Explore the Republic of the Congo’s remote reserves to
meet some of Central Africa’s rarest and most charismatic wildlife, including lowland gorillas and forest elephants

Words Andy Skillen

My blinking became ever more intense. A bead of perspiration had somehow bypassed the brim of my cap and cunningly navigated a barrier of DEET and sunscreen to reach my left eye. Despite repeated attempts to wipe it away, my similarly sweat-soaked sleeve did little to relieve the stinging.

And if there was one moment when I really, really needed my vision to work perfectly, it was then, deep in the Ndezhi Forest at the edge of Odzala-Kokoua National Park, in the remote north-western reaches of the Republic of the Congo. Gazing briefly skywards through sweat- induced tears, I could make out tessellated treetops slotted tightly together in a secret game of arboreal Tetris, allowing just enough light to reach the jungle floor for me to see where I was putting my feet.

Ahead of me strode Zeferein, my tracker, a quiet man in wellies who for the previous two hours had been hacking a path through dense undergrowth, following a trail of invisible signs that – we hoped – would betray the movements of our quarry. Nonchalantly negotiating every fallen tree, twisted vine and snagging branch, he had pushed on relentlessly through the tangling vegetation, occasionally pausing to listen for clues amid the symphony of cicadas – and giving me just enough time to catch up.

Then he came to a definitive halt. Signalling that I should don my facemask, he pointed to the trunk of a nearby tree. Peering up, I could make out a dark shape descending rapidly, limbs akimbo. As it slid into the foliage below, it grunted to as-yet invisible (to me, at least) others.

Zeferein swiftly switched modes from super-sensed ape-seeker to arboriculturalist. Pulling out secateurs to make rapid yet precise adjustments to the foliage around us, he grabbed my shoulders and pointed through the verdant frame he’d just crafted. Lifting the camera, pausing only to scoop out a drowsy bee that had been exploring my viewfinder, I adjusted the focus – and locked onto a mesmerising pair of deep brown eyes. I was gazing into the shining black face of a gentle, critically endangered western lowland gorilla.
Over the course of the next hour, Zeferein effortlessly anticipated the movements of the gorilla group I had been allocated to follow that morning.

Through a combination of nimble pruning and enthusiastic pointing, he ensured that my viewfinder was filled with a succession of fig-devouring high-rise climbers, vine-walking silverbacks, tumbling newborns and root-mining juveniles. We continued to sweep through the forest until I had accumulated a treasure-trove of images and footage, then left the family busily probing scarlet-hued wild ginger, and retraced our steps through the foliage.

Back at Ngaga, the comfortable lodge that was my temporary home – and the base for lowland gorilla research in the region – I sank into a sofa on the deck. A putty-nosed monkey watched me from a branch and an orange mist descended on my discarded boots – scores of African monarch butterflies feasting on the salt and moisture accumulated during our hike. What a morning – and what a place.

Capital ideas

Just 36 hours earlier, I’d been sitting in a bar in Brazzaville, on the north bank of the Congo River. Pulling on a bottle of Ngok’, the country’s ubiquitous, crocodile-branded beer, I’d contemplated what these near-legendary forests might have in store for me. Childhood memories of Saturday mornings watching Ron Ely swing through a fictional Central African jungle – and across my TV screen – as Tarzan flickered in my mind. Meanwhile, children revelled in the foaming waterway below, leaping from and swimming around the set of rocks known locally as ‘the Rapids’ as I recalled the path that led me to this spot.

“You’re going where?”

For months I’d been answering this pointed question from everyone I’d told about my forthcoming trip. Even in our rapidly shrinking world, the very name Congo still produces a thrill that few others can rival – sadly, often for all the wrong reasons. Although this region in the heart of Africa has a romantic mysticism that has captured the imaginations of explorers, adventurers, artists and writers for centuries, many today perceive the entire region as a war-torn and lawless land.

That perception, though, is based largely on headlines about the neighbouring Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was visiting the rather more peaceful neighbouring Republic of the Congo, sometimes called Congo-Brazzaville.

Importantly, this vast region plays an increasingly critical role in staving off the worst impacts of climate change. The 200 million hectares of the Congo Basin – larger than Alaska – sprawl across six countries and comprise one of the most biodiverse regions on the planet. A scientific study published in 2021 found that, following decades of deforestation and climate change, the Amazon region was emitting more carbon than it was able to absorb, becoming a net carbon source. So this ancient swathe of jungle in Africa, which has the power to influence weather systems across the continent, must play an even more crucial role in sequestering carbon, mitigating the causes and impacts of climate change.

Perhaps more than ever, we need to ensure the long-term viability of the natural habitats of the Congo Basin – including the world’s second-largest rainforest – and Africa as a whole. My journey, then, wasn’t just inspired by curiosity; rather, I wanted to explore and showcase the wonders of this little-touristed region, and to support the research efforts of the primatologists studying gorillas at Ngaga.

