by anyone who was closer to the road, but also would prevent us from hearing anything very well, except for gunshots. The morning air grew slightly thicker, though the temperature stayed cool as it was overcast. This prevented us from hearing very well but I won’t forget the sound of emptiness.

On hot weekend afternoons, I have often noted an empty silence, which is only accompanied by the white noise of the rushing rapids on Epulu River. Sometimes I am alone in my concession, reading, enjoying the quiet. Few people mill about because of the heat and all I can hear is this rushing. This makes me feel like time has stopped and I start to think about how far away I am…from anything. I cannot call anyone, I don’t see anyone, all I can see is a huge blue sky, and endless green jungle. And all I hear is the rushing river because even the birds find it to be a bit too hot to be chirping or singing. This rushing sound even lives with me when I am not in Epulu. A few days after returning home to Massachusetts one summer, I asked my dad why the creek behind our neighbors’ yard was rushing so much. He corrected me and reminded me that the local highway was the source of the white noise.

However this silence with a rushing river sound is typically broken by signs of life which interrupt my day-dreaming. Huge trucks cross over the Epulu River bridge and the loose planks loudly clang together or loud vehicles drive past. But being so far from the bridge, we could now hear nothing. Sometimes we would imagine sounds. Was that a vehicle crossing the bridge? Or a distant gunshot? Or we’d hear a tapping and strain to hear its source, and then realize that Crispin was unconsciously tapping his shoes together. I’d lie down, close my eyes, and hear some unknown sounds, only to rouse myself and realize they were coming from Baraka’s groaning stomach. We’d laugh and then go back to thinking, chatting or resting.

Similarly to my day-dream filled weekend afternoons, the silence was frequently interrupted and the source was easy to determine. Gunshots pierced the silence at random, with varying distances between them in time and space. We knew that we were not just under attack, but under siege. My thoughts turned to my coworkers…my assistant Martinique, my good friend Tony…what had they experienced up in town? Were they ok? I had no way of knowing. Then my thoughts jumped to maman Asumpta. Had she run and hidden somewhere? Where were her kids and my homonym, her 2-year old daughter, Joelle? Were they ok? I prayed for God to protect them from the gunshots. In my head, I started to count the guards who I decided must be dead. I hoped that if it wasn’t all of them, then that it wasn’t some of the ones who I knew well. But I knew it would be bad, the frequency in which silence was pierced by gunshots, told me that it would be bad.

The Epulu attack: dawn on Sunday, June 24:

The first five hours: 5:00 - 10:00 am - 24 June 2012

On Saturday, June 23, I returned to Epulu with my boss, arriving after 7 pm, by which time it was already dark. I had been away for almost 3 weeks and was very excited to be back at home. I hoped to easily resume my life back at the research center, albeit for only a few days before returning to Bunia, where I had come.

My maman had left dinner on the table for me and after eating well, I went to Robert’s house to watch a football match and then returned to my house when I went to sleep at about 1030pm. I was very tired so sleep came easily and I did not awaken at all during the night. At about 430ish, I woke up with a start and then asked myself, why did I just wake up? Usually when I awake at that time, it is because it is the coldest time of the night, I have to use the toilet, or I’ve just come out of a deep sleep, or a combination thereof. None of these applied and I quickly drifted back to sleep.

But just a few minutes later, I awoke to what sounded like a grand finale of fireworks, which I think was the first volley of gunfire launched, which continued with a lot of strength for at least 15 minutes. As soon as I processed the noise, I knew immediately that the ICCN station was being attacked by the Mai-Mai rebels of Morgan. My first reaction was to just sit on my bed and I started to shiver and pray. This exchange of fire continued for many minutes and I started to imagine where the gunfire was coming from. I imagined that the rebels were on our side of the bridge (Eboyo) but were shooting from the bridge at the ICCN who are posted at the other side of the bridge (Epulu). I stayed in my house and didn’t look out of the windows at all, because I didn’t want anyone to know I was there. At one point, Papa Michel, the old night watchmen, walked past the house, and I called to him without opening the door. I asked him “qu’est-ce qui se passe?”. He replied in a nonchalant manner, “je ne sais pas”. A few minutes later, Michel passed behind my house again and I tried to slip him a note to transmit to Robert, my boss, but he didn’t understand what I was trying to do. Not wanting him to linger by my house to signal my presence, I shooed him off.

