Dispatches from Africa

Been there, done that

2005-12-02T14:25:00.000-05:00

December 2, 2005
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Nearly a year after our journey with the Arcadia University expedition to Africa, another expedition is entering the Gran Caldera de Luba on Bioko Island.

A swashbuckling Spanish professor named Ignacio Martin is leading an expedition into the volcano crater in Equatorial Guinea. He is also filing a blog, just like we did last year.

Here's the most curious part: The professor claims he is leading the first expedition into the caldera. His employer, the Polytechnic University of Madrid, issued a press release saying the professor is going where no man has ever gone before. Even El Pais, the great national Spanish newspaper, swallowed the audacious story unchallenged.

The professor has been getting a lot of heat on his blog (it's in Spanish).

Afterword

2005-02-17T14:43:00.000-05:00

February 17, 2005
Philadelphia, Pa. USA
N 39.95995° W 75.16360° Elevation 62 feet. Temp: 37° F

My editors at The Philadelphia Inquirer just got the satellite telephone bill for the time Barbara Johnston and I spent beaming our reports out of Equatorial Guinea last month. You are now reading one of the most expensive blogs ever to hit the Inquirer’s little corner of the blogosphere. For the betterment of humankind, not to mention my future in this business, please do us a favor: Go to the Inquirer's Web site, click on some ads, buy an apron at the Online Store or just browse the Wing Bowl coverage for a while and drive up the page-views. We have to create some sort of revenue stream to make online newspapering a viable business.

In the month since we returned from accompanying the Arcadia University expedition to Africa, we have readjusted to life with proper beds, hot showers and sub-freezing weather. The accolades from colleagues continue to trickle in for our groundbreaking work in Africa, where we filed stories, photos and Web entries every day from a primeval rainforest. More than two dozen newspapers and Web sites picked up some or all of the nine-part series.

Yet some people were insufficiently impressed that we were able to haul a bunch of delicate electronic gear into a soaking-wet forest where few people would dare attempt such a feat and make the stuff work without fail. A few people misunderstood the intent of The Disappearing Drill series. The stories documented the efforts of two professors to save endangered species in Africa, including a rare monkey called the drill. The stories provided a snapshot of a worldwide trend in which species are disappearing at a rate matched only by the great prehistoric extinctions.

To me that’s a pretty hefty subject. But some people thought we were just monkeying around.

A few vegans and sportsmen misinterpreted the expedition’s intent as a campaign against hunting. But the expedition’s leaders were pretty clear they’re opposed only to the slaughter of endangered species, not to the hunting of nonthreatened species (most of the Africans who work for their project and support it are hunters and continue to hunt plentiful species to feed their families).

A suburban newspaper columnist complained that the series symbolized the decline of the Inquirer. I disagree. Some of us remember when Inquirer editor Gene Roberts dispatched a reporter to Africa to write a lengthy series about the endangered rhinoceros. So the Inquirer's attention to the biodiversity crisis is nothing new. I'd argue that the newspaper’s commitment to our African journey should warm the hearts of journalists concerned about the state of our industry, rather than arouse petty jealousy.

I digress.

This was my first effort at blogging. It was a great pleasure. But reading the blog now, moving backward in time, is like watching the movie Memento, which moves backward and forward simultaneously -- very creative, but discombobulating. Here’s my suggestion if you want to experience this blog as it was originally written: Start with the archived entries on the right side of this page. The first entry is on Christmas Day, followed by updates each day as the trip unfolds.

Alternatively, you can randomly jump around the daily entries. It’s the Internet, after all. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.

But don’t forget: When you’re done, go to the Inquirer’s Web site and order one of those aprons.

Andrew Maykuth
amaykuth@phillynews.com

A shot of Barbara and I working under the power of flashlights
and generators in the caldera's north camp.
(Photo by Paul Jaffe, Bioko Biodiversity Protection Program)

Epiblogue

2005-01-15T23:08:00.000-05:00

January 15, 2005
Glenside, Pa., USA
N 40.09243° W 75.16562 Elevation 306 feet. Temp: 28° F

We have returned to the place where this journey began three weeks ago on Christmas Day, a loading dock at Arcadia University, where seven out of the 24 people on the Arcadia expedition to Equatorial Guinea arrived tonight and will continue on our own, separate ways, I am tired and my muscles ache, not from the expedition, but from the 30-hour journey from Malabo to Philadelphia.

Just a few words about our journey back on Iberia Airways, a third-world airline masquerading as a first-world carrier. We left Malabo at 1 a.m, today and landed in Madrid at 7 a.m., expecting to connect to a noon flight to JFK. The flight was cancelled, however – broken equipment. So that gave us an extra four hours to enjoy the Madrid airport, which actually only requires about an hour to experience its highlights. When we finally boarded a packed Airbus A340, an American woman complained that the aircraft’s PA was playing Christmas carols nearly 10 days after Epiphany, and she found this offensive. Maybe she is an Iberia neophyte, but I’d say the music selection was a misdemeanor – the least of the airline’s problems. More vexing was the audio system didn’t function properly, so the movies were all silent films. The Iberia staff was indifferent, as it was on most of the other seven flights I’ve taken recently.

The son of the prime minister of an African nation sat a few rows behind us,, experiencing economy class perhaps for the first time in his life. He rang the attendant call button every few seconds when his needs are not met. I’m sure it was a character-building experience for him to be ignored like the rest of us.

But at least two people I know are not unhappy with Iberia’s service. Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, the two Arcadia professors who led our expedition to save endangered species on Bioko island, got bumped up to business class by a friend of the program who works for the airline and pulled a few strings. Hearn and Morra deserve a few special treats for all the work they’ve done on their program in Equatorial Guinea. I would not have mentioned the upgrades had not Wayne strolled back to our cattle-car accommodations while we were finishing our dinner that closely resembled cat food and regaled us with stories about how great the dinner was in business class and wondered why we didn’t have personal video screens with our seats. I promised Wayne his visit would rate a blog entry, so being a man of my word, here it is. Wayne, by the way, is a very humorous fellow who suggested “Epiblogue” as the title for this epilogue. I don’t want to be accused of plagiarism.

Enough about the airline. Our stuff arrived intact, and Morra’s wife, Rita, drove up from Philadelphia in Arcadia’s van to welcome us with home-baked cookies. Even with the delays, I am grateful for the miracle of jet travel -- it has become such a common and accepted part of our lives to be able to hop onto a plane and get just about anywhere on earth in one sleep-deprived day.

One by one, Inquirer photographer Barbara Johnson and my wife, Amy Blackstone, have said goodbye today to the extraordinary group of volunteers who assembled to do the wildlife census for Arcadia. It was really a swell group of people who became good friends over the course of three weeks (one person who wrote a question to our Web site’s forum implied that the participants would be at each other’s throats, as though the expedition were some sort of Reality TV program, but that’s not at all how it played out). We are also filled with warm memories of the academics from the National University of Equatorial Guinea, most of whom genuinely are trying to establish an educational institution in an emerging nation where freedom is not assured. On many levels, what Arcadia University is doing in Equatorial Guinea is a positive thing – trying to encourage conservation and to develop the national educational institution, while respecting local traditions and building a strong grassroots organization. Hearn and Morra seem to have made a real impact in this small country.

Whether that will actually lead to lasting changes in the nation is a bigger question that we look at that a little more closely in an article in Sunday’s Philadelphia Inquirer. Conservation is a foreign concept in a place like Equatorial Guinea, and you could even see by the way the Equatoguineans consumed the expedition’s supplies that they are more accustomed to using the available resources as quickly as possible because there is little upside to trying to regulate your own consumption if it only allows your competitor to take more for himself. “When it’s gone,” the Africans would say with a shrug, “it’s gone.”

To the regular readers of this blog, thanks for dropping in. I had a lot of fun writing the updates on the travels of the Bioko Biodiversity Protection Program, and I hope it was entertaining and informative.

A lazy, hazy day

2005-01-14T10:10:00.000-05:00

January 14, 2005
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74949° E 8.76031 Elevation 122 feet. Temp: 87° F

A deep sense of indolence has overtaken our expedition members here on our last day in Equatorial Guinea. We’ve toured the highlights of Malabo, and the younger members of the expedition hung out late at the discos and are feeling a little sluggish today. The Harmattan, the dusty wind from the north that seems to be carrying much of the Sahara with it, has given the air a uniform sandy hue and taste. The locals are also taking advantage of the dry weather to burn grass and vegetation, so the dusty air is mixed with smoke. It makes me long for the rain that two weeks ago, that I thought at the time was so tiresome. I am very difficult to satisfy.

Some of our group made a quick visit this morning to an orphanage in Malabo – kind of a reality check on live in Africa. The rest of the day was spent organizing and cleaning up the expedition’s gear. Some will go back to Arcadia University in Glenside, the home of the two professors who organized this mission. Much goes into a lockup at the National University of Equatorial Guinea, where it will remain until later in the year when Arcadia sends students abroad to study here. My personal gear all has a grimy tinge to it that I hope will come out with a brush and detergent.

If I did not have some obligations to finish writing for the newspaper today, I would have joined our group curled up on the grass beneath the awning on the ExxonMobil soccer field where our gear awaits the arrival of a vehicle to take it to the airport tonight. The plane departs in the first hour of Saturday. This journey is drawing to a close.

