Who Dad?!

Really, Back to Africa

My intention this morning was to write more about Africa, but my dreams were so intense, I'm still thinking of them. In one, I found myself blessing, with my hand on his chest, a dying rabbi. In another, crawling under a kitchen sink, my hand went through the wall as if it were not there, and I instantly knew it was a gateway to another dimension. Then, I was riding a motorcycle without lights, only able to differentiate the outline of trees from the darker blackness of sky to mark my way forward. And, in another, I found myself in an apartment complex-like labyrinth apologizing to startled occupants as I trespassed my way through a maze of stairs and rooms.

I made some feeble attempts at interpreting these dreams, but it felt like a distraction from the task at hand. However, the last one reminded me of growing up in Rogers Park where we would often cut through the backyards of strangers to avoid having to go all the way around a block. And, I've been wanting to say more about the old neighborhood and the friendships from there that have accompanied me through life.

One of those friends, Ira, is the reason I went to Africa. At the time, he was a Peace Corps volunteer. His contacts made navigating some places possible. In fact, he got me and my companion into a Peace Corps language training center in what was then known as Bukavu, Zaire. Learning some French and Swahili helped us get around, but even more, the daily contact with our energetic and cheerful African instructors was the true gift of that experience.

Several years later came the horrific genocide in that area and I've always wondered how many of those beautiful, friendly, vibrant people survived it.

I thought I would die in Africa. I sat on the ledge of the active volcano, Nyiragongo, and contemplated leaping into the lava lake below rather than attempt the long descent with malaria-like symptoms and a host of other tropical ailments that were crippling me. What was I doing there, so very far away from even a paved road, let alone a hospital?

Obviously, I survived, and not long after was rewarded with better health and a trip of a lifetime. It began with another boat ride across Lake Kivu with friends of Ira who accompanied us to Kahuzi-Biega National Park to stalk gorillas. High altitude mountain gorillas, the largest in the world, only a few hundred left, and the only place to see them were in the mountains that crossed the border between Rwanda and what is now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

We followed our guides up and down through the bamboo forest where they lived. Guides in front, with machetes, like scouts, looked for fresh scat and other signs of gorilla. We saw scat. We saw broken bamboo and the peeled bark that showed where they had been eating and sleeping. We were in their territory. They were supreme here. They had no predators but man. If they were to be seen it was because they allowed it. If they did not want to be seen it would be impossible to find them in this dense, mountainous, bamboo rain forest.

After hours of romping through the hills, we heard the first scream of a gorilla. Sudden silence. The power of that sound shook me. I felt the nearness. I questioned the wisdom of being here on foot, without weapon. I felt white and stupid. These were wild gorillas. There were no fences, no protection of any kind, except a couple of guides with machetes.

The guides began to cut away the brush. They were making an area for us to stand, an area clear of brush to see the gorillas, and escape routes in case of a charge. Suddenly, as if a curtain was pulled up, a tree was machete'd and a massive gorilla sitting buddha-like and eating bamboo was revealed. He peeled the bark with less effort than I would use to peel a banana. The power in his fingers was incredible.

But he looked fat and silly sitting that way, until he got up to walk back into the brush. He was a silverback. Largest of the large. The dominant male of the family, weighing over 500 pounds. When he moved it was clear he was nothing but muscle mass. The single most powerful looking animal I had ever seen.

The guides led us closer to the family center and we began to see mothers and their young. The silverback took care of public relations, so soon he was coming towards us. His walk turned to a charge! Everyone stepped back or fell quivering to the ground. He stopped about twenty feet from us, rose up a bit on his hind legs and stared us down. Sufficiently humbled, we were then permitted to watch him and his family.

Finally, tired of us, he rose to his full height, lifted his right forearm as if to say, "The hell with all of you". He turned violently and stormed off, knocking a bamboo tree down with a sudden swing of that forearm, then disappeared into the dense growth of the forest.

His family followed. We saw glimpses of mothers and young through the trees and realized how many more gorillas were near than we had ever suspected. The guides suggested 20-25.

We were astounded, breathing again, fully awake, and alive with the post-fear excitement, awe, and humility of recognizing our own weakness and the grandeur of a primitive majesty.

Decades later, the mountain gorillas are still around thanks to several conservation groups. And, in Spokane, WA there are frequent sightings of a guy in a gorilla suit driving a motorcycle with a sidecar. If his dog isn't in the sidecar, some happy kid is. That's Ira today. God love him!

How to inhabit a body?

Do you carefully step into it each morning,

or quickly pull it on?

And, exactly how much self goes in?

Is it roughly the same amount each day?

How do you decide?

What must be diluted first?

What concentrates of enthusiasm and attention are right for you?

And, what do you hold back?

You know, for emergency use, like unexpected but welcomed visitors,

or a first date, or a worthy contest or celebration.

How about when the tasks and chores of physical living are too many,

threatening to drain desire?

Do you have a method to stay engaged even then?

What about when your body is slowed, or forced to wait

when you want to go, go, go?

Can you stay with it? Fully?

How?

What have you learned about keeping this apparatus of muscle and mind,

sensation and spirit, locomotion and emotion, all in one place and time

still animated with life?

Do others help?

Or, are you better at it alone?

It seems a lot to do while responding to others too.

They get inside. Make a mess.

Confuse our chemistry.

But, on our own is enough reflected back for us

to truly measure what we are neglecting,

what we are fulfilling?

Might I just leave this body in bed more

to float in dreams, less encumbered?

There are so many temptations to follow or ignore,

so many directions to avoid or explore,

I wonder if one life can be enough

or will I need a thousand more?