The shooting continued and I tried to triangulate its position as it started to disperse and diminish. I imagined that the exchange of gunfire had backed the rebels into the forest where I often go bird-watching. I imagined that they had infiltrated from this forested area, as the rest of the station area is surrounded by village. The shooting died out a bit and seemed to be a bit more random. It was difficult to know what was happening. Imagining that they were in the forest and the park guards were pursuing them, this helped explain that there was hardly any exchange of gunfire.

By 6:30, after 1 ½ hours of gunfire, it largely ceased. I imagined that the WCS chauffeur would come as soon as it had completely stopped, so I started to pack my bags up. They had just been unpacked the night before. I drew the curtains back a little bit to let in some light but I stayed inside my house. With all the fright, I had to urinate several times, so I had used an empty juice box to avoid having to go out to my toilet. I ate nothing so that new food wouldn’t force me to have to invent an inside toilet!

After packing my bags, I opened my computer and typed some emails that I would send as soon as I could get a connection. I saw my neighbor Crispin outside of his house, but decided not to move out of the house or to signal to him, but I kept an eye on his house, which was closer to the road and also to the station.

Suddenly heavy gunfire erupted again from the station area and I realized that the rebels had not slunk off into the forest as I had hoped. A motorbike could be heard crossing the bridge and suddenly 3 loud gunshots were heard from that same area. A few minutes later, Baraka came out of Crispin’s house and started running back towards his house. I knew from his habit, that he would run directly behind my house, so as his footsteps approached the back of my house, I whistled to him and he came into my house. I said, what in the world is going on? Where is Robert? What are we going to do? He didn’t have any immediate responses and told me that he needed to go but that he’d return so that we could make a plan. As he left, I begged him to come back, because I wasn’t sure if he would really come. After he left, I got a bit nervous that he was going to panic and run rather than returning. After just a few long minutes, Baraka and Crispin came to my house with the night watchman, Michel. We were there to decide upon a plan and this made me realize the gravity of the situation. We were going to have to flee our houses into an unknown situation. Where would we go? How long would we be there? I thought of death, of my girlfriend, and started to cry. This was the first time that I felt really desperate. Baraka told me to be strong and comforted me and told me that we were not going to die.

After a minute, I gathered my wits and started talking. These guys said that Michel would lead us towards an area at the back of our compound from where we could flee. We would try to hide ourselves from everybody, even villagers, as we could all be considered “high-value” targets for the attackers. I changed quickly into pants and emptied one of my backpacks which I had just hastily packed. It didn’t make sense to carry a lot of stuff while fleeing. So I just left a few random things like a towel, binoculars, and a pair of shorts; (note: no rainjacket). I grabbed a half-full water bottle and the only food I could; one papaya and one lime. The other guys urged me to hurry as I was still shuffling stuff around tying my shoes as they were already on their way out the door. I yelled at them to wait for me, I wanted us to be together so that we could act tactically, and I was not going to be left behind. Michel led us out of the house in total silence and each of us covered our heads as we walked briskly. There was absolutely no one around, and the only four people who I had seen that day were together.

We got behind Baraka’s house and found some random path which led into the thick fallows which form an impenetrable boundary between the forest and the fields, both of which are much easier to move through. However, I knew that this zone was where we needed to be at the moment. We could move into the forest which lined the river, but it could be more dangerous, as we didn’t know what was lurking there, or if we could be seen from the other side of the river.

We didn’t follow any paths, we just moved at random through a path of least resistance. Crispin led us through a grassy field then through thick pole-like weeds which became totally impenetrable, and then I realized that Papa Michel was no longer with us. This surprised me because he was supposedly the one to lead us. However, being an old man, it made little sense that he’d lead us, but at least he’d stay with us, but he was nowhere to be seen and it seemed as though he might have turned back.