It’s all about the gear, Part II

2005-01-13T11:25:00.000-05:00

January 13, 2005
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74949° E 8.76031 Elevation 122 feet. Temp: 74° F

My boots dried out days ago, and we survived two weeks in the rainforest, so it's time for me to swagger a little bit about our good fortune with communication gear.

In the weeks leading up to this expedition to Bioko island, I spent much time fretting about the logistical details of taking our electronic gear into the rainforest and transmitting to the Internet every day, using only the power sources we carried in. I worried about the rain and what it would do to the computers and cameras. I researched the generators and how much gasoline they would consume. And I ground my teeth in my sleep over whether our satellite telephone signal would be able to penetrate the tropical rainforest canopy and get our story out. Any failure could foil my plans.

We made plans, and backup plans and alternatively, if everything failed, we planned to resign ourselves to writing our stories after returning home, just as we did in the old days before we were “liberated” with this wonderful ability to make a connection from anywhere in the world.

I’m happy to report that everything worked fine. Actually better than expected.

We certainly encountered plenty of rain in the first half of the trip. But the waterproof bags and sacks worked flawlessly. We were religious about keeping the computer in the bag except when we were using it. When I saw a lot of condensation building up inside the Aquapac that contained my computer, I dropped a small sack containing silica gel into the bag and the problem went away. I always made sure that I carried my computer in my own day pack so that nobody else would be responsible for mishandling it. And when it really rained, we put all our packs inside large Cabela dry bags that could contain a big duffel bag or a full-sized backpack. At times, our equipment was essentially triple-bagged, and everything stayed dry.

Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer's photographer, was also diligent about keeping her digital cameras dry. Except for a few minor setbacks, her stuff worked well.

I grossly overestimated our power needs. The little Honda 1000-watt generators that the expedition carried to each camp were very fuel efficient and very quiet. We probably only used five gallons of the 25 gallons of gasoline we took on the expedition (some of the gasoline was to be used in an emergency by the expedition’s inflatable boat, but fortunately, we never had to use the boat, which was in terrible repair). With sufficient power from the generator, the 12-volt automobile battery we bought in Malabo and carried to the beach with us proved to be a luxurious redundancy. We did not carry it up the mountain to the camps in the caldera, and I’m sure the porters would be grateful if they knew we saved them from hauling a lead-acid battery into the wilderness. We left the battery with the villagers of Ureca, who have an old power generator they can use to charge it periodically.

We considered using solar cells to provide our power. Paul Jaffe, an electrical engineer who was working on a project called CyberTracker with the expedition, brought a couple of panels with him. Solar cells are a great idea, but they don’t provide a huge amount of output and they take a long time to charge a battery in the rainforest.

As for the satellite telephone, it worked pretty well most nights. There always was a hole somewhere in the forest ceiling through which we could aim the satellite antenna.

Sorry to bore many of you with these details. I’m putting them on the record for gear geeks who might consider trying to put their stuff through the same paces. I don’t think we came close to pushing our gear to the limit.

We’re having a technical day here in Malabo, at the ExxonMobil facility where we are camped. I’ve been writing. Barbara has assembled a lovely slide show of the expedition, accompanied by music we recorded in the village of Ureca. We’ll show it tonight at a farewell dinner for us. It’s really the first chance I’ve had to look at her output, since we were often working on our own jobs at the same time. The photos are really splendid. She’s available for speaking engagements.

Most of the expedition members have run out of chores to do and have explored about as much of Malabo and they care to, at least during the daytime before the dancing begins. Boredom seems to be setting in. Four members of the group went to the cathedral today to take a look at the beautiful church, but were thrown out by a policewoman who said that only Equatoguineans could enter the holy place. The tourism ministry authorization they carried apparently did not persuade the police. As I wrote yesterday, Equatorial Guinea is a xenophobic little country, and while it slowly gets integrated with the rest of the world, I’m sure many visitors will encounter similar frustrations.

Tourists in a strange land

2005-01-12T16:09:00.000-05:00

January 12, 2005
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74949° E 8.76031 Elevation 122 feet. Temp: 86° F

Since many newspaper editors don’t read Internet blogs, I can let you in on a little secret here without too much worry that this will get on my permanent record: I basically took the day off today. That’s right, I took a slide. I got up this morning and felt the accumulated weariness of two weeks of living in and hiking in the wilderness. I had planned to get down to work writing the last two stories about the Arcadia University expedition to Equatorial Guinea that I’ve been accompanying. But now we are back in civilization, and when one of the expedition members suggested this morning that we go into town and check out the capital of Equatorial Guinea, the temptation undermined my work ethic. I shut down the computer for the day.

We’re staying in tents on a soccer field in the compound of ExxonMobil’s local subsidiary, the biggest oil producer in Equatorial Guinea. ExxonMobil provides free logistical support to the Arcadia project. We’re able to shower in the company’s gym facilities and eat at the company’s cafeteria and they even did some laundry for us – it’s like living amid a little part of Texas planted in Equatorial Guinea. The compound is about a mile or so outside of town, so you can walk into the city if you enjoy exerting yourself in this sticky humid climate, or you can flag down a beat-up Peugeot taxi and pay $2 for a lift. The cab fares are one of the only cheap things about Malabo.

Malabo is not a very big city – estimated population of about 100,000 – and it’s not hard to walk from one side of town to the other. I spent a week here at the beginning of December setting up the permits for this story, so that made me an experienced tourguide. As small and as provincial as Malabo seems, long-term residents say it’s much more exciting now than it was a few years ago, before oil was discovered offshore and money began flowing and immigrants from surrounding countries began to come to earn a few bucks in the boomtown. Ten years ago, there were hardly any cars in town, and even beachfront restaurants were rundown and desolate. Now the restaurants are busy, five bedroom houses rent for $6,000 a month and half the citizenry seems to be sitting behind the wheel of a vehicle without ever having taken a driving lesson.

Despite opening up to outsiders, Equatorial Guinea is still very much a closed society. Foreigners are regarded with suspicion, and I suppose with good reason – the government unraveled a coup plot here last year that was allegedly orchestrated by foreign mercenaries on behalf of exiled opposition leaders. The chaps who were arrested in Malabo claimed they were tortured into confessing. They were sentenced to long terms in a prison that no doubt does not concern itself with rehabilitation. Even though we obtained a permit to take photographs in the city, cameras still provoke so much hostility from the citizenry and hassles from authorities that it’s much easier to just walk around without trying to take pictures. Yet most people in this former Spanish colony respond well to a friendly welcome of “buenos dias.” So we walk along the streets, greeting strangers as though we’re just happy as heck to be here.

The locals are mostly indifferent to outsiders without cameras, which is a welcome change from other cities in Africa that I’ve visited. There are some benefits to a police state, and one is security and the other is the absence of beggars. Except for errant drivers, Malabo is a pretty safe city to walk around in. The architecture has a Spanish colonial charm. In recent weeks, municipal committees have visited various commercial districts and instructed building owners to paint or fix the tawdry structures – they do this by painting a “P” or and “R” on a building that requires paint or repair. Reportedly the government threatens to bulldoze the buildings whose owners fail to comply. As a consequence, the city is abuzz with reconstruction and awash in fresh paint.

As we made our way though town, stopping in the well-kept Roman Catholic cathedral and avoiding the stares of military guards outside official buildings, we made our way to the Malabo Central Market. Most of the expedition volunteers had not had an opportunity to see the bushmeat market where women vendors sell wild game, including the monkeys that the expedition has been counting in the wilderness in the hope of preventing their being hunted into extinction. Mama Anita, the chairwoman of the market vendors, was pleased to see me again after my previous two visits, and she gave me the traditional right-cheek, left-cheek kiss as I leaned across a couple of fly-infested quartered antelopes that she was selling on her table. Sometimes you have to do difficult things in this business to understand all sides of a story.

We didn’t stay long, but wandered through the rest of the market to look over the assembled fruits, vegetables, meats, clothing and hardware available in the market. Many vendors make a living buying large quantities of commodities that they divide into smaller portions to sell to individuals who have limited funds, making a small profit on the margins. One vendor was selling tiny Baggies that contained maybe a half dozen rigatoni. We wondered what somebody would do with only six little pieces of pasta, but it gives you a sense of the vastly different lives that most of the world leads compared to those of us who live in a land of plenty. Obesity is not a big public health concern in Equatorial Guinea.

After coffee at a charming café and lunch at the Spanish Cultural Center, we visited the few craft vendors here who cater to the tourist trade. This is really not a tourist-friendly place – a country where they arrest people with cameras and where a cheap hotel room goes for $90 is not exactly attracting a lot of packaged tours. Most of the African crafts sold here are imported from other countries, and they are priced high for foreign oil workers with lots of cash and little time to shop around. But for many of the expedition, this may be their only trip to Africa, so they were in a buying mood. Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer’s photographer who is accompanying me, did her best to boost the local economy.

I am back in the ExxonMobil compound for the evening, writing this in an air-conditioned recreation room while some of the younger expedition members lounge in leather sofas watching an inane Adam Sandler movie on television. The oil company’s pesticide machine has just fogged the compound in its weekly attempt to keep malaria at bay. Two nights ago we were in wild country, detached from the power grid, ankles nibbled by sand flies, far removed from these modern comforts. I am concerned that the memory is already beginning to fade.

