This was Crispin’s sixth trip to the forest salt-springs on the edge of the Loidjo River. These springs are visited by hundreds of mineral-seeking pigeons every day. On his first four trips Crispin had been the forest crier, carrying the word of conservation-to-come and warning the pigeon trappers that their business was illegal. Time to leave.

On his fifth trip he was accompanied by military. They came with guns, and they emptied the camps, but still they let trappers and their families clear the nets, finish the smoking and carry out all of their dried pigeons on hundreds of neat little skewers. Crispin and the military told the trappers, however, that this was the end. No more trapping allowed in the camps. Any further trapping would lead to arrest.

The guards crossed forest all morning and into the afternoon.

That was in May. Crispin returned in early July with six of the newly arrived park guards. They walked all day west from the village of Oluwo , first to the pigeon camp of Mont Ngaliema and then across the Loidjo to the second camp of Mbula Likembe. The local Chief , to show his support accompanied them well into the forest.

The houses were burned and the smoked pigeons piled up for a bonfire.

This time there was no discussion. The three trappers at Mont Ngaliema were arrested. Their leader, Onombe Komando, had vehemently opposed the creation of a park at the recent community forum before the traditional tambiko. He and his compatriots had already smoked over one thousand pigeon-packed skewers. The guards made a bonfire of pigeons in the center of camp. The houses were emptied, and torched.

On the left, Onombe Komando, was the leader and a long-time opponent to any hunting controls.

Ground nets full of struggling pigeons filled the forest opening where the springs bubble out of the earth. This was – the evening catch. As many as possible were liberated , then the nets were burned.

The prisoners were marched to the Loidjo River and on to the second camp, Mbula Likembe. They arrived as night fell. The camp was empty, but all the houses were torched. Komando said that no one had been there for a week.

The camp burned into the night.

The next morning they checked the pigeon opening. The nets had been left spread on the ground and were full of dead pigeons; a few still struggled. Komando shrugged when asked why the trappers would be so wasteful as to leave the nets spread. “So they can find supper when they come back”

The pigeons that were still alive at Mbula Likembe were liberated.

Again the living pigeons were liberated. The prisoners collected the nets into a pile; it was set on fire.

On the way back Komando said that he knew what he did was wrong and that he would never come back to hunt in the pigeon opening again. “Give me work with the park”, he said, “I, too, will be a guard.”

Related posts:

1. About Elephants and Pigeons in Congo’s Forests.
2. A Tribal Feud Threatens Congo’s Green Pigeon

The chief of the Bangengele is an impressive woman.

“There is a way”, mama chefitaine announced as she sipped the tea. “The chiefs might agree”, she paused and looked at us to see if the significance of the remark had registered. We nodded and said nothing. She sipped her tea again. “They will agree if the ancestors agree.” We must have raised our eyebrows. She looked meaningfully first at John and then me, “So, we must have a ‘Tambiko’.”

We did not argue, but what did she mean: to “have a ‘tambiko’?”

I was first introduced to “tambiko” on the Rwenzori mountains in 1975.

John at the third cabin on the Rwenzori mountain in 2005. The porter on his right was also with us when we climbed in 1975. Photo by Kim Gjerstad.

We had climbed past the gardens and mango trees; we had been climbing through forest for some time, when our guides stopped in a little clearing. There was a cluster of Mangongo leaves, large and flat on the ground; on top of them a few crumpled Zaire notes, a bit of cloth. One guide swung off his basket-pack and ripped a single banana from the cluster at the top of his load; the other porter put down a bit of salt.

“You have to leave something. You have to “tambikia” the ancestors; you are walking up their mountain”

John did not hesitate. He already knew something of “kutambikia”. He pulled out a few low-value Zaire notes and tossed them on the pile.

“There was a missionary from Nyankunde” the porter added, “Last year. He refused to leave anything for the “tambiko”. He got lost on the ice, he never came back.”

We climbed the next four days without incident…up to the border of the equatorial ice.

The last day, we climb to the glacier in 2005. Photo by Kim Gjerstad.

