Observations of a gorilla trek in Rwanda

Smiles. The kind that linger. The gorilla porters, attentive to our every move. A stranger’s hand reaching for mine, steadying me over stones and tangled roots, guiding me through the dense, whispering forest. 

Excitement. A slow, pulsing crescendo. The forest, stirring, alive just beyond sight. A sudden crack of branches – a sound that sent a thrill through my spine. And then, there they were. Two magnificent mountain gorillas, sprawled on a soft bed of leaves, their dark forms almost blending with the dappled shadows.

I had imagined something still, something tranquil - a quiet hour spent observing from a distance. But the reality was motion, energy, presence. Our guide grunted, a deep, resonant sound, speaking the language of the gorillas, assuring them we came in peace. And in return, they moved. A surge of life through the undergrowth, a rustling chorus. My heart pounded. I wanted to hold on to each moment, to slow it, to press it between the pages of my memory like a rare and delicate leaf. 

A mother, cradling her newborn, only days old. The infant, impossibly small, gazing at us with wide, darting eyes, as if measuring the unknown. And the mother—calm, lost in the sacred act of holding her baby. Her focus absolute. She never once looked at us; we were irrelevant. She had eyes only for her child.

Then, a sudden shift in energy. The silverback. A presence that demanded attention. He announced himself with a sound that rippled through the air – a rhythmic beating of his chest, like a soft drum, carrying deep authority. A bark, a charge of power, of certainty. His silver-streaked coat gleamed in the dim forest light, an emblem of his rank. We held our collective breath, hearts hammering, reverence and awe entwined.

And amidst it all, a quieter revelation – my own mother, standing there, eyes wide with wonder. How lucky I was to share this with her. With my sister, celebrating her 40th birthday in a way none of us could have imagined. I caught her smile, radiant with disbelief, mirroring my own.

Back to the gorillas. Two youngsters, giddy with mischief, clambering onto a branch too fragile for their weight. We watched, grinning, as gravity won, sending them tumbling to the ground in a flurry of limbs – only to scramble back up, unbothered, determined to try again.

Then, a sight that made us chuckle – a large female, sprawled on her back, idly scratching herself, studying her feet with a kind of lazy curiosity. She could have been any one of us, kicking back after a long day, lost in thought, completely at ease.

The silverback moved, and we followed. A swift, silent procession through the dense foliage, tracing their path, the forest closing around us. There were moments we had to step aside, pressing ourselves against trees as they passed – unconcerned, unhurried, rulers of this emerald kingdom.

The guides kept murmuring, their low, rolling sounds a bridge between species, a constant reassurance. The rule is to keep seven metres apart, a shield of distance to protect them from human-borne illness. But the gorillas didn’t count metres. They decided for themselves how close to come. And in those fleeting moments, I was torn – should I capture this? Freeze it forever in a frame? Or let the camera hang by my side and simply be? In the end, I did both. I wanted to remember, to hold onto the images, but I also wanted to feel. The rustle of leaves, the earthy scent of damp soil, the electric charge of being in their presence.

Our encounter ended, but the magic did not. The next day, we set out again – this time, for the golden monkeys. A shorter trek and easier pace. They moved quickly, but the experience lasted longer. Tiny newborns clung to their mothers, barely visible tufts of fur nestled against golden backs. Knowing this species exists only here, in the misty embrace of the Virunga Mountains, made every sighting more precious.

This journey, this brief immersion into a world so different from our own, is something I will carry with me always. The gorillas, the golden monkeys, the forest breathing around us. And most of all, the joy of sharing it – with my mother, my sister, and the people of Wilderness Bisate.