Spirits for the spirits

2005-01-11T07:57:00.000-05:00

January 11, 2005
Aboard the Seabulk St. Tammany, at sea off Bioko island, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.27275° E 8.41943 ° Elevation 0 feet. Temp: 81° F

For the first time in two weeks since this expedition from Arcadia University landed on Moraka Beach like invading marines, my computer is working on something other than self-generated power – I’m plugged into an outlet in the cabin of the St. Tammany. It’s air-conditioned here – climate control, what an alien concept. The members of our expedition to Equatorial Guinea, spent and exhausted, are stretched out flat on the deck as though some huge wind came through and knocked everyone down. The last two weeks of hiking in the rainforest, conducting a census of endangered beasts at the southern end of Bioko island, has taken its toll.

Considering the amount of grog consumed in our camp last night, it was a miracle the expedition members were able to gather their wits at 5 a.m. to break camp. Loading and unloading ourselves and our gear onto this 152-foot oil-industry work vessel while it floats offshore was probably the most dangerous operation that we did during our three-week trek to Bioko. With half our African helpers bleary-eyed or goofy with emotion this morning – and also looking for last-minute swag from the American visitors – it added one more element of adventure to the moment.

The farewell party last night at the beach camp was something to behold. The wine and the brandy began flowing even before Arcadia Professor Wayne A. Morra started to pay 26 local people who worked as porters, cooks and guides. The expedition put a significant jolt into the local economy – perhaps $10,000 in wages. Some of the wives of the workers showed up to make sure the money was not exhausted in one night of debauchery. The group gathered last night in a circle, and the Africans gave out awards to each member of the expedition. Then the Equatoguinean workers and academics – eight of the 24 expedition members come from the National University of Equatorial Guinea – entertained us with the local songs and dances. The pale visitors responded as best we could by singing “America,” which doesn’t have a real strong dance beat, so the Africans stood quietly and listened, politely applauding at the end. I suppose it was better than singing a few selections from the Methodist hymnal. I would have preferred we sing “YMCA” instead, but nobody could remember all the words, though I think we could have faked it because the most important part of the song is the refrain, when the participants raise their arms and spell out YMCA. The Africans would have thought that was a hoot. Fortunately, sanity took over before we could sing the “Star Spangled Banner” or the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” One of the expedition members sang a rap that incorporated the names of the endangered primates we were here to observe. The Africans, perhaps sensing the potential doom to a party’s mood when white people begin to rap, took control of the musical agenda and we stayed with mostly local music.

Meanwhile, Morra and I were called aside to participate in a ceremony to acknowledge the spirits. Equatoguineans spend quite a bit of time communicating with the spirits, which usually involves the ingestion of alcohol to enhance one’s ability to converse with the other dimension. When we first arrived by boat on Bioko two weeks ago, everyone aboard took a sip of rum and tossed a bit overboard to appease the spirits of our forebears, or at least the forebears of the Africans who could do us some harm on their home turf. Last night Morra and I walked off into the night with some of the community leaders of Ureca village to gather around the sacred stone, which is about the size and shape of a rugby ball, placed on the ground, pointing up. The stone was surrounded by a bunch of empty bottles to which we were about to add one more. We sat on the ground and the community leaders poured rounds from a fresh bottle of brandy, and we acknowledged the spirits and thanked one another for cooperation and friendship and extended good wishes for future expeditions and the work of Arcadia University, as well as The Philadelphia Inquirer, whose circulation could use some mystical support.

After saying a few words and drinking the shot of brandy, the men spilled a little bit of liquid on the stone to share with the spirits. The locals gasped because I think I gave a little too much spirits to the spirits. I’m not sure if they were disturbed by the wastefulness or the fact that the ancestors might be a little tipsy because I really wet down that rock. I was worried for a few moments when one of the locals became possessed by the spirits and let out a sharp shout that startled the fellow next to me. The medium, who earlier that day had been merely a porter hauling bags, began speaking rapidly in the Bubi language with both of his arms extended straight forward, his eyes wide open. The others paid close attention to the things he said, which were translated into Spanish for me. The spirits wanted to suggest a pay raise for the villagers and hoped Arcadia would expand its work on Bioko, but mostly they extended thanks for the warm relations. It was good to know all of us were working on the same page as the spirits. I thought it was interesting that there were only men at this event and Gail W. Hearn, the Arcadia professor who created this expedition nine years ago, was not invited to participate.

Through all this partying and secret ceremonies, at least one of us remained diligent to her work: Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer photographer who is working with me, spent much of the evening editing photos and uploading them to Philadelphia through our satellite telephone. Afterwards, we packed our gear into bags because we received word that our boat would arrive at 6 a.m. today – a little earlier than originally anticipated.

Some folks apparently were uninformed about the early scheduled departure or did not care because the partying and dancing went on until 3 a.m. I know because the noise penetrated the industrial foam earplugs I carry for just such occasions. One of the benefits of growing older is learning that no amount of late-night partying is worth the misery that comes the next day, but many in our group have not yet acquired that wisdom. They were still pretty silly this morning as the sun rose and our boat appeared offshore.

Though a little sloppy and muddy, our goods were packed into large waterproof bags and carried to the beach. We were much lighter than when we arrived two weeks earlier with a half-ton of rice and loads of other food and supplies, all consumed or left behind with the locals. It took quite a few men to heave the 30-foot-long wooden cayuco boat into the water, which the local guys stacked with bags that they carried out in the shallow water atop their hungover heads. I watched with trepidation as the fully loaded boat pierced the surf and headed about a half mile offshore to the workboat. With the help of benign spirits, it all arrived safely and was hoisted by rope aboard the St. Tammany.

The expedition members were loaded four at a time in an inflatable Zodiac to go to the work boat. In calm seas, we climbed out of the tiny craft onto a metal platform that had been extended over the side and hoisted ourselves up about ten feet to the deck. The Africans, upon reaching the big boat, immediately began another joyous circle dance, stomping the wooden deck with glee. Some of the expedition members were tearful. One slept slumped on the deck while the others waved goodbye to the Gran Caldera de Luba, the dark mountain formed by an ancient volcano barely visible through the low clouds.

It’s a two-hour boat ride around the west side of Bioko island to the capital, Malabo, where we will camp once again on the soccer field of the ExxonMobil compound. I anticipate an enthusiastic assault on the oil company’s cafeteria, where many of us will indulge in food fantasies that plagued us during the long hikes – French fries, ice cream, cool beverages, solid meat and green vegetables. I’ll eat anything right now except rice, beans and Powerbars.

What goes up must come down

2005-01-10T11:14:00.000-05:00

January 10 2005
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25878° E 8.48594 ° Elevation 8 feet. Temp: 90° F

The expedition members are reunited once again on Moraka Beach, where we arrived nearly two weeks ago to begin our trek into the rainforests of Bioko island to take an account of the wildlife here. The big work boat contracted to oil company Amerada Hess is scheduled to come tomorrow to pick us up off shore to take us back to civilization. The makings of a serious fiesta are in the works here tonight among the 24 members of the expedition sponsored by Arcadia University and the National University of Equatorial Guinea. The two dozen or so porters, cooks and camp assistants will be paid tonight for their hard labor, and they are eager to celebrate, too.

We began the day at the Main Camp in the Gran Caldera de Luba, the ancient volcano crater that forms a secluded cocoon for some of Africa’s most endangered primates. Over the next few days, I’ll be writing several stories for The Philadelphia Inquirer about the expedition’s findings and examining the different ways that such a ecological treasure can be protected from hunters who are depleting the population of primates and turtles. That’s the focus of the expedition headed by Arcadia academics Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra.

Yesterday I described the movement of our group over the last couple of days as a phased withdrawal, to use a military metaphor. This morning it appeared more like a frenzied retreat. Bags were packed, tents were struck, cook pots were scrubbed and everything was shoved into the waterproof dry bags that the porters heave onto their backs – about 50 pounds each, I’d estimate. The expedition members put on their daypacks – I only carry about 20 pounds on the hikes – and forded the stream where we bathed and laundered. Then we scaled “the wall,” a 500-foot high extraordinarily steep ascent up the side of the volcano crater. It took about 30 minutes to make the climb, during which you burn up lots of energy, like a rocket escaping the Earth’s gravity.

Once out of the caldera, the world seemed a little less peaceful. It was every hiker for himself, heading hellbent for the sea, about nine miles away. The porters with their bags were like uncoupled freight cars. All you could do is step aside and wave at them as they scampered by. About four hours into the hike, we passed through Camp Peter, our waystation on the hike up last week. I gave the camp a harsh review on our ascent, but it looked a little more inviting this time because the sun was out and the camp was not inundated with standing water. But there was no time to stop and admire. We just dashed on.

When the trail hit the beach, we paused to remove our hiking boots and put on sandals for the sandy hike and the river crossings. When we arrived in camp, we were greeted warmly by the other expedition members and the porters, who had arrived well before us and already had their plates piled high with rice and beans.

Since our departure last week, the beach camp seems to have suffered some sort of infestation of tiny biting insect that has left quite a few people with unattractive, swollen limbs. They claim the creatures have confounded many preventative measures, including repellent, but many people seem to be strolling around here with lots of skin exposed, kind of a banquet for bloodthirsty insects. I suppose the bites are just one more souvenir of the expedition. Though most of us are bone weary and sweaty, there is a joyous sense of accomplishment running through the camp.