When I got back to my Peace Corps post at Nyankunde I asked my closest missionary friend, Marianne, if it was true. She nodded sadly…”Yes, ‘ice blindness’. Dave never came back.”

“Tambiko” first entered our work in Epulu at the beginning of our Okapi study – 1986

Our friends in Epulu were emphatic. “You have to ‘tambikia’ the forest where we work.” “The ancestors must know and approve – or we won’t catch okapi.” “Bad things might happen.”

So we “tambikia-ed “, but to do so we had to find a descendent of the right ancestors. The Walese had become scarce. The Walese-dese are, in fact, a disappearing ethnic group. Now along the Ituri road there are mainly Nande, Bila, Ngwana, and Ndaka. Their elders would not do. They could not call the long-gone generations of Lese that once lived in tiny hunting and banana farming camps deep in the forest. We found one old man, Bakana, head of a tiny remnant Lese village along the road. He was willing.

One of the few old Lese-Dese chiefs along the Ituri Road. Maybe the only one –?

He hiked the 24 km out to our camp, belying his wizened appearance. He had a live chicken in his hand, he pulled feathers from it all along the way: a few at each stream crossing, a few at the top of each hill, and a few at barely visible side paths, still used by Mbuti (pygmy) hunters. John and I followed behind with about ten of our local collaborators, Mbuti, Bila and Ndaka.

Arrived at our camp site, a fire lit, an alter built, the chicken was slaughtered. Refusing rest, old Bakana pulled himself to full height. With his hands in the smoke of fresh forest herbs, he called out a long litany of ancestors. In the complex Kilese I caught only the words I recognized as names — there were many. With all those ancestors on our side, we could not fail…and we didn’t.

Dieudonné, one of our team, fastening a radio collar on a male okapi.

Now, here, in this river rutted forest of the TL2 lowlands, in 2010, what did “tambiko” mean? Who was going to call out the ancestors? And how will this change the chiefs’ acceptance?

Mamachefitaine explained that all the Bangengele chiefs had to be called together, not just those who had ancestral lands in the future park . They could not just say “yes” or “no”. They had all heard about the Park. They all knew what overhunting meant, how foreign hunters came to profit from the richness of their forests, but now they had to consult the ancestors. The forest belongs to the ancestors.

Word of “tambiko” spread. Preparations were made. In the end there were three “tambikos”, one among the northern Balanga ethnic group and two among the Bangengele ethnic group.

I know that we did not witness the entirety of any of the rituals, but we certainly saw more than I expected; more, I think, than mamaChefitaine expected. Short photo documentary below.

An elder of the Balanga mixes herbs, traditional alcohol and his saliva, speaking all the time to us and to the unseen ancestors.

Another chief of the Balanga speaks emphatically, punctuated with traditional bell, wearing a suit and tie for effect. Then he adds alcohol and his saliva to the traditional mix.

Goats are slaughtered for the feast after the Balanga “tambiko”.

At the Bangangele “tambiko” in the village of Olangate a chief cries out the plight of his people to the morning sun. He is dressed in suit-coat, traditional genet skin and power necklace.

A Mungengele elder, surrounded by other cheifs, spits alcohol and herbs to show his acceptance and the ancestors acceptance of a park along the Lomami.

Afterwards we all danced to the traditional talking drums. The mayor of Kindu (a Mungengele) to my left and the mamaChefitaine beyond him.

Related posts:

1. Lesser Known Facts about Bonobos
2. April links : bonobos & elephants

It all looks different when you are under 25 and coming for the first time to the Lomami.  Our youngest daughter, Eleanor (called Jojo), was joined by her good friend, Max, in Congo.

Here are tidbits of their perspective on city, forest and camp life in Congo, gleaned from a combined journal that they generously shared along with their great photos.

Their background:
Jojo was born in Congo and lived in a forest village until she was 8 years old when war swept through the east.  During Congo’s war she stayed at our upstate New York base and went to American public school while John and I travelled alone to Congo.  But Jojo’s last few years of High School were at TASOK, the American School in Kinshasa.  Reported here, is her first trip to the Lomami forest.