I was positive that we wouldn’t be spotted in this type of habitat. One of my previous bird-watching walks had taken me into this area and resulted in exasperation, as I got stuck again and again in thick brush or weeds before finally emerging into some villager’s fields. We did the same this time around and emerged onto one of the main paths out from our small village, Eboyo, to its agricultural zone, which is a huge mosaic of fields, fallow, bush, and forest. After marching on it for a little while, Baraka made the point that we should deviate, because our current path would make us very easy to spot. We debated in whispers how far out we should go and where we actually would want to stop, whether at a hut or in a field. We quickly nixed the idea of finding a hut, and kept moving, but opted to take a very minor path. We kept moving away, without seeing or hearing a soul. After an hour or so of walking, we arrived at a place where we felt we could stop. It was a tiny field of maize, surrounded by bush and forest on each side. The path didn’t really seem to lead anywhere so we felt like we could sit in the corner of the field which had a view of the path but which was also hidden.

We sat, rested, and started to chat a little bit. It was about 10:00 am on Sunday and we were about 2 km from our concession. I asked where Papa Michel had gone and they said he’d turned back. As we settled down, sporadic gunshots continued and I tried to ascertain their location. They spread out and soon we were sure that gunshots were on both sides of the river. This made me really fear for Papa Michel; I began to imagine the worst. Where had he gone? Had he returned to “defend” our concession? Were those gunshots coming from our concession? Where was he going to hide? Was he still safe?

We began to hypothesize about what had happened and what was going on. They told me that the motorbike which had crossed the bridge had had 3 rebels on it, naked, and they had fired three shots. 

Dikembe blocked

I realize people all make mistakes and are far from perfect, but I still expect a certain level of integrity. Especially some people paint pictures of their good-will and charity to others. Then they are found to be profiting personally from it....that is just incomprehensible.

What I'm talking about is an alleged gold-deal between an army General wanted by the International Criminal Court and Dikembe Mutombo.

Dikembe's gold deal

Dikembe, if this is true...shame on you! How many people were raped and abused in the gathering of this gold! And using the profits for humanitarian activities? That's absurd...do you realize how hypocritical and ridiculous that would be. So much that I don't believe it...you have millions already and greed just knows no limits. I'm sorry to hear this, as Dikembe has done lots of good for some people in DRC and he has been a role model for many Congolese, which is in desperate need of community servants and solid role models. You just lost a lot of respect...

The 3rd Republic continued

I'm not in exile anymore, but I'm not in Canaan either. We've moved past the election period and seemingly nothing has changed except the creation of more uncertainty. The legitimacy of the current regime is in serious question after seriously flawed presidential and legislative elections. Nobody quite knows where to go from here...political parties are busy molding their own versions of truth and clamoring for the rest of the power.

Meanwhile, conservation will continue to be extremely difficult in this political environment. The vast majority of Congolese depend directly on natural resources (what they can hunt, grow, or gather) and are living in abject poverty. Therefore, poaching and mining in protected areas will continue at a high tenor, because the justice system does not function. Poachers spend 3 days in prison, pay off the prison-guards and are back in the forest causing chaos for elephants, as well as native pygmy populations. The pygmies are greatly affected by poaching, as they're either obliged to guide the poachers or they're threatened by them. So one can sometimes ascertain the safety of the forest by which/how many pygmies are living along the road. Conservation faces an uphill battle - in reducing poaching and destruction of ecosystems and species pyramids. Unless things change, it will continue the overexploitation that has been seen in many previous civilizations, but somehow, very rarely in Africa. This reminds me of how few American bison were left before American settlers realized they had to stop and put some controls on their hunting.

Persistent insecurity will not favor the growth of the tourism sector anytime soon, with Virunga NP and Kahuzi-Biega National Parks being the only accessible options in DRC. No matter how you cut it, there is only a very small number of intrepids who are going to take the risk and hassle of coming to DRC. But they should! Its an interesting place, very beautiful, and yet, troubled.

In Exile (observing elections from a distance)

For DRC's recent elections, there was a lot at stake – the rule over a country of 70 million people, which borders 9 countries (Angola, Zambia, Tanzania, Burundi, Rwanda, Uganda, Sudan, Central African Republic, Republic of Congo), and has vast resource wealth. However, the state institutions are being rebuilt after corruption and wars devastated the country. DRC remains impoverished, recently being rated 187 out of 187 countries in the Human Development Index, which measures such indicators as literacy, maternal and infant mortality, life expectancy, and wealth.