I took a dip in the surf and bathed in the small stream bearing cool water from the highlands and scrubbed a few clothes on a log. A 30-foot wooden cayuco – a canoe powered by an outboard motor – arrived as scheduled. It bore some of the women from Ureca, the village where most of the people employed by the expedition live, plus an undisclosed amount of refreshments.

Before the party begins, the group has to sort through our soiled and wet gear and prepare it for loading on the boat tomorrow. There is a tradition among expedition members to donate their surplus items to the villagers, where the clothing and camp goods will get a new life. We plan to load our goods on the cayuco tomorrow, which will ride across the surf at a point where the breakers are weak and transfer the goods to the work boat. We will be in the capital, Malabo, for the remainder of the week.

Barbara Johnston: Wet cameras and elusive monkeys

2005-01-09T16:12:00.000-05:00

January 9, 2005
Main Camp, Gran Caldera de Luba, Equatorial Guinea

Just when I thought I couldn’t hike another kilometer yesterday morning, our guide Esteban Muatiche who was leading Gail Hearn, Wayne Morra and myself during an 8-hour census, froze in front of me, and pointed to where a small group of black colobus monkeys were eating berries high above on a tree. I completely forgot about my aching back, tired legs and blistering feet when I looked through my camera with a 500mm lens and captured this beautiful primate for few brief moments before he spotted me and disappeared into the rain forest.

Without a doubt, this has been the most challenging assignment of my career. The greatest challenge has been protecting my camera equipment from the extreme heat, humidity and heavy rain showers. Fortunately I packed a lot of silica gel and Ziploc bags! Also I never leave camp without my camera raincoats, which completely cover the camera body and lens, leaving an opening for my hand. The rain storms move in quickly and come down hard, particularly on southern end of the island, and there is no where to run for cover. Also, shooting in the rainforest offers a hosts of other obstacles: low light, severe backlight on the monkeys high in the trees and the dense foliage. It’s very difficult get a clear view and focus on the monkeys.

Tomorrow morning we leave the Gran Caldera de Luba and hike six hours back to Moraka beach, the work boat St. Tammany will pick us up the following day and bring us back to Malabo. I only wish I had a few more days in the caldera to try to capture the elusive drill that I only saw for one fleeting moment yesterday. I remember seeing a shadowy figure in the distance that could only be a drill, but by the time I picked up my camera to focus, it vanished as quickly as it appeared…. As Gail Hearn explained…“They know your limitations.”
-- Barbara L. Johnston

Tip-toe through the jungle

2005-01-09T13:31:00.000-05:00

January 9, 2005
Main Camp, Gran Caldera de Luba, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.32972° E 8.47899° Elevation 1,713 feet. Temp: 76° F

We hiked about five miles today, descending more than 1,600 feet from the North Camp in the caldera to the Main Camp. We were the last group of our expedition to stay in the North Camp, so we left a group of porters behind to strike the tents and clean up the site. There was a little gasoline left over from the generator, so rather than bring it out we left it with the porters with instructions to burn the rubbish. I could see they were eager to carry out this chore. Young men across the world seem to share a fondness for setting fires.

Most of the members of the Arcadia University expedition to Equatorial Guinea have already left the caldera, the ancient volcano crater that has been the focus of this trek to save endangered wildlife. They have returned to the beach camp, where they are supposed to be conducting additional research, but we have heard reports of dancing on the beach. Good for them. If our expedition were an army – and sometimes this operation has a military appearance to it -- we are now involved in a phased withdrawal from the caldera, the dramatic crater surrounded on three sides by walls that tower thousands of feet above us. Tomorrow we will wrap up our camp here and move down to the beach, too.

We walked today at a pace that would make a snail seem fast. We conducted an animal census along the way, which means our group should average about 1 kilometer an hour. Much of our efforts in the past two days have been to try to get Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer photographer who is accompanying me, into a position to get more photographs of the endangered primates in this area. So Barbara was at the front of the line, right behind our guide. He carried her camera with its massive 500 mm lens over his shoulder, like a gunbearer holding a bazooka. Barbara, the white hunter, followed just behind and took over the monster camera when monkey business was detected. I followed way behind, along with Arcadia professors Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, taking a count of the creatures we saw.

One of the main purposes of the expedition is to do a systematic count of the animals on a number of carefully measured trails that Hearn and Morra have established in this rainforest. Walking slowly and pausing every minute or so to look for signs of movement in the trees and brush, we progress much as hunters or commandos would cross the terrain. We make a great effort to be quiet so we don’t alert the animals. It’s like tip-toeing down a trail, walking softly, avoiding twigs that might snap. Though I try hard to walk carefully, I’m about as graceful as a rhino. I usually get put near the back of the queue, where I can cause the least damage. I don’t mind since my job is mainly to cover the people doing the census. But it means that by the time I hear about some animals spotted by the person at the head of the line, it’s only a distant rumor.

One of the big challenges Hearn and Morra face is to manage traffic on the trails because they want the animals calm and unbothered when the census teams walk the paths. It requires managing the groups of porters and expedition members on the trails much an Amtrak dispatcher controls traffic on the Northeast Corridor. Their general rule is that a census should be conducted at least two hours after the previous person has walked on the trail. So it means scheduling porters to move well before the census crews or just after the census is conducted. The porters, mostly young men who are in peak physical condition, are impatient to get their jobs done and prefer to carry their heavy loads at a blistering pace. Today it took us three hours to cover one trail at a census pace. It took the porters 30 minutes to cover the same trail immediately after.

We were in North Camp for two days. The camp is at a higher elevation and more open than the Main Camp, and it gets cooler at night. I think I might have been the only person who found the temperature exhilarating. Last night Morra complained that it was “freezing.” I took a reading at 4 a.m., when it was 62 degrees in the tent and 56 outside. Apparently many of us have become accustomed to the tropical humidity of the lower altitudes, so we’ve redefined what we think is cold. Wait until we return to the States in a week, and I suspect we’ll find 56 degrees will amount to a heat wave.

The North Camp also had more animals visible than the area around the Main Camp, where the expedition discovered many spent shotgun shells but few animals since we arrived more than a week ago. The census teams saw all manner of primates around the North Camp, including the drill, the large primate with a fierce face that Hearn calls Africa’s most endangered monkey. Barbara saw a drill yesterday, and I will leave it to her to tell you about her experience – I have been trying to get her to contribute to the blog for days, but many photographers need lots of encouragement to write. Barbara’s e-mail is bjohnston@phillynews.com, if you’d care to write her some encouragement.

On the census yesterday, which consumed most of the day, I took a different route with a different guide than Barbara and did not see as many animals as her, but it was exciting nonetheless. We crept up on three black colobus monkeys that were perched in a bare tree about 30 feet off the ground and were able to watch them for quite a while. A few minutes later, we encountered a group of red colobus monkeys, which saw us and began shouting alarms, so we had red and black colobus monkeys dashing to and fro in a tree as we stood below counting them. One of the black monkeys seemed to want to show us he was undisturbed by our presence, so he sat out front on a limb, carefully picking things from his long, coarse hair.

I’m planning to write a little more about the census process and the endangered primates for the newspaper in the coming days.

Regarding happy and unhappy campers

2005-01-08T13:56:00.000-05:00

January 8, 2005
North Camp, Gran Caldera de Luba, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.36528° E 8.50035° Elevation 3,374 feet. Temp: 78° F

We in the media have a reputation for emphasizing misery, and darnit, it’s true. We are nattering nabobs of negativism, as one of our nation’s memorable vice presidents once stated. We can’t help it. I normally cover wars, famines, natural disasters and epidemics – if there is human suffering somewhere, the editors look my way. If somebody does a good deed, you can bet we will find something to fault. Every night I go to sleep contented, knowing that through my work in the media, I’ve made the world a little worse in some small way. It’s my nature as a journalist, of course.

But I am making a pledge here today that I am going to change my ways. I am going to start telling the full truth, including positive things, even if it pinches my soul and my negative colleagues in the media try to pressure me to come back to the dark side.

I am starting my emancipation from negativity today, here on Bioko island, where I’m on an expedition to save endangered animals sponsored by Arcadia University and the National University of Equatorial Guinea. As regular readers of this blog know, I went on at length last week about the suffering we are going through to bring you this series of articles from the African rainforest. The drenching rain. The humidity. The grit. The insects. The bad food. The long hikes. The wet boots. The bad jokes. These accounts are offered up with the calculated design to get you to sympathize with me and Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer photographer who is accompanying me, to make you believe we are going through great discomfort and peril to provide you with a front-row seat in Africa. Actually, we are. But some people might think we’re doing this out of some sense of service. Rather, as any number of media critics have told me over the years, we’re really doing this for two reasons: To sell newspapers and to win Pulitzers.

I digress. As discerning blog readers may have picked up in recent days, I’ve ceased mentioning the weather and the hardship. There’s a reason for that. Once we arrived Wednesday in the Gran Caldera de Luba, this wilderness in an ancient volcano crater that is home to four endangered primates, the weather turned really gorgeous.

There, I said it. Something positive. The conditions at this altitude, at this time of year during the dry season, are really comfortable – cool at night, in the 50s, and topping out at about 80 in the day. No rain, just a light overlay of misty afternoon clouds giving the volcano rim a gauzy glow, a nice soft light.