Max and Jojo met as counselors at a summer camp in the Adirondack Mountains.  Both of them, they discovered, were attending college in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and, more importantly, they liked each other.  Max had travelled in Europe before, but this was his first trip to Africa –DR Congo, no less!

Max’s flight into Kinshasa– where Jojo was waiting  (Max wrote this):
I was already able to get a small taste of Congo.  Most of the Congolese on the plane were well dressed. One man wearing thick rimmed glasses carried a brief case in one hand and an electric iron in the other.  Most of the women had on high heels.  A young man sitting across the aisle from me wore a narrowly cut white suit with a cut off collar and sun glasses. Throughout the flight he sat on the arm rest of his seat talking enthusiastically to a man sitting next to him who seemed, at best, marginally interested.

Arrived in Kinshasa, a man in uniform was looking for a “Mr MaxMan”;  he found me and helped me get through immigration.  They claimed that I didn’t have my yellow fever immunization shots, but I think that was a scam, because I did.  Either way, I soon made it through and found Eleanor sitting on the steps outside looking more beautiful than ever.

A couple days in Kinshasa  (Jojo must have written this):

Bargaining for dinner in the Kinshasa meat market.

It was especially interesting for me to travel around Kinshasa with someone seeing it for the first time.  Max remarked on Congolese lifestyles that I had ceased to notice. He pointed out that everyone put time, money and effort into their hair no matter what their job.  For instance, women whacking bloody meat at the market were wearing fancy wigs, a woman sweeping the road verges had amazingly fine and intricate corn-rolls….

Max and Jojo fly to Kindu:
Kinshasa airport again: After being questioned about the sunblock, AA Duracell batteries and green water bottle (suspiciously camouflagesque) we passed through security.  We were then told that we weren’t on the manifest.
We were saved by Michel (Hart’s driver) who crossed and re-crossed the Kinshasa airport, pushing through sweaty and loud crowds until, somehow, he got us on the manifest.

Kindu airport: Equally disorganized but smaller, much more laid back and friendlier.  We met Salumu, a round-faced confident man who sorted our visas and paperwork as we sat on the luggage counter taking in the scene.  Then we took our first moto-bike ride of the trip through the dusty streets of Kindu, to one of several home-bases for the Harts’ TL2 project.

A look at Kindu:
The Hart’s base is a little cement and brick house left over from colonial times.  There is a living room/dining room, office, courtyard, bathroom and two bedrooms.  There is an outdoor kitchen that is Mama José’s domain, equipped with charcoal stoves, several buckets of water and a wooden cabinet.  A bamboo wall encloses the house and small yard.  There are several chickens and two African guinea fowl which are referred to as Mama’s “kanga”.  We spent a long time speculating which was male and which was female.

We put our tent in the yard and met a small crew of men some of whom have been working on conservation projects with the Harts for years. The house in Kindu is sparsely furnished, lacks internet, but has other treats such as fruit salad every morning, ever present hot water for tea, juicy lemons and honey.  Mama José makes homemade peanut butter and a delicious daily meal.
More about  Mama José :  She is kind, always smiling and delights in caring for the Harts and the TL2 crew.

In the kitchen with Mama José.

We were in Kindu for two days.  We woke up at around 7:30 but were still the last ones up every morning.  Through our tent we would hear men in other tents waking as early as 5:30.

The trip towards the future park:
On our third morning we donned sunglasses, hats and bandannas.  We mounted two Yamaha 100s,  Dino and Jojo on one and Max and Gillain on the other.  We waved good-bye to mama José, the guinea fowl and set off for a village called Tshombe Kilima on the edge of the future park.  For about six hours we bumped over sandy paths across savannas, along dirt paths through forests, past small villages and across many streams and narrow rivers.  Often we got off as Dino and Gillain maneuvered the “pikipikis” (motorbikes) across log bridges.  At the larger Kasuku River, we and the “pikipikis” took turns crossing in a little dugout.

