Odd Things

One of the odd things about Africa that I always forget about occurs the moment one arrives. The moment the plane lands, all the passengers burst into applause as if they had just witnessed a virtuoso performance or some unique event. I suppose upon deeper reflection, the take-off, flight, and touch down of a large hunk of metal is pretty amazing but it always seemed like a strange time for clapping.

African meetings are odd too. I was reading in the dining area when I overheard the guides and workers discussing the salary issue prior to our scheduled labor dispute meeting. I can't tell you exactly what was said because they were speaking Lingala, a language in which I know how to say "very good", "tomorrow", and "she is a devil woman." But there was a significant amount of shouting.

After a few moments I was summoned to meet with the group. I have been around here enough to know that the shouting didn't necessarily mean very much. Two men could be yelling at each other red-faced and breathless over the smallest discrepancies and the next minute laughing hysterically together. Shouting is just their way of expressing strong feelings. Besides, I had been "negotiating" with them through Valentin, an independent observer who told me not to worry. I knew they wouldn't be leaving without something, which was fine because I wanted to give them something for their time. What needed to be decided was the value of their work. So when I walked toward the meeting, I wasn't too nervous. Until I saw the chair.

There was a single, wooden chair placed in the opening between some huts and about 15 past and current workers sitting around on stumps and logs in a semi-circle. I felt as if I was on trial. Of course I shouldn't have been concerned. After an uncomfortably long silence where it seemed everyone had measured my dimensions (shrinking by the day I might mention), Valentin spoke in French and told me that they had accepted my offer ($15/day based on the entries they had kept in their logbook.) I was then asked to say a few words. I talked about the over 30-year history of researchers at the site. I spoke about how the project has two goals and to help the livelihood of the people who work with them. I explained that I had a limited budget for this trip and that I would pay them $450 now and reevaluate the budget right before we left with any extra funds being donated to the village school.

My French was translated (the women are usually not taught French although it seems to be changing.) Then I gave them the money. I said that we appreciated their work and that I hoped the U of O would have a long-lasting relationship with the people here. I finished by saying that I was personally grateful for the friendships I had made and the opportunity to live there.

At the end there were hugs, intricate handshakes and even applause. Maybe not with the same enthusiasm as when a plane touches down, but still.

Labor Problems

July 21-Day 19 in the DRC

Mange is the chief guide here and almost always accompanies me into the forest. He is a sweet man, probably 50, with an easy-going smile and soft, friendly voice. I often wish I could imitate his quietness.



The other day, while Ross and India were waiting for us near one of the many gigantic termite mounds found here in the forest, Mange and I wandered a short distance away to look at some bonobo nests. After a few moments we heard an animal foraging along the ground and grunting. Seconds later, Ross and India, slightly panicked and having abandoned all their gear came running toward us claiming some horrible beast was coming right at them. Mange could not contain his smile. When I asked him what kind of animal made the frightful noise, he smiled even wider and said "bolafo." The dreaded forest antelope-about the size of a Pomeranian



Unfortunately, there has been some tension between the two of us over the past few days. He and the other guides are claiming that, in 2007, we had an agreement with them for two months of work after we left. And now they want $3000. Money we do not have. I can't say that I blame them for trying to squeeze us but they are being unreasonable. The letters they claim as contracts were written to allow them to stay in the camp-something they asked us to do for them in an effort to display to Lomako Reserve authorities that they had a right to be there. There was never any contract, verbal or otherwise, that stated they would be getting paid for this. Now they are threatening to take the matter to the authorities.

Here were my points when I discussed this with Mange: 1) The spirit of the letters was to allow you to stay in the village while we were away. A friendly gesture. Not a work order. 2) The work carried out (as presented to me in a chewed up notebook) was not research but a log of times someone (does not designate whom) went into and came out of the forest. No bonobo data. No plant data. There is nothing we can use and no way of knowing who did what. And finally 3) this is my second time here and each time I have brought medicines for the children and guides (anti-worm, malarial cures, antibiotics) as well as headlamps, solar panels, batteries, and other items. The items we stored here in 2007 have disappeared. And now they are threatening to involve the authorities (in which case we may be forced to pay or be held until payment arrives in a nearby town where the authorities are centralized.) To me this approach is disrespectful and obviously threatens the long term relationship between the U of O and the Lomako guides.

I need to remind myself that these are amongst the poorest people on the planet (average annual wage of $92). I need to stay calm. I certainly don't have the money to pay them but feel fairly confident that we can come up with some compromise. The big meeting is tomorrow. Could get ugly. I never thought I would find myself on the management side of a labor dispute.