I am having right now what a small circle of my friends call a “Bonnie Jo moment.” The only thing you need to know about Bonnie Jo is that she can get very blissful. I hope you won’t think less of me, especially those dear readers who have written from Missouri and South Dakota to relate tales about the harsh winters they are suffering through, what with the snow and the gloomy days with four hours of light. I feel your pain. If I could bottle some of this sunlight and send it up north, I would do it.

Unfortunately, not everyone on this expedition is sharing my moment of bliss. There is dissension among the ranks of 24 expedition members. It’s nothing mutinous, and I suppose it’s inevitable that some discord would arise after two weeks of traveling as a group under stressful conditions. But not everyone is a happy camper.

Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, the Arcadia University professors who organize the annual expedition as part of their crusade to save endangered species on Bioko, recruit volunteers whose primary assignment is to gather census information on wild animals. The job requires going out every day on trails that are carefully marked for their distance and walking with a guide in a quiet, disciplined manner. When animals are sighted, the volunteers take down as many details as they can. Other parts of the job require the participants to do various camp chores. Nothing onerous, like doing the dishes – we have hired help for that. But the hikes and the chores can be tedious, and with a beach nearby and the temptation to take long walks and explore, it makes the job even harder. Oh, yeah, the volunteers pay $2,700 plus airfare for the privilege of joining the expedition to see a rare place that is closed off to all but a handful of outsiders (the profits help fund conservation efforts on Bioko). Because they paid good money, some of the participants have a sense of entitlement about how the group should be organized.

It’s impossible to organize such an expedition with two dozen participants, a couple of demanding journalists, and about 20 African porters, chefs and guides. Morra and Hearn do a pretty good job, moving supplies and people among three camps, scheduling work details each day. But it’s not perfectly organized – this is no travel agency tour, it’s a scientific expedition organized by a couple of academics. We’ve run out of tea and are short on some other supplies. Some of the tents are permeable. The expedition was handicapped by the last-minute cancellation of Javier Garcia Francisco, a gifted Spanish graduate student who helps Arcadia organize its study abroad program in Equatorial Guinea and is comfortable working with everybody from African porters to government ministers. I met Javier in early December on a preliminary mission to do this story, before he fell ill with malaria or some such tropical illness that required his hospitalization in Madrid over Christmas. He couldn’t join the trip.

I’m adding these comments for readers who may think this sounds like a cool journey and might consider applying in the future. This expedition is not for everyone.

First of all, I’m in a little more of a privileged position, since I’m here doing my work and not required to do so many census walks. I’m experienced outdoors, I love hiking and working in primitive conditions, so I’m in my element here.

The participants who seem to be having a better time dealing with the expedition are environmental studies or biology students who have some outdoor experience. For them, this expedition is valuable training that they can use to get a job doing field work or to advance their studies. So they’re more willing to be ordered around as though they were Army privates.

But some participants have complained to me that they’re not getting as much advanced learning as they thought. Some don’t take well to the primitive hygienic issues. Others don’t take well to discipline. Hearn dressed down two expedition members who disobeyed their assignment and walked on a census trail when it was supposed to be quiet – Hearn takes her science seriously (I’m not naming names because people didn’t sign up for this expedition to have their lives splashed on the Internet by a nosy reporter).

Several older participants are more like adventure tourists, less motivated by the biology and more interested in having a broader cultural experience. They are not entirely happy with the expedition, having to work with younger people and sometimes being treated like a college student. They would like more time to go out on their own, to explore the island and its people. Clearly there should have been a better understanding about what was in store. We’re told there will be time for independent tourism next week when we get back to Malabo, so perhaps some of that disappointment will pass.

Morra and Hearn have gone through this before. They say personality clashes inevitably develop, but rarely get out of control. Hearn says she prefers having women on the expedition because they are more cooperative and they get along better with the Africans. Male expedition members often seem to have more to prove and are more difficult to control. The Arcadia academics teach college students for a living, so they’re experienced dealing with people who are in a transitional phase of their lives.

Of course, each and every one of us are going through transitional phases – that’s what life’s about. Right now, I’m going through this power-of-positive-thinking transition. I’m blowin’ the rust out of my pipes. Feelin’ groovy.

I’m sure I’ll get over it, once I’m back in the office, back in Philadelphia, where it’s winter.

We arrive at the deepest point of our journey

2005-01-07T14:22:00.000-05:00

January 7, 2005
North Camp, Gran Caldera de Luba, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.36528° E 8.50035° Elevation 3,374 feet. Temp: 74° F

Today we’ve reached the end of the trail, the northernmost camp for the Arcadia University expedition to Bioko island.

Our hike today from the main camp in the Gran Caldera de Luba was less than seven kilometers – not even five miles. But we went very slowly on the first half as we were conducting a wildlife census along the way. You walk a census trail like a fashion model walks down a runway, with tall, exaggerated steps to avoid tripping on rocks or kicking up sticks and leaves. It’s like hunting, only you’re armed with pen and paper. One conducts a census by staying very quiet, keeping about 12 feet apart and keeping one’s eyes and ears open. The signs of monkeys in the south end of the caldera are not good, however, as hunters apparently got there before our group. In two miles, we saw one squirrel and heard one female drill.

In less than five miles, we gained about 1,600 feet today and the rainforest changed remarkably. The north end of the caldera gets less rain, so the ground is dryer and grassier -- we're now in a tropical montane forest. More sunlight gets through the forest, and some of the trees are very large compared to the thin, tall trees that dominate at the lower altitudes. There also seems to be more variety to the vegetation.

The hunters do not seem to have gotten in as far as the north camp, so the hope is that we might encounter more primates here, including the drill, the endangered monkey that is unique to Bioko and a small piece of mainland Africa.

Before we departed the main camp, some members of the expedition began their journey out of the caldera to the beach camp, where they will stay until next Tuesday when the boat is scheduled to come pick us up.

I am filing a story for the newspaper today, which allows me little time to tell you more stories on this blog. But stay tuned, we are rarely short of words.

It’s all about the gear

2005-01-06T13:22:00.000-05:00

January 6, 2005
Main Camp, Gran Caldera de Luba, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.32972° E 8.47899° Elevation 1,713 feet. Temp: 78° F

My $150 boots are still damp and moist after the hike up from sea level to the Gran Caldera de Luba, the ancient volcano crater that is home to several threatened primates, myself included. Gore-Tex boots are a fine idea for Eastern Pennsylvania, where the trails are well-maintained and one can reasonably expect a river crossing to include some modern assist, such as a suspension bridge or an air-conditioned ferry. But here the trails are ill-planned and the rivers contain slippery rocks. No amount of high-tech waterproofing material can keep your boots dry when you go knee-deep into a rushing stream.

My wife, Amy Blackstone, who has proven to be a providential addition to the Arcadia University expedition we have joined because of her skill speaking Spanish and working with Africans (we lived in South Africa for six years), reminded me of a quote from a 19th Century European adventurer, back in the days when white people hired Africans to heave them on their shoulders to cross streams. One day the tourist filed this log entry: “I fell into the water today. It was the fault of the man who carried me.”

Well, you can’t get that kind of help these days – the porters only carry our gear. So I have to admit it was my own damn fault I got my boots wet.

It was a small admission price to pay to enter this breathtaking forest on Bioko island, where the trees are a tangle of vines and branches. The dense foliage often requires one to use senses other than vision to identify the wildlife. The forest is mostly green and brown, broken only by an occasional delicate flower or a bright butterfly. There are a couple of holes in the canopy above our camp, allowing just enough light to penetrate to provide a weather report, and just enough space through which we can aim our antenna at the Inmarsat satellite, 22,000 miles above Earth.

The trees here are not very large in diameter, unlike some primary forests where the timber is gargantuan – big logs that wash up on the beaches are immediately identifiable as coming from the mainland. The absence of big timber works to Bioko’s advantage for those seeking to preserve the biodiversity here – the Asian timber companies that have opened up vast stretches of African forest, depriving wildlife of habitat, are not interested in these skinny trees.

Amid this primal place, we have an embarrassment of Western technology. Our group is carrying satellite telephones, digital cameras, shortwave radios, laptop computers, GPS systems and an Apple iPod. We’ve got gasoline generators to power the gear. My digital thermometer that went into a humidity-induced coma woke up today after 24 hours cocooned in a Ziploc bag with a pouch of silica gel. We’re wearing clothing made of impermeable fabrics or fabric designed to dry quickly. Our gear is carried in waterproof drybags that could withstand a monsoon. For breakfast today, I had a cup of Starbucks coffee, provided by our expedition leaders, professors Wayne A. Morra and Gail W. Hearn.

Meanwhile, the Equatoguinean porters, each of whom can speak or understand four or five languages (including English, though they don’t like to admit it), carry all their personal belongings wadded up in a plastic grocery bag.

And their footwear? Some wear Wellingtons, knee-high rubber boots that, when filled with water, they empty by raising one foot behind them like a heron so that the water can pour out.

Others prefer plastic sandals whose deep treads seem to cling to rocks that have me doing the splits. A pair costs $6, and they dry out in about the same time that it takes me to pry my wet $150 boots from my pale, puckered feet.

Arrival in the Gran Caldera de Luba

2005-01-05T14:04:00.000-05:00

January 5, 2005
Main Camp, a/k/a Camp Hormiga, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.32972° E 8.47899° Elevation 1,713 feet. Temp: Not bad

After a wonderfully arduous hike, we’ve arrived at the Gran Caldera de Luba, the ancient volcano crater that is the quest of the Arcadia University expedition.