Taking the “pikipikis” across a small bridge.

Part-way through the trip we stopped and bought delicious bananas and oranges by the side of the road.  Thankfully we ate several bananas on the spot because by the end of the trip they were a grey mush.  And the bananas were not alone in suffering.  Although the pikipiki ride was an exhilarating way to see a lot of country, towards the end our butts and Max’s knees were pretty sore.
We were warmly welcomed at Tshombe Kilima, and introduced immediately to a large group of men; probably most of the village had come to see us.  We were served tea and roasted manioc.  Jojo felt shy and wished her parents were there to do the talking.

The camp at Tshombe Kilima is well organized : two dirt buildings, an outdoor paillote (leaf roof but open walls), and outdoor kitchen all surrounded by bamboo walls.  One side opens into the village and the other side, where there are two outhouses and bathhouse, opens into the forest.
We set up our tent and then walked to a small nearby river for a rinse.  The water was black and cool and beautiful, but we were both afraid of crocodiles.  We dipped in and out as quickly as we could.  We were upset with each other at the time, but in hindsight it was very funny:  Both of us scared and arguing about crocodiles while standing nearly naked on the banks of a peaceful forest stream.

The walk to Katopa camp:
There were seven of us:  Dino, Max, Jojo, Shindano and three other porters, one of whom was called “General”; however, since he kept falling behind, Dino and the others started calling him “Colonel”.  It was a great group of people.  Shindano is small and always smiling.  Dino is easy-going and very considerate.  We walked about 25km each day.
The first day’s walk seemed to fly by, through forest and a big savanna island. Before we reached the savanna, Shindano brought out a breakfast of sardines and shikwong (manioc that denatures a bit through putrefaction before being dried, pounded and made into a hard but flexible paste).

Max (second from right) strides across the first savanna island.

We had never seen anything like the savannas before.  The soil was white and sandy, but such a variety of grasses and birds!  At places the path was deep and narrow; we walked one foot in front of the other and as quickly as possible to escape the sun and reach the cool forest on the other side.  When we arrived we were drenched in sweat and very thirsty.
Shindano carried a chicken the first day that he cooked that night where we camped in the forest on the banks of the Luidjo River.  Chicken and onions on rice – it was delicious.

Shindano cleaning rice at the camp on the Luidjo river.

We bathed in the Ludjo, too tired and sweaty to fear crocodiles and then fell asleep to an orchestra of forest insects.
The second day’s walk, to camp Katopa seemed longer.  We crossed two large savannas and arrived at the Lomami tired but excited. Shindano bellowed and soon a large dugout was headed across the fast-flowing river to bring us to Katopa camp.

Arrived:
Men gathered along the shore to greet us – enthusiastic hand shaking and shouts to announce our arrival.  We were ushered to a paillotte where we drank sweet tea and took our wet shoes off wrinkly, white feet.  There were chickens and ducks wandering around freely and several tents set up for men taking a break from the field camps.

We quickly set up our tent too , then took a bath in the Lomami before dinner of sombe (manioc greens), chicken, rice and more tea. To bed early.

Jojo and Max spent a week at the field camps, each only a couple hours walk from Camp Katopa.  Now they are both back in Minnesota.  And, hey, they are welcome to come again — anytime.

A few more photos of their trip.

Related posts:

1. Congo Tourism 4 : Dugout, Moto-bike, and Hiking-boot to Camp Bonobo.
2. Arrested while Counting Bonobo Nests in Congo
3. Lomami Portraits 1 : John’s Trip North through the Center of Congo

Polepole was once a capital for elephant slaughter along the Lomami. I am not sure what the Sheyh’s role was in the killing. According to him he came to farm and raise goats, and he came after the execution of José le Maitre. Recently, however, the ravages of age have not dealt well with the Sheyh. John took him north to Kisangani in our dugout in 2009 for a cataract operation. He was accompanied by his wife.

The Sheyh and his wife in our dugout headed to Kisangani last year. She is younger than him, but still at least forty years old.