Back at Ndeli

From July, Ninth: Day 7 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo

Ndeli Field Station, Lomako Forest Reserve

Johnathan Kingdon is a wonderful artist. I could flip through his "Field Guide to African Mammals" for hours and in fact I have. He draws all the animals found here from elands and pangolins, mongooses, hyraxes, elephants, primates and many more. I especially like the drawings of the guenon (monkeys) faces, the upside-down bats, and the strange and beautiful dikdiks. The book makes me think of Silas and I wonder if he would like it someday. I hope so. It is a beautiful book.

The camp at Ndeli has changed immensely since my last field season here. Gone are the thatched huts and raised platforms which support and protect a tent. Gone too are the candle lit dinners and card games with headlamps. The African Wildlife Foundation (AWF) has poured what must have been a relatively large amount of money into the site. There is a big, open pavilion with a screened in mess hall. The satellite internet dish is attached to a concrete office painted yellow and crowned with corrugated tin roofs. There is running water.



There are three externally wood-paneled cabins, each named for a fruit preferred by bonobos, the primates I am studying and the main draw for potential tourists. Valentin, the AWF man in charge, is in the Linkolo cabin while Ross and India are in Bolinde house. I am in Botende- a fruit I am embarrassed to acknowledge I do not know. Amy, the fourth researcher on the trip has found herself on the outside, living in a tent under a thatch lean-to. Ross, India, Amy and myself left the US for Ndeli a week ago and after flying into Kinshasa, a sketchy interior flight, and a two-day river trip in a dug out canoe, we have just arrived.



Our collective goal is to learn more about the ecology, social behavior, genetics, and hormones of the bonobos inhabiting the forest. It is a difficult task. The forest is thick and high and the bonobos are hard to find. It is always hot and humid and there isn't a cold beer within 100 miles from here. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone living in the rainforest of equatorial Africa. Have I mentioned the bugs?



Because we can't always find or keep up with the bonobos, we often analyze the objects associated with them. They build nests every evening so I mark the tree and determine what kind it is. I measure the length, width, thickness and height of the nests (estimates from the ground). And I look for shit. Err, feces. Thats right, I collect and sift through bonobo poop in an effort to a) find out what they are eating by identifying the seeds, and b) store some of the fecal material to bring back to the states in order to identify individuals from their DNA and determine relatedness within and between different individuals, parties, and communities, all while looking for connections to our own evolution. Yes, it is the glamorous life. Sometimes I really miss drinking beer at Elk Lake on a sunny afternoon. Sometimes I am genuinely excited to sift through more bonobo shit.

First Impressions Again

Journal entry from July Sixth, Day 4 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo-

Basankusu, Equateur Province


There are men singing, clapping and playing drums not far from my hotel room where I have been lounging, reading, and waiting for the sun to mercifully set. I could venture down there and endure the stares and calls of "Mundeli, Mundeli" (white person) but right now I am content to listen to the upbeat rhythm and continue lounging. It is an admittedly romantic African scene and seems far removed from the reality of life in Kinshasa where the smell of burning plastic and diesel fuel hit you immediately upon disembarking from the airplane and daylight reveals oceans of waste flowing into the rivers and canals of the city. For me, Kinshasa is only valuable as an International airport and a reminder of how fortunate I am to live where I do.

But outside the capital, away from the traffic and the pollution is where my Africa lies. Where despite the annoying glares and calls from children (and some adults), the presence of a white person is still a novelty. Where the food is plucked, dug up or caught on a daily basis. Where rain is revered and time is still referenced based on lunar stages.

This is not an entirely accurate description for even here, the thatch buildings are interspersed with concrete ones. There are squat toilets where one must flush by pouring water oneself in the same areas where wireless internet is available. You can always get a Coke if not always clean water.

The people here are a strange mix of toothy grins and rock stern faces. It seems impossible to know what they think of me (so I often ask them.) Undoubtedly many see dollar signs as comparatively speaking, even a poor graduate student studying primate behavior is wealthy. But do they see friendship? Is the cultural and communicative divide too great? At times in the past it has been. Other times and in other situations, it has not. Myself, I am torn between maintaining a steely, grim face as appears befitting the men here with what feels more natural, a disarming smile and a craving to make the children laugh. I guess its nice to know that the latter is "me".

The singing has stopped and was followed by appreciative applause.