The caldera is surrounded by steep walls on three sides, the old walls of the volcano, and drains to the south through a narrow river that has broken through the outer circumference of the volcano. The camp is located at the narrow, southern end of the caldera above the river, which cascades over smooth, round boulders. I was told the caldera is a plateau, but little about this site seems flat. The camp is set on a hillside, most of the tents are pitched at a slight incline. It’s called Main Camp because this is where the two Arcadia University professors operate their expedition to save endangered species in the caldera. It’s known locally as Camp Hormiga, or Ant Camp, for the nasty fire ants that attacked the camp’s occupants a few years ago.

Another camp, North Camp, is about 7 kilometer hike to the other end of the caldera. It’s at a higher elevation and is a little more open and dry than this camp. The expedition sends census teams out from these camps to count animals, mostly focusing on primates.

We plan to stay in the caldera until Monday, when we are scheduled to descend again to Moraka Beach, where we made our D-Day beach landing a week ago today.

The hike from our previous camp was not especially far – less than five miles, according to the GPS. But it included several steep climbs and descents as we crossed the remains of the conical volcano and then plunged nearly 500 feet into the caldera itself on a trail that was as steep as 70 degrees.

We began the day at Camp Peter, a small camp in the woods at about 390 feet of elevation. The trail gradually became more steep as we ascended through the rain forest that covers most of the southern end of Bioko island. By the time the trail reached a 45 degree angle, my heart was going pretty much steady at 180 beats a minute – I could count the pounding in my ears. We were ascending a cone that was formed as a side vent to the volcano, so once we reached the peak, we descended immediately to a lower altitude. I hate that about trails.

One strange sight on the trail: An old rusting Pepsi sign that somebody attached to a tree years ago. Too bad, 'cause I woulda paid some serious money for a cold beverage at that time. Another commercial opportunity missed.

Then the trail continued up, up, up to about 2,275 feet to a point called Buena Vista that indeed gave us a lovely view of the caldera, its steep forested walls and the steep descent that awaited us. The African guides hired by the Arcadia project – the Bioko Biodiversity Protection Program – built a little bench out of the poles they cut during the trail clearing. It was a nice little place to contemplate the view, the misty clouds coming in, alternately concealing and then revealing the landscape. We were drenched with sweat. I longed for one of those clouds to sweep over us ever so briefly and rinse us off, but for once the rain stayed away.

During the descent, the trail is cut crudely and with few switchbacks, but the local guides buried numerous poles along the way as handholds. The poles are a little frighting because they are like pungi sticks along the trail -- one false move and you would have one skewered journalist, which I suppose might satisfy the media critics out there. I can describe the ground on the descent very well because I did not spend much time letting my eyes stray from the next spot to place my foot. It took us about 25 minutes to descend, where we were greeted by a stream and several pools of cool water. It's a nice spot for the members of the expedition bathe and do their laundry.

Now that I’ve had a refreshing bath in the cool stream, the sun is setting, the camp is filled with laughter, the sky is clear and the woods are a symphony of insects and animals calling to each other. A sublime place.

But there is ominous news from the expedition members who have arrived before us. They have found fewer monkeys here than in the coastal areas below, and the monkeys they have encountered seem particularly skittish. There are numerous fresh shotgun shells near this camp, indicating the bushmeat hunters have been here recently. And that may confirm the concerns Arcadia biology Professor Gail W. Hearn that the absence of the Bioko’s forest guards – fired in May because their funding had expired – may have given a signal to the hunters that there was an open season on this protected wilderness.

Photos from Ureca

2005-01-05T13:27:00.000-05:00

We have a Flash photo gallery with Barbara Johnston's photos from Ureca. Enjoy!

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity

2005-01-04T13:26:00.000-05:00

January 4, 2005
Camp Peter, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.29093° E 8.46678° Elevation 390 feet. Temp: About 80° F

We’re camped for the night in a spooky place in the rainforest, a stopover on our hike up from Moraka Beach to the Gran Caldera de Luba. The African guides on our expedition named this place Camp Peter a few years ago in honor of the husband of Gail W. Hearn, the Arcadia University biology professor who is leading our expedition. They named it in the hopes that Peter Hearn would someday come over and visit this place that has enchanted his wife.

Peter, let me spare you the airfare: If the only incentive for you to visit Equatorial Guinea is to visit this camp named for you, I’d hold out for a better place. This is one lonesome camp: dark, wet and uncomfortable.

Perhaps the steady rain that greeted us on our hike today has distorted my objectivity. Or it could be that there are only three tent sites here under the forest canopy, all of them conveniently shaped like bowls, so they efficiently collect rainwater. We dug a few trenches with my plastic trowel to drain the water, but I think we’re in for an unpleasant night.

We only hiked about four miles this afternoon. We’re told the hike to the caldera, the ancient volcano crater that is our holy grail and the home to many endangered primates we want to see, is too difficult to make in one day. So Hearn and her academic partner, Wayne A. Morra, created this camp here to make the hike less stressful. Today’s hike was pretty easy, a clear path up a gentle grade through rainforest with only a few interruptions where the trail descended to cross modest creeks.

The forest is dense and green, and in many places it is impossible to see more than 50 feet deep into the woods because of the undergrowth. The forest floor is covered with rocks and roots and little soil – many of the trees have root structures that begin a few feet off the ground. Much of the ground is covered with luminescent green moss. Some rocks are so densely covered with moss that small ferns have sprouted from the rocks.

The hike took a little longer than expected because one of our group left a pair of shoes behind in camp – I’ve promised not to mention Wayne’s name. But that allowed us to spend about 45 minutes parked on the rocks beside a river where it flowed into the sea while one of the porters dashed back to camp to find the shoes.

The rain began as we hiked into the forest and only stopped around sundown. I’ve discovered the first casualty of the rainforest, which is my digital thermometer – I’ve just got a blank screen. There won’t be any more temperature readings on this trip.

I’m writing this under battery power while sitting on a log under a tarp, where the African guides prepared us a dinner of spaghetti and sardines over the fire. We’re being swarmed by bees that seem particularly excited by the sweaty spots on our backpacks.

This morning we packed up our tents and packs at Moraka Beach while the three Spanish tourists who dropped in yesterday slept in. They’re on holiday – two dentists and a biologist. They also spent the evening on a walk looking for nesting sea turtles. They hired one of the African turtle watchers, offering to pay $1 for his services before agreeing to pay $10. The Spaniards complained that was an “American” price but went on their walk until 1 a.m. and saw two turtles, including a giant leatherback as she laid her eggs. What a rare treat they had.

This morning, after the Spaniards woke up and went on a day hike, the Africans approached us and complained that the tourists had refused to pay for the turtle walk. The Spaniards decided they were paying too much for the other costs of the trip and decided to stiff their turtle guide. What stupidity, to cause a lot of ill will to save $10. I don’t think this sets a good example for other tourists who follow. I hope nothing bad happens to those chintzy Spaniards. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

I’ll try to upload this blog when the rain ceases. There’s a gap in the trees near the camp where I can get a faint satellite signal on the telephone. But no questions and answers on the Web site tonight.

New photos from Barbara Johnston

2005-01-03T17:38:00.000-05:00

We've posted some new photo galleries of Barbara Johnston's work from Bioko Island. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble creating direct links to the galleries now from this blog, but you can find both listed on the project's homepage.

Incidentally, I am one of the Inquirer's online editors working on this project. If anyone knows any Javascript pop-up window workarounds for blogger.com, please put a comment on this entry.

Sound clips from Ureca

2005-01-03T17:21:00.000-05:00

Here are digital clips of the music at the camp at Ureca, which Andy Maykuth refers to in his Jan. 2 blog entry: Real Media or MP3, 1:07 seconds.

Trash and tourists washing up on our shore

2005-01-03T14:41:00.000-05:00

January 3, 2005
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25878° E 8.48594 ° Elevation 8 feet. Temp: 89° F in the shade

Oh, the humidity.

This is my last day along the sultry coast, where the census-takers for the Bioko project have repeatedly trod the same three paths, counting groups of monkeys and other animals. The data they’ve collected will be crunched and compared to previous years. So far the signs are positive: A fair number of monkeys, often alarmed at the invasion of larger primates, scold us from the branches overhead – a red colobus relieved itself from the trees above on one of the census takers this morning. And we’ve found very few fresh shotgun shells, which indicates that there has been little hunting recently.

We’ll be working on stories for next week that look more closely at the monkey census.

There are only a handful of us left here at the beach camp. In recent days, most of the Arcadia University expedition has departed for the ancient volcano crater called the Gran Caldera de Luba, a two-day hike up to about 3,000 feet. It’s a secluded place, drenched in rain and walled off by imposing chasms. Its isolation is its advantage over the rest of the island – it’s more protected from the commercial hunters who prefer forests from which they can quickly remove their catch. The last surviving monkeys on Bioko island will flee to the caldera for refuge.

Gail W. Hearn, the Arcadia biology professor who is leading the expedition, has reported back to us by satellite telephone from the caldera that everyone is healthy and relatively dry. The census is going slowly because the trails are overgrown and need to be cut.

My interviews and explorations along the coast are nearly finished and I will head up the mountain tomorrow with Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer photographer, Arcadia economics professor Wayne A. Morra and a small entourage of other campers and porters. While Hearn focuses on the research, Morra’s contribution is to keep this large operation running smoothly. He organizes the porters, sorts out and repairs the gear and keeps loads of cargo moving between camps. His bonhomie transcends language, and the Equatoguineans seem to like him a lot and are eager to work for him. They pronounce his name “Wine.”