He returned a seeing man. This was of great local importance as Sheyh Musara is one of the few literate men along the Lomami and the only one with a collection of books to prove it. His books were piled on the wooden bench next to him when we filed into his small hut after climbing the steep bank of the Lomami at Polepole.

Sheyh Musara with his books to console him.

He greeted us formally, squinting near-sightedly. Immediately we made him coffee sweetened with many generous spoonfuls of sugar. He was delighted. And slowly, one cup at a time, as water boiled in a little pot, we made coffee or tea for the rest of us as well.

Sheyh told us his tale of woe: he returned a seeing man to Polepole, but soon had a multitude of other ailments ranging from rheumatism to ulcers. He needed treatment and undertook the long trip on the back of a bicycle to the major town of Lodja, stopping at his daughter’s along the way. She dutifully came up with the funds needed for a doctor and medicine. He continued to Lodja, where he stayed at a distant relative’s compound. The first day he bought some small gifts for his daughter and for his wife back in Polepole. That night he slept in the little room allotted him, with all that he had bought and nearly all that he owned. At two in the morning he had to make a trip to the outhouse. When he returned he found an empty room. Gone were the generous 400,000 FC for his medical treatment, gone were his pants, his shirts, his one pair of shoes, the cloth he had bought as a gift for the women, his little 3-battery radio, his soap, even his sheets and his candles. Alas.

He suspected the son of his distant relative was in collusion with corrupt police. He wrote a very respectful letter explaining the sad case to the judge of the local tribunal. He waited and he waited for a full 40 days, but there was no response. He had no option, he returned to Polepole.

A respectful, but futile letter.

Here is what I think: he never had 400,000 FC (=400$) but perhaps 40,000 was stolen. Here is what we all know: whatever he had is gone forever and he will neither get it back, nor will anyone ever be punished.

As the Sheyh was talking and we were sipping our tea, I watched Salumu and DeDieu talking with a young man (maybe 20 years old – no older) outside the door. He was gesticulating towards his head, DeDieu took a picture. Later as we all lined up for a photo with the Sheyh before leaving, all of Polepole jostled to be included – except this young man.

Salumu examines the adulterer’s scars.

As we stepped into the dugout and started the 3-hour motor upstream to camp Katopa, Salumu explained the young man’s story. It was actually the Sheyh’s second tale of woe, but one he did not tell us. The “mature” wife of Sheyh had taken an interest in the young man and apparently they had become covert lovers. They were about to run off when their plot was discovered. Thus the machete wound on the boy’s head. Thus the absence of the Sheyh’s wife….

As the dugout chugged slowly upstream and night came on, we mused about what it meant that the young philanderer stayed behind in Polepole with the old cuckold and yet the adulteress wife ran off.

Eleanor stated with certainty: “She obviously had had enough of the old man. Good grief, if her lover was too fearful to go with her, she just went by herself.”

I was less certain. If the philanderer had been sliced with a machete, what did the Sheyh and his relatives do to the wife? I just hope that she managed to flee and find a relative who would take her in. The options for women are so small and so ephemeral in Congo.

Nursing his Lodja losses, the Sheyh’s riposte would be that JUSTICE, itself, is too small and too ephemeral in Congo, but here its absence served him well.

The Sheyh gathered his Polepole villagers to see us off, but neither the philanderer nor adulteress were visible.

Related posts:

1. Where There Is No Doctor — True Story from Congo’s Lomami
2. A True Story from the Lomami

The top crate was visible in the trailer bed when the truck pulled into the parking area of the Kindu airport.

The crates had open slats on two sides.

Inside–perhaps with their fates already painted on their faces–the parrots looked less than at ease.

This shipment probably includes birds collected near Katopa camp. There may well have been other collectors as well. The forest is large, and now it is a little quieter.

Thankyou Salumu for the photos!

Related posts:

1. Cleaning Congo’s Parrots out of Congo

Parrot merchant in his capture camp near the Lomami River.

