[Click on the pictures to see larger versions with captions.]
Inyongera (ee-yong-gara) sat up to reposition herself. The bright sunlight etched shadows into the wrinkled area above her nostrils, a pattern we refer to as a nose print. This pattern is unique to each mountain gorilla and serves as an identifying mark, like a thumbprint. I'd describe hers as a disjoined "Y," like a letter drawn with a magic marker during a bumpy car ride.
When the mother gorilla stretched out on her back, her infant, Byiringiro (ebee-rin-giro), ambled over from the clump of vegetation where he'd been playing. He climbed onto her belly for a nap. I couldn't see his nose print at that point, but I knew him by his mother. Unfortunately, his position also prevented me from seeing the reported swelling on his mother's lower abdomen, one of the reasons for my visit.
Though I keep a list of the mountain gorillas' names and a copy of their nose prints in the side pocket of my camera bag, I've by no means mastered the art of identification — and not only among the gorillas. It's taken me seven months just to learn the names of the many trackers who work in the Parc National Volcans (PNV). They, of course, know me as one of the Mountain Gorilla Veterinary Project (MGVP) field vets, since there are only seven of us serving all three countries, Uganda, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda. Moreover, I'm the only white woman among them.
I do know most of the gorilla names (about 280) and many of the adult gorillas. In Umubano group, for example, I know the silverback, Charles, and can make an educated guess about the mothers with infants; there are only so many choices in this small group. But when it comes to the confusing juveniles, subadults and black backs (young males) in the larger gorilla groups, I need help.
Even with the drawings of their nose prints in front of me, I cannot be entirely certain who is who among the healthy gorillas. Our patients, by contrast, almost always have distinctive features like a cut or a limp, or, as in Inyongera's case, swelling still hidden by her infant.
About 10 feet uphill from where we stood, another mother gorilla, Umurimo (oo-moo-reemo), rested in the sun with her as-yet-unnamed baby. (On June 30, the park's officials will name the 23 gorillas born in the past year.) Our lead tracker for the day, Leonadas, had noticed Umurimo moving slowly yesterday, and he felt she hadn't eaten normally.
Finding and identifying each group member, then reporting on their daily location and general health status is the job of the trackers. They locate the gorillas every morning, then relay the information to park headquarters. If there are tourists visiting, the guides bring them up the mountain. We usually go up with the trackers early — 6:30 a.m. at the park boundary — and do our vet checks first.
Today we adhered to the usual routine: Leonadas led us up the mountain to the group, about a one-hour climb. He methodically followed the trails made by each gorilla, leading us close and whispering their names. Then he'd stop and give us time to observe each one and take notes.
We first saw Umurimo high up in a tree eating favorite white flowers with her infant hanging on. We saw her again a bit later, moving quickly up a steep slope and eating as she went. Now, during the rest period, she looked the picture of health, her baby suckling loudly from time to time. Good news.
Inyongera had proved harder to find. We'd seen Byiringiro off by himself, playing with another infant. Where was his mother? Suddenly she appeared in front of me. I could see the abdominal swelling clearly, but didn't have my camera ready. We try to keep our distance from the gorillas, for their safety as much as ours (one of us could be carrying a flu or cold virus, for example). But sometimes the gorillas will walk right up to us.
In this case, the mother gorilla hesitated long enough for me to pull my camera out of the bag. But just as I hit the power button, I slid off a slippery log into a hole, nearly taking Elisabeth with me. Inyongera gave us a sidelong glance and continued on her way. We needed to get a better look and also record the problem photographically. Hers is a case in which pictures taken on different visits will be extremely useful. Vets in the field may have different opinions about the cause of swelling based on whether it's changed in size or appearance; the camera can document this information objectively.
When Inyongera settled down for a rest with her infant sleeping on her belly, we still hadn't gotten our picture. While we waited for one of them to move, I studied the nose prints of the two mother-infant pairs.
Umurimo's baby has barely developed a pattern; he's young and the marks on his nose will change over time. I'd describe Byiringiro's print as a series of shallow nestled "Vs" — hard to distinguish from those of other gorillas with similar V-shaped prints unless you see the nose up close. As for Umurimo, her nose print starts off as a wide "U" and ends in a deep "V," very different from the messy "Y" on Inyongera's nose. (There are "official" drawings of the nose prints for each known mountain gorilla, kept on file at park headquarters.)
Byiringiro got up to play with another infant. Finally, we could see his mother's abdomen and take our photos. The swelling looked more like an old umbilical hernia — and egg-sized accumulation of fatty tissue under the skin — than an active problem. Of course, it could be something serious, like an abscess or a tumor, but the gorilla appeared in perfect health otherwise.
Though I don't think we have to be concerned about Umurimo, we'll keep an eye on Inyongera for sure. One of us will be back tomorrow, and if it's me, I'll do my best to identify her among the group without Leonadas' help. If I can't, I know he won’t mind helping me. That's his job, after all.
[Rwanda, May 28, 2007. Pictures: Lucy Spelman/MGVP]
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