The Congolese population has the most at stake as they've have been waiting a long time for their government to start functioning and to stop preying on them. So given recent wars, continued instability, and significant tension, we acted with a lot of precaution. Offices were shut down from Dec 3 – 10, while the election results were tallied and final results announced. I went into exile in Uganda on Dec 4, while waiting for the results to be announced on Dec 6. The electoral commission however delayed the announcement 48 hrs to Dec 8, which was delayed at the last minute until Dec 9. These delays were due to logistical problems and also general disorganization that reigned from the start of the campaigns to the end of voting.

The wait was a bit intense, though we all knew who would be re-elected, as the incumbent stuffed ballot boxes, used state resources and institutions for his campaign, put friends in all major election commission and supreme court positions, and touted democracy the entire way. Shameless! But, given the possibilities (literally anything you could imagine has already happened in DRC), it was still interesting to follow and also to try to gauge what the reaction would be.

Beni, the eastern city where I pass through on my way out of the country, seems like a relatively calm place, but my friends who live there often here gunshots at night, and insecurity is chronic. On voting day (Nov 28), a large group of armed men attacked the central prison, killing the prison guards and freeing over 400 prisoners, allegedly so that they could go vote! Then on the morning of the original results proclamation day (Dec 6), a militia attacked and released more criminals. But then things returned to normal in a few hours. We knew the situation was volatile, but with very isolated incidents across a huge country. Any more disruptive reactions to elections might bend toward a longer-term trajectory or take part in the capital city over 1000 miles west of me. So, I returned from exile for about 8 days. On our return, we passed through an area where a bus had avoided a roadblock set by unidentified armed men and one passenger was killed when they shot through the back windows. This was yet another sobering reminder of the insecurity that plagues the country.

In my village, it was business as usual, though election chatter dominated among my colleagues because the opposition and different observation groups contested the results. After working and planning what needed to be done over vacation and early in 2012, I left again to pass a few days in Beni before vacation officially started. When I arrived there, rumors circulated of imminent attacks, so my bosses told me to just go!

On Tuesday, the incumbent was sworn in while only one head-of-state attended, Robert Mugabe, the 173 year-old Zimbabwean dictator who destroyed their economy. That was a strong sign of the illegitimacy of this regime. Even their closest allies like South Africa, Rwanda, and China were noticeably absent.

Meanwhile, the main opposition leader apparently held his own inauguration ceremony Friday. He was not allowed to hold it in a Kinshasa football stadium as originally planned. He's basically under house arrest, which is fine because he's 78 and likes his house a lot. It seems we're in for a political crisis, which we hope won't degenerate. DRC can't afford it. But they also can't afford for democracy to get trampled all over. Where will the rule of law and justice begin with an administration that abuses it? Development cannot happen without it.

Pre-electoral period :

(written Nov 15, 2011)

I've just returned to DRC during the month of campaigning prior to Nov 28 presidential and national elections. There is a lot of anticipation in the air, and frankly lots of worry. There is nothing concrete that gives us reason to worry but it's just uncertainty, volatility, and immaturity and cutthroat nature of politics in this region that has people concerned. There are clear signs that these elections will be fraught with intimidation, voter fraud, and muscling in whatever way possible, as the rules of fair play are difficult to enforce here.

For good coverage of the elections, there is a good blog by Jason Stearns, an American human rights researcher, who has a network from which he acquires credible information. I'm keeping my eye on his blog these days, just to get a feel for the situation.

Voting is done by emotions here – so if the incumbent hands out $10 or pieces of printed cloth to a group of poor citizens a few days before the election, they can easily forget the 5 years of corruption and ineffectual governance that has plunged DRC to the very bottom of the Human Development Index, while insecurity at the hands of the national army persists.  Even nations like Niger, Chad and Mali, who have few resources and dictatorship government, are ahead of DRC. It is quite sad, as there is so much potential here…but its only that. I now see the negative sense of the word "potential" – when everything is there, but nothing has yet been done. I'm talking about the state government. Congolese themselves are survivors, habituated to making the best of any situation. They've never been able to expect anything from government, as it has always functioned to siphon off of the people rather than to provide services. Dictators have come and gone and come again, but opposition isn't able to clearly break from this system. So the system may not change no matter what happens. Congolese will survive, but what level of suffering will they be able to endure?