The roost is in an area that will become buffer zone surrounding the future Lomami National Park, a zone where we hope the ICCN (Congolese Park Service) will soon have both wherewithal and authority to forbid all parrot capture.

Not yet though. The parrot merchant from Kindu with his four climbers from the forests of Equateur had no reservations about setting their “traps” on the banks of the Lomami this past March. With permission from one province, he jumped the border into another province, paid off a local chief and was at ease.

The capture camp was full of parrots tethered to holding pens, branches and shrubs.

When one of our TL2 teams stumbled into their camp, they already had 105 birds. The capture method is to coat an arrow-like stick with the gluey sap of a local Sapotaceae tree, tether a decoy parrot next to the trap and wait for other social birds to settle onto the sham roost.

A quiver of capture “arrows”.

How long before Lomami’s parrot roosts and pigeon salt-licks are emptied? Whole forests in Uganda once rich in parrots, now have none. How much more time de we have to create this national park ?

Related posts:

1. Addendum : Moving hundreds of parrots out of TL2
2. Tarred Feathers of Peacock and Parrot in Central Congo

The Bangengele say that the salt opening in the forest is theirs; the Balanga say that it belongs to them. It is the Balanga who have turned it into a pigeon killing field. The pigeon hunters pay tribute to the family of the Balanga chief, Chef Butumbe. And the merchants who come with soap, medicine or food pay a portion of all revenue to the same family.

The head of camp or PDG, Nyembo Butumbe, is the chief’s eldest son and operates the salt opening like an artisanal gold camp. The pigeons, like gold, will be mined until they are no more.

Perhaps it is the ambiguity of ownership that makes the management of this resource so shoddy. Perhaps the Bangengele will eventually be organized enough to kick the Balanga out, so why shouldn’t the Balanga exploit this opening to its limits now? How else explain the irrational slaughter of the pigeons? Already there are many fewer than a decade ago (down by 3/4 ) when the Balanga started killing them.

Where the salt water bubbles up.

The first I heard of pigeon fast food was from Crispin last year when he told us about how they are killed, skewered ,smoked and packed out, first by foot and then by bicycle to the markets of Kindu. Crispin has led TL2 efforts to halt the slaughter.

First results seemed positive. The governor, Didier Manara, declared a closed hunting season and then he asked for a special investigation of the pigeon slaughter. All pigeon hunting stopped. The hunting season reopened but pigeon hunters stayed away from the salt openings. Through December the pigeons flocked in peace, but in January as the Governor lost control of the province, the capture nets returned. And the culture of killing resumed.

The macabre preparation of pigeon fast food:

Caught in nets strung over the salt mud. The nets are emptied twice daily.

The birds are plucked alive, then skewered and the neck broken just before set over the fire. This keeps the meat at its best quality in the hot climate.

The pigeons are dried by the hundreds over low fires.

Packed into home-made liana backpacks, the pigeons are carried two long days to the road.

Pigeon porters negotiate many small bridges. Once on the road, it is another two days by bicycle to reach the Kindu market. Certainly there must be a better way to make a living.

These birds come from what distance? How much forest is losing its pigeons?

The effort to stop the pigeon trade:

The Chefitaine Jeanne Machozi of the Bangengele confiscated dried pigeons being transported by bicycle over her chefferie. Crispin is on the left; the ICCN regional bureau chief on the right.

With the support of the Administrator of Kailo Territory and the Provincial Minister of the Environment, Crispin led a group of military in to clear out the salt opening during the second half of March.

Miltary crossing the Kasuku River on the way to the pigeon camp.

It is quiet again, but this is a temporary reprieve. The pigeons will only be safe once the salt opening is included in a national park. A national park is our (TL2 project) goal and the goal of Congo’s Conservation Agency (ICCN).

Related posts:

1. About Elephants and Pigeons in Congo’s Forests.
2. Pigeons’ Progress in Congo’s Forest

When is it OK to “trade” development for conservation?  Whenever it works.   Which is whenever there is the will, the money and the organization for both.

What usually happens?  Development at the price of nature conservation.
What doesn’t work?  Conservation without development.

