Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
The battle happened before the time of the Belgians, and over the generations the people of
Kokolopori heard strange sounds from the sacred forest, coming, they believed, from the lake at its
center. Likewise, the hunters who went to the lake never returned.
“I really remember what one of the trackers said,” Michael added. “He told me it was important
to figure out what was going on in the forest, to find out what was killing people. He said that it
could be methane gas rising from the lake, so that people would die and sink into the swamp. Or
it could be demons in the forest, the spirits of the place. I found it remarkable that he considered
both possibilities equally likely, the scientific and the traditional explanation. Other people claimed
there was a huge snake that lived there. Someone had seen it. Still others said there was an immense
crocodile and that they had heard noises like those of elephants, though they hadn't seen any.”
Michael was convinced that danger from crocodiles, leopards, poisonous snakes, even swamp
gas, could be avoided with precautions.
“I had spent about a month exploring different parts of Kokolopori, trekking about fifteen kilo-
meters a day. There was a different feel each day depending on the forest type, sometimes swamp
forest that required wading through water up to our chests, other days secondary forest that was
almost impenetrable, where we had to slash our way through the undergrowth, and sometimes
primary forests that seemed like walking in a green cathedral, where the canopies didn't allow sun-
light to hit the forest floor, so shrubs and ferns and other lower-level plants didn't exist.
“To enter Engindanginda, we started before dawn. I was looking for the differences between
this forest and the others. I was especially attuned to the sounds, as the trackers had talked about
the strange noises there. I can't say I heard anything different, but I was more aware of every bird,
every creaking tree. Before arriving at the edge of the lake, we chopped through about half a kilo-
meter of a plant with spear-shaped leaves larger than my chest. Then I heard Albert call ahead, and
we entered into an area of sunlight, looking at what appeared to be a fortress of a species of palm
growing up to twenty or thirty feet, entangled and covered with thorns. We paused to get our breath
and soak in the place. . . . Once in a while there was the short song of a bird or an insect chirping,
but the quiet was almost like a blanket that covered us. It seemed like we were in a place of wor-
ship, and we all agreed that it wouldn't be right to slash our way through the palms to enter the lake.
Albert said that before doing something like that we should work it out carefully with the village
elders, as it felt to us that we would be desecrating a shrine. We all seemed to relax after that de-
cision, as it was sort of a rationalization for us not to go farther. We all were a little concerned that
there could be some truth to the stories.”
Watching Michael with the Congolese, I often had the sense that he, like Sally, wanted to know
every detail of their lives, to understand their reasoning and ways of being in the world. But his
words about the village leaders saying that they considered him family rang true, and a number of
children in Kokolopori's villages had been named after him and Sally. Like Sally, he interacted with
the people easily, enjoying their company, spending his downtime talking with them, listening to
their points of view, debating with them, often deferring.
His attitude called to mind what he had told me in interviews about his childhood, how he grew
up, with parents who believed in sacrificing personal goals for the sake of family and cohesion. In
many ways, they were responding to their own experiences of solitude and isolation. His father's
parents had substituted wealth for warmth, living off the inheritance of their paternal ancestor, a
Michael Hurley who'd left Ireland for the United States in the 1840s, not poor but with businesses