First, I enjoyed a stop in the capital. As I tucked into an excellent plat du jour of garlicky fish with sautéed vegetables, the melodic beats of a Congolese rumba swirled around the bar, soundtracking the animated, laughter-filled conversations at every table. This relaxed, upbeat scene was in stark contrast to widely held misconceptions about the country.

As capital cities go, Brazzaville is a pleasantly relaxed affair. Though unremarkable architecturally, its relatively unchoked streets are lined with a growing number of cafés, patisseries and ice cream parlours. It also has some truly excellent restaurants and friendly bars studding its back streets and lining the Corniche, the city’s popular riverfront esplanade.

For most visitors, Brazzaville is merely an unavoidable entry and exit point; few spend more than a day there before heading on to explore the country’s wilder side. However, there are reasons to hang around if you have a little time to spare. Artefact hunters love rummaging the myriad stalls of the curio market, where shelves groan under the weight of West and Central African objets d’art.

A smattering of interesting monuments, churches and official buildings warrant investigation, too. Those with a keen interest in history should visit the Musée Nationale du Congo. Through a series of historical pieces and ageing documents, it tells the tale of the French-Italian explorer Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza who, in the late 19th century, established the settlement that became Brazzaville.

The capital is more about the software than the hardware, though – and it’s the Congolese people who make time spent here memorable. If you have the inclination, staying a day or two longer in Brazzaville will allow you to better absorb the energy of this buzzing city.

Eden on Earth

I had just one night to enjoy it all, though. The morning after my arrival I was back at the airport, being whisked through security and out onto the tarmac. Before me stood the charter aircraft that would fly me into the depths of Odzala- Kokoua National Park, poster child for the country’s conservation efforts.

Once airborne, I drank in the aerial view of the city as we headed north until the urban sprawl receded, to be replaced by a thousand shades of green. The landscape rolled beneath, soon blanketed by a forest canopy stretching out to the distant horizon, treetops wedged tightly together like an endless sea of broccoli florets.

Occasionally, the expanse of solid green was broken by the glint of sunlight reflected from snaking rivers below and, as we continued north, by patches of savannah and sporadic open patches. The latter, I learned, were the distinctive bais of the Congo Basin – swampy forest clearings that rise and fall with the rain, and which would be key destinations during my animal-focused exploration of the region over the weeks that followed.

Bais are sometimes found in isolation, but often link together to create an expansive mosaic of open wetland – a magnet for wildlife. Herds of forest buffalo and elephant, all kinds of antelope and even primates emerge from the surrounding jungle to revel in these sun-soaked spaces and their nutrient-rich waters, while flocks of grey parrots and green pigeons provide noisy fly-bys. If there is truly an Eden on Earth, then surely this is it.

Trunk call

The first I knew about the elephant was a gentle squeeze on my arm by my guide, Kerrie. “Andy,” she said, “we’re leaving…now.” Her tone hadn’t changed but I sensed a heightened degree of urgency.

Over previous weeks I had enjoyed many memorable encounters with Odzala’s forest elephants. Each daybreak walk through the warm, turbid waters of Lango Bai yielded encounters with pachyderms sucking up the mineral-
laden water, or clocking off from the night shift and returning to the cover of the surrounding treeline for the rest of the day.

I also met them many times on the Lekoli, a beautiful, meandering waterway that I explored from Mboko, a lodge in the south of Odzala – and on the front line of the endless battle of succession between savannah and forest. On twice-daily excursions in a small metal boat, I’d seen not only elephants but also tree-climbing slender-snouted crocodiles, forest buffalo with their attendant oxpeckers, and a kaleidoscopic array of birds.

This time, though, the elephant was just a few metres away. In my desire to capture an image of a forest-dwelling behemoth deep within its jungle home, we had stumbled across one on foot – or, rather, it had stumbled across us – at startlingly close range.

Barely breathing, the blood pounding in my ears, I tried to steady my camera. The great muddy shape shifted left and right behind the suddenly insubstantial chaos of trees and plants that separated it from me. Every sway of its head produced a cacophonous crash of leaves and branches – and caused my heart to beat harder still.

The tug on my sleeve was now urgent: it was definitely time to go. But as we turned to leave, a flash of yellow caught my gaze through a gap in the branches – and for a split second my eye met that of the huge wild elephant. A quick couple of shots, and the priceless encounter was captured forever before we beat a hasty retreat.

Back in the capital, the crocodile grinned at me from the beer-bottle label as I sipped one last Ngok’. I angled it towards the horizon so that two-dimensional reptile could also enjoy the sunset. A medley of reds, ochres and oranges painted the river, while below me the daring young divers cavorted in the rapids once more, their laughter ringing above the noisy maelstrom. Away to my right, as evening approached, the multi-coloured lights adorning the Pont du 15 août 1960 suspension bridge began their nightly dance. My mind drifted back to the bais and the forests and the creatures that call them home. I smiled down at the reptile on my bottle, sure that my encounters with the Congo’s wildlife would endure – and praying the same for them and their precious habitat.