When does development work for conservation?  Development is immediate, but conservation is for the long haul.  Not easy to measure.  And the case I am going to describe below is a bit counter intuitive because we are now financing repair of the very same road where previously we decried road work as facilitating uncontrolled forest exploitation.  What is different now?

We are repairing an existing part of the road without extending it – that is different.  We are only repairing the road for easier bicycle and motorcycle traffic, not for four wheel traffic – that too is different.   But more important:  the road work comes “with a park”.  At the same time and in association with filling the holes and laying the narrow bridges there will be participative delimitation of a protected area destined to become a national park.

The area shown is the northern part of Maniema Province on the west side of the Lualaba River. The solid red lines are the roads that are being rehabilitated. Further west is the proposed national park.

All of this happens with lots of fanfare, public announcements and public acclaim.  Hopefully the hoop-la will help secure its success.  Below are some pictures of the beginning of the road work financed by DAI (Development Alternatives International).  DAI is also supporting the work involved in the participative delimitation of the protected area.

In March our TL2 dugout took the dignitaries from the provincial capital of Kindu up to Lokandu for the ceremony to mark the beginning of road work.

One of the gathered chiefs welcomes the provincial Minister of the Environment.

Mama Chefitaine, Chief of the Bangengele, opens the ceremony.

“And here is where the park will be”, the Provincial Minister of the Environment gesticulates.

“We are in favor”, the crowd cheers as the Administrator of the Territory queries them.

“Let the road work begin.” The Minister of the Environment cuts the ribbon.

The unction is poured; the work is blessed.

John is hoisted up on the shoulders of the crowd. At least temporarily, he is the highway messiah.

Thanks to Guy Rondeau for the photos from Lokandu.

Related posts:

1. From Elephant Poacher to Conservation Hero

How can the sacrifice of today’s heroes guarantee “the tomorrows” for Congo’s forests, wild savannas and the Parks meant to protect them?   This was the unspoken challenge at the Abraham Conservation Award Ceremony in Kinshasa on the 29th of March 2010.

The park guard Kanyangara was caught in an ambush when investigating a poached hippopotamus.

We gathered to honor 8 park guards who lost their lives in Congo’s Parks in attacks by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), in clashes with military poachers or ambushed by rebels.  May their deaths not have been in vain.

Nancy Abraham, sponsor of the awards, in a thoughtful moment before the ceremony.

We also celebrated the bravery of park guards wounded while fighting for their park and the courage of local chiefs who brought their citizens together to support the wilderness of traditional lands.  We also paid tribute to villagers who united against Maimai poachers in a remote area where “law” and “gun” are synonymous.

The speakers included (from left) the DCM of the American embassy, Nancy Abraham, the Minister of the Environment, the Special Representative of the Secretary General of the UN in DR Congo, and the head of the Congolese park institute.

How can we assure that the initiatives of these heroes are carried forward?  How can we assure that they are effective?

The country director of the World Bank puts Kanyangara’s post humus award around his widow’s neck.

The ceremony celebrated  the courage and dedication of 19 Congolese:

Late warden Mayumba Pela of Garamba National Park – Killed by the LRA
Late park guard Atolobako Vukoyo of Garamba NP – Killed by the LRA
Late park guard Takipi Mamvotama of Garamba NP– Killed by the LRA

The audience stands in remembrance of the park guards killed in the service of Congolese Parks.

Chief warden Iyomi Iyatshi – Wounded fighting the LRA
Park guard Atakuru Surandi – Wounded fighting the LRA
Park guard Langosti Pipili – Wounded fighting the LRA
Late park guard Atikpo Mutombi of the Okapi Reserve – Killed in a clash with poachers

Atikpo Mutombi was shot by elephant poachers in a clash in the Okapi Reserve in September 2009.