Birds on the brain

Thanks to July’s trip with my parents to western Uganda, my long pathetic search for a hobby has finally yielded something. Ornithology! - simply the science (?) of identifying birds! Given my choices in life, I am living in a mega-hotspot for birds - frequently traveling in the Albertine Rift which bridges the Congo Basin and East Africa's savannahs.

Anyways, with my parents, we visited Bigodi wetland which is a community conservation project just outside of the Kibale National Park in western Uganda. This project generates revenue for community members by leading tourists on guided primate & bird walks. Our young guide Alex was inspiring. Within seconds of debarking on our bird walk, he was shooting off cock-eyed looks through his binoculars and telling us which species we were seeing. A few minutes into the hike, Alex, exclaimed, “Oh, I hear a golden-backed thrush! I’m going to get him to fly overhead!” Then Alex whipped out his iPod and portable speakers and quickly played the call. The bird responded by flying directly overhead and repeating the recorded call. Wow! That was amazing!! As we proceeded, sometimes we’d hear birdcalls a long ways off. Other times we’d stop to talk and by chance, catch the glimpse of bird perched silently in the undergrowth close to us.
“What is that one Alex?!”
“It’s a blue-breasted kingfisher”; “It’s the larger cousin of the woodland kingfishers which you probably already know”
“What bout that one!!”
“That one is Ross’s turaco, one of three turacos found here. Frequently in groups of three”;
“Wow, this is your lucky day. That is a white-collared oliveback, see its white collar! OH wow! Even the female is here! I only see these about three times in a year! And we are getting such a good view of a couple!”
So this cool guy and fun experience convinced me that I should become an ornithology hobbyist! Other fun outings on the trip around Fort Portal crater lakes, Kabwoya Wildlife Reserve, and Murchison Falls National Park provided many new bird sightings! And back in Massachusetts, I went out with my new ornithologist friend Russ to a saltmarsh where we (read: he) identified 53 species in one day!
Now, I couldn’t hold the jockstrap of Alex (pardon me for trying to remember vulgar high school slang). I frequently search vainly for that incessant chirping in the forest canopy and viney tangles, but the darn bird won’t come out and show its beak! Oh SNAP, he just flew off! I can’t get my binocs to my face fast enough…and he’s gone….
Also, I have a very small capacity to forcefully imprint new calls into my brain. However, I find birding to be tons of fun! I wander all around Epulu with my binoculars and see things that I never cared to notice before. Having spent the better part of two years here already, I’m finding some birdsongs are already inprinted in my subconscious, but now I am matching the song to its singer by its color, size, shape, size, patterns, and behavior.
I was super lucky to have my new birding fetish coincide with the extended vacation of one the very few Congolese ornithologists. We went out birding together several times and he gave me some key tips and helped me with identification. Also, knowing that someone finds this interesting was important ego-booster. In fact, I’m not the first, second, third or fourth. Epulu has a rich history of conservationists (of whom I couldn’t humbly hold the jockstrap for) and ornithologists, who have successfully identified well over 300 species of birds in and around the central sector of Okapi Reserve!
To date, I’ve successfully identified about 25 of these birds, but my list is growing every day! There are easily another 25-50 that I wasn’t able to identify. And, I may be nuts, but I swear on my life that I saw the most seductive forest bird that one could ever imagine existed. Imagine a beta fish in bird form – black but with two long white tail feathers on either side of the tail, it was floating up in the canopy! There for 5 seconds before I took my binocs down and started running around in circles in excitement. Then it floated off, never to be seen again! But I know he and many others are still out there, waiting to be discovered.

PS. The little guy in the photo is a red-cheeked cordon bleu - a type of finch that we saw in Kabwoya Wildlife Reserve on the shores of Lake Albert in Uganda.