I like the beach as much as anyone, but the fine, black volcanic sand finds its way into everything – clothing, tents, teeth, computer keyboards. My body is covered with so much sweat and ointment – sunscreen for the beach walks, insect repellant for the bugs and anti-itch cream for when the repellent fails. The only thing the multiple layers of goo seem to do well is collect grit. I’m looking forward to climbing to a higher elevation, where I will get to experience different varieties of biting insects, slightly cooler temperatures but just as much humidity.

I have come to realize that while I like the tropics, I do not love the climate. I dream about ice cubes. I fantasize about hitching a ride with an expedition to Antarctica.

There are barely more than 100 adults living on the southern edge of Bioko, where the warm air coming from the south collides with the dramatic dormant volcano. The air condenses at it gains altitude and releases more than 30 feet of rain a year. The northern end of the island, the populated rain shadow, is fairly dry compared to this place. One might expect that an area as remote and as uninhabited as this would be pristine. But the coastline is littered with debris, much of it washed ashore from the jetsam of passing freighters. It’s a little disappointing to stumble across a hypodermic needle in the sand. The same goes for the trails that cut through the rainforest here, the highways for villagers, fishermen and hunters. It’s easy to find the paths because they are usually marked every few yards by crushed plastic bottles, clumps of fishing nets, empty sardine cans and the discarded plastic footwear worn by Equatoguineans. There are few places on the planet untouched by humans.

*

A curious thing about this beach is that the tides take place at the same time each day. The tides vary in size from day to day, but they always occur at the same time. Nobody from Ureca can offer me a plausible explanation because, to them, all tides everywhere occur at the same time of day. So if any readers out there can help me understand this phenomenon, please weigh in on our Web forum.

*
Speaking of curious tides, this afternoon a boat washed up on our beach bearing three Spanish tourists – two women and a man. They hired Ureca’s cayuco to take them to the village for a two-day visit. The boat had engine problems – not the first time that has happened, we’re told. So they had to stop short of their goal while the boatmen work on the motor overnight.

They don’t look too prepared for this – they’re a little puffy and pale and they’ve packed their gear in luggage with wheels that does not appear to be waterproof. I’m not sure if they knew exactly what they were getting into, but I suppose they are well-meaning – they’re spending money to come here to see turtles. But they didn’t bring much food or a tent. Perhaps they were hoping to find a guest house in Ureca, but I suspect they wouldn’t like the room with the bat where Barbara slept the other night. Wayne Morra has offered them the only spare tent the expedition has – unfortunately, it’s the tent that leaks really badly. At least the mosquito netting is sound, although I see they’ve left the flap open.

They did, however, bring plenty of liquids – a case of bottled water, a case of San Miguel beer and eight liters of boxed red Spanish wine. The alcohol is real currency in this camp. Also, if the tent turns soupy and buggy, they can drink themselves to sleep.

Party on, amigos.

A village greets us, and we are entertained

2005-01-02T14:51:00.000-05:00

January 2, 2005
Ureca, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25587° E 8.58443 ° Elevation 486 feet. Temp: 82° F

Many of the people who live in this village on Bioko island’s southern coast are employed working for the Arcadia University expedition we’ve joined. So the town’s population of 80 adults was depleted of many men when we arrived on New Year’s Day. But that did not dampen the enthusiasm of the women who came out to greet us on Saturday after a grueling six-hour hike along the beach and through the rainforest. It seems many of them were in a New Year’s Day holiday mood, apparently enhanced by prodigious amounts of alcohol.

In short, they were blotto.

Each of our group of four Americans, one Equatoguinean professor and three porters received a bounty of hugs, kisses and cries of “¡Feliz año Nuevo! They were mostly glad to see Wayne A. Morra, the Arcadia economics professor who is the man who organizes much of the difficult logistics behind the expedition while biology Professor Gail A. Hearn concentrates on the animal science.

Since Morra is responsible for the various turtle and primate protection projects that keep this village employed, he is seen as the village’s patron. Soon there were a number of villagers lined up to greet him, and then ask for favors, gifts and shipments of goods in the future. As the most bilingual person of our entourage, it fell to me to translate between the villagers and Morra, who is still working on his Spanish. My Spanish is not perfect, so I hope I didn’t miscommunicate any promises on Morra’s behalf.

There is not much to Ureca village – dirt paths that are as slick as waterslides, a few humble wood houses with dirt floors, a military outpost where six soldiers assigned to this rainy outpost looked glumly at our credentials before allowing us to do our work. There are no cars in the village because you can’t drive there – it’s an eight-hour hike from Luba, the island’s second largest city. In the evening, after a dinner of spaghetti and sardines (which we had brought with us) and two liters of cheap boxed Spanish wine (which we bought from a local person) and some sweet local pineapple, we were entertained by one of the men who brought out a guitar with dented edges and sang, accompanied by several women. Morra recorded some of the music, and we’ll try to upload it for listening on the site.

Us menfolk spent the nights in tents next to the house of one of the turtle-watchers. They cleaned up a nice bed with a mosquito net for Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer's photographer. Alas, while the guys snored away in the yard, Barbara was visited by a bat in her room, which seemed to want to roost beneath her mattress. I don't think she had a restful night, what with nightmares of Transylvania.

I’m writing a story about Ureca for the newspaper, along with Barbara's photographs (though I don't think she got a shot of the bat). We hope to get it in the newspaper in a couple of days. Stay tuned.

Today, after doing some interviews in Ureca this morning, we hiked back to to the expedition’s beach camp. Morra and one of the expedition’s participants, Paul Jaffe, tested a GPS system they are developing that would allow the locals to count wild animals more precisely – that’s the subject of another upcoming story. We saw a few groups of frisky guenons and red colobus monkeys while hiking through the woods, along with many snares set up by the citizens of Ureca. They don’t hunt endangered animals any more, but they are poor people who live off the land, so they are not about to give up eating some of the wild porcupine and tiny antelope called duikers that keep to the ground in the woods. Their favorite game is the giant pouch rat, which they call "ground beef" because it tastes like beef and it scurries across the ground.

After returning to beach camp – a hike of about nine miles – we learned that a substantial rain had come through the camp on Saturday, swamping several tents and forcing the cancellation of the afternoon census. But word came down from the Gran Caldera de Luba, where Hearn is located with about a dozen expedition members, that there was no rain at all yesterday. So the rains that drench this area, caused by warm air coming from the south and condensing as it rises over the caldera, are very much a hit-or-miss proposition.

There was still time left in the day to take a refreshing dip in the ocean and a bath in a stream, following by a half-hour of vigorous laundry scrubbing on a log that seem to have been deposited by the creek for that very purpose. I discovered during the bath the limitations of insect repellent while hiking and sweating profusely – my arms and legs have become a swollen landscape of red welts. But my feet are still in good shape, which is a blessing

Dinner of rice, beans and sardines. No wine tonight. We’re back to roughing it. Flying ants are bouncing off the light from my laptop screen. Gotta file this report and get some sleep.

Dawn on New Year's Day

2005-01-01T01:35:00.000-05:00

January 1, 2005
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25878° E 8.48594 ° Elevation 8 feet. Temp: 75° F

It’s 6 a.m. on New Year’s Day as I write this, which means our friends and family back in the States are blowing their noisemakers and celebrating the New Year at this moment. Here on Bioko, the gray sky with an ambivalent mixture of clouds is beginning to brighten -- a hint of sunrise is in the air. Several tree hyraxes in the forest nearby are our noisemakers, cutting loose with their shrill, ascending call in harmony with the rhythmic crash of the surf and the constant thrum of the crickets.

I hear the camp cook banging some pots over by the kitchen, which has acquired the perpetual smell of fish. I’ll be getting up soon to pack my day bag. A few of us, including Inquirer Photographer Barbara Johnston, will make an overnight hike today to the village of Ureca, the only settlement on Bioko island’s rainy southern coast. We hope to view a sample of life there in a remote village and to talk with villagers about what conservation strategies make sense to them. Ureca is about a five hour hike from here, with several stream crossings.

Since we’ll be packing light, I’m leaving the electronic gear at the beach camp, so this blog will go silent until tomorrow.

Big turtles and starry nights

2004-12-31T14:23:00.000-05:00

December 31, 2004
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.26537° E 8.42135 ° Elevation 15 feet. Temp: 80° F

Late last night I and Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer’s photographer, went out on a moonlit walk on the beach here to look for nesting sea turtles. Our guide was the chief of the local turtle-protection patrol, Epifanio Mualeri Biri. I wrote a story about the turtles, which is supposed to run in the newspaper in the next few days, but I’m not sure the newspaper story conveys what a spectacular sight it is to see a half-ton reptile thrashing about in the sand, laying its eggs.

The GPS coordinates above are for the location where we saw the turtles. It was breathtaking, getting a close look at an animal like the leatherback sea turtle, which has survived for millions of years but is under threat from hunters. It’s a huge creature, jaw-dropping amazing.

We woke up to a clear day today, warm and humid. Tent camping in the tropics – there’s nothing like waking up sticky and sore from sleeping on a hard surface.