Late park guard Kambale Vilavu of Virunga National Park– Killed in a Maimai ambush.
Late park guard Udongo Okelo of Virunga National Park – Poisoned by poachers
Late park guard Kanyangara Muhima of Virunga National Park – Killed when ambushed by poachers
Traditional Chief (groupement) Muombi Lubula of Kahuzi Biega National Park – Ran community patrols when ICCN could not enter his region of park.
Chief (groupement) Oscar Biringanine Marhegane of Kahuzi Biega NP – Arrested twice for denouncing military and political authorities who exploited the park.
Traditional Chief (chefferie) Mwami Mopipi Mukulumanya of Kahuzi Biega NP – Led his rebellious population away from uncontrolled resource exploitation and back to support the Park.
Late park guard Asukulu M’meme of Itombwe Reserve – Killed by unidentified armed men when on mission to investigate the killing of a gorilla.

In August 2009, Asukulu was tortured then killed when investigating the killing of a gorilla in the Itombwe Reserve.

Traditional Chief (chefferie) Konji Wa Kyalwe of Upemba National Park – Protected elephants on his land despite elephant-human conflict.
Traditional Chief (chefferie) Matchozi Ulimwengu of the TL2 landscape – Campaigned tirelessly against bonobo poaching and for the formation of a protected area on her land.

From left Chief Konji from Upemba and Chief Jeanne Matchozi from TL2. Next to her, Kapere also from TL2.

Guillaume Kapere Mulangi of the TL2 landscape – Denounced and disarmed Maimai poachers despite no presence of armed officials to support the effort. He worked with the support of two others:
Engesombe Bayombe of the TL2 landscape and
Alacho Kahenga of the TL2 landscape.

Thank you, Guy Rondeau, for the photography of the ceremony!

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Maniema’s Minister of Sports, Art and Information, Toussaint Kawaya

He spoke of an episode “rocambolesque” which in translation means “incredible”.

The Provincial Accountant gave more details. At midnight she heard the voice of her little brother, but opened the door to see only soldiers who took her to the bridge leading to the governor’s office. They bewitched her with some leaves and mysterious drops and suddenly she and they were in front of the safe-box. She had no sooner opened it for them than she was magically all alone on the bridge again and screaming for help.

The credibility gap is increased by this being the second time the accountant has been bewitched to the detriment of government cash in the safe box. Some of the local legislators thought that this was once too often and the accountant is now in prison. The opposition legislators rose up in the provincial assembly demanding the governor’s impeachment. In fact this disappearance of funds just added to their pile of previous accusations of major embezzlement, tribalism and mis-management. The provincial assembly, however, is deeply divided , so much so that on the first of March the gavel unleashed havoc. The elected deputies were pulling punches, knives and jumping out of windows.

Slinging words and slinging fists in the Provincial Assembly

The speaker of the Assembly climbs through the window and escapes with police escort.

Shots were fired that night around the houses of certain members of the opposition. Windows were shattered. Not good. The central government called the governor and top opposition to the capital Kinshasa to be heard by the Minister of the Interior. That is where they still are, and we are still waiting to know the fate of Maniema’s government.

But these things take time. Remember Watergate? There, too, party politics was involved. It was in June 1972 when five men were arrested at 2:30 a.m. while trying to bug the offices of the Democratic National Committee at the Watergate Hotel and office complex.

And there were plenty of lies and even some rather incredible explanations that came from the Republican White House. In December 1973 an 18 1/2 -minute gap in one of the subpoenaed tapes was found. Chief of staff Alexander Haig suggested that “some sinister force” may have erased the segment. The white house secretary, Rose Mary Woods, more mundanely offered that her foot may have slipped on the wrong foot petal.
Both were proved wrong by electronics experts who determined that the erasure was done quite deliberately in 5 or 6 segments.

A beleaguered president on his way out

It wasn’t until August 1974, more than two years after the Watergate break-in, when Richard Nixon resigned from the presidency of the United States under threat of impeachment.

I actually think it will be much easier for many of us to remember the good that Didier Manara did as Governor of Maniema .
1. He was the first governor of Maniema ever to put in place a closed hunting season and
2. He supports the proposition of a national park along the Lomami.

The governor under better circumstances

For right now, let’s think of this as two steps forward and one step back.

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