But the weather was sublime today. It got up to about 86 degrees in the shade, with a mild wind from the south blowing across our camp. Half the group, including Arcadia University professor Gail W. Hearn, departed this morning to make camp in the Gran Caldera de Luba, the ancient volcano crater that offers the monkeys the most protection from hunters. With half the tents struck, this beach camp has become a bit more quiet, which is fine with me. It was rather crowded here. The group hiked out on a beach trail wearing their beach sandals – the trail crosses several rivers, including one that is waist deep, before ascending to the caldera. They hike slowly, so they will take two days to reach the main camp in the caldera. An Equatoguinean porter carrying 60 pounds can make the hike in only a day.

Here at the beach camp, I’m wrapping up the reporting and writing on a few stories that will appear in the newspaper in the coming days. There’s music in the air as the Equatoguinean students and professors hang out and listen to Cuban salsa playing from portable speakers connected to Professor Wayne Morra’s iPod. They say they’re looking forward to a fiesta tonight, New Year’s Eve. I wonder what they have in store.

After a pleasant bath in a cool stream, I settled down under the tarp that protects our power plant – the gasoline generator and the 12-volt car battery I brought in to keep us supplied with juice. The sun has set, rice and beans were served and a full sky of stars came out – Barbara was astonished there were so many stars, but those of us who have been in Africa before have experienced this delightful sight before.

My apologies for not keeping up on the questions submitted to the Web site. We were unable to make a decent Internet connection on the satellite telephone last night – I think the problem was with our service provider. It was rather strange – I could not connect to many sites, but when I tried logging on to my bank, I was able to get in clean and easy. It’s nice to know I can pay my bills while I’m here in the rainforest.

Tonight the service is restored and our spirits are soaring as 2004 draws to a close.

Happy New Year to all.

Photo from the landing

2004-12-30T14:50:00.000-05:00

Expedition members and porters pull ashore on Moraka beach near the southern end of Bioko Island. BARBARA L. JOHNSTON / Inquirer

Editor's note: More photos will be available online soon. In the meantime, you can see photos from the trip accompanying theses stories:

Valued for its meat, hunted to the brink Published Wednesday, Dec. 29, with photos from bushmeat market.
Prime goal: Preserving a primate
Published Sunday, Dec. 26, with a photo of Mandrillus leucophaeus, an adult male drill.

Camping during the dry season

2004-12-30T14:10:00.000-05:00

December 30, 2004
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25878° E 8.48594 ° Elevation 8 feet. Temp: 81° F

Our group settled into a routine today at this gritty camp on the remote southern shore of Bioko island.

The expedition from Arcadia Univeristy has set up its beach camp among a small clearing in this seemingly endless forest of palms and broadleaf trees. My wife, Amy Blackstone, and I stayed fairly dry in our tent last night, when it seemed to rain pretty much nonstop. A few other campers did not fair so well. One lad from Wichita woke up with a couple of inches of rain gathered at his end of the tent. He’s not in Kansas anymore.

The Arcadia professors leading the group, Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, assigned the 24 members of the expedition to various tasks this morning. Three groups went off on established census trails to count wildlife. Most came back very excited to have seen animals -- there were quite a few sightings of red colobus monkeys and some guenons. Inquirer Photographer Barbara Johnston even caught sight of a drill – the endangered primate that is the central focus of the expedition’s survey. Alas, the drill did not remain stationary long enough for Barbara to get off a shot. Wildlife photography, especially in a rainforest, makes sports photography seem easy.

In the next few days we’ll ask Barbara to offer up an account on this blog about the challenges she is facing.

I spent the morning getting our satellite telephone gear up and running and to work out some kinks in our power supply. The rain paused throughout much of the day, allowing us to do a little laundry in a creek – the fine, black volcanic sand of the beach seems to work its way into every crevice of equipment and clothing. Late in the afternoon, dark, thunderous clouds moved in from the south, blowing over several of tents that are staked down in the sandy soil. The temperature, which had peaked at midday at 92, cooled down rapidly. Those remaining in the camp scurried around, restaking tents and tying lines to trees to keep them from uprooting. Then the rain settled in again for an hour or so.

And this is supposed to be the dry season in Equatorial Guinea.

I’m making arrangements to go out this evening with some of the guards who patrol the beaches here to discourage turtle poaching – the Bioko project has hired a few dozen locals to protect the sea turtles that nest here this time of year. We hope to put together a story on their work for the newspaper in the coming days.

If the weather holds.

A beach landing in the rainforest

2004-12-29T14:18:00.000-05:00

December 29, 2004
Moraka Beach, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.25878° E 8.48594 ° Elevation 8 feet. Temp: 79° F

There’s a reason they call this a rainforest.

In the four hours since our expedition to save endangered species arrived at this remote beach on the southern coast of Bioko island, we’ve probably seen at least one inch out of the more than 30 feet of rain that falls here every year. We’re pretty much drenched. Fortunately, our gear was stored in rubberized dry bags, so our stuff is in good shape.

The boat that brought us here just departed with a toot of its horn. Amerada Hess, one of the oil companies drilling in Equatorial Guinea’s waters, gave a huge gift to the Arcadia University project by using one of its work boats to bring the expedition here.

We loaded our gear on the 152-foot Seabulk St. Tammany this morning at the port in Malabo, on the north side of Bioko island. Last year the expedition had to make its way to the remote southern beaches in locally built wooden boats called cayucos. Crammed into the boats, expedition members said it took eight hours last year to sail around the island to make the landing at Moraka beach. All day in a hot boat, and no toilets.

Our journey was luxurious by comparison. The St. Tammany steams along at 18 knots, so it got us here in three hours. The crew provided us with cold soft drinks and Danish. “Oh, I like this boat,” said Gail W. Hearn, the Arcadia biology professor who is leading the expedition. “This is the way to travel, eating pastries.”

As we rounded the southwest corner of Bioko island, the group paused to observe a local custom – taking a sip of rum, but throwing some of it overboard to acknowledge the ancestors. Claudio Posa, one of the local professors who has joined the expedition, said the custom would bring us good luck and good weather.

Soon thereafter, it started to rain.

As we circled Bioko island, the dramatic landscape played out in front of us – the base of an ancient volcano, its sides cut by deep ravines and covered in dense forest, with misty clouds rising from the chasms. About 20 porters were waiting for us on the black-sand beach – word had been sent ahead that Doctora Hearn’s group from Philadelphia was returning for its annual expedition. There were hugs and abrazos all around. The people here seem very fond and loyal to Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, the other Arcadia professor who leads the mission.

The St. Tammany’s captain kept the vessel a few hundred yards offshore while we ferried the group and our goods to shore (the expedition numbers 24 people – less than anticipated because there were a few late cancellations). It took nearly four hours to bring all our luggage ashore in two small inflatable boats. The boats had to thread through the surf without hitting an outcropping of volcanic rocks upon which the Atlantic crashed. The crew of the St. Tammany did an expert job. Only once did the inflatable boat capsize as it made its way through the surf. No damage, thanks to the dry bags.

We’re setting up our tents around a wooden house that was built here in the 90s with the hope that tourists soon would come. It’s now occupied by some of the guards that Arcadia employs to keep poachers away from the sea turtles that nest on these beaches.

Of bushmeat and breakfast tests

2004-12-28T14:24:00.000-05:00

December 28, 2004
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74949° E 8.76031 Elevation 122 feet. Temp: 88° F

The Arcadia University expedition to Bioko sped through an intense day of buying, collecting and sorting gear for our journey tomorrow to the island’s southern highlands.

Earlier I had published an estimate that the group of about 30 people would take about a ton of gear by boat and make a beach landing before beginning two weeks of searching for endangered animals. But it’s clear that estimate was too conservative. Today the group’s leaders bought a half ton of rice alone. Then you start counting beans, sugar, coffee and cases of canned sardines and tomato paste. Bags of toilet paper, soap, tea. Satellite telephones and three generators, along with maybe 20 gallons of fuel. There’s an inflatable Zodiac boat (which developed a leak that fortunately was repaired with a tire patch). The group is bringing about 16 tents. Lifejackets for everyone. And each person is carrying their own personal gear, including lunches for two weeks. We are packing heavy.

The plan is to depart at dawn on Wednesday.

Today began on a sad note and then went downhill fast. We checked the Internet and learned that the Iggles lost the game on Monday Night Football – we’re six hours ahead of the East Coast, so the game actually ended around dawn here. And then we got news about the devastation from the tsunami in Asia, and the scale of the disaster is beginning to sink in.

Later, I and Barbara Johnston, the Inquirer’s photographer, went to the central market in Malabo to work on a story about the bushmeat market. This is the place where much of the carcasses of wild animals – including several endangered primates – are sold to be eaten.

I spent some time at the market a few weeks ago when I made a fact-finding mission to Malabo to set up the permits for us to do our work. There weren’t as many animals in the market this time as there were before – we were told the market gets busier toward the weekend.

But it was equally repugnant this time as last.

It’s pretty hard to suspend judgment and consider the consumption of wild animals in a cultural context. Actually, I had to suppress the urge to hurl. The stench, the appearance of poorly preserved animals oozing and attracting flies, it nearly overwhelmed my journalistic sense of detachment. Hats off to Barbara, who really stuck her lens close to the pile of carcasses to capture the image of the market vendors blithely fanning the flies from the food. It took a couple of hours to get the market odor out of my clothes after we left. I hope the story I wrote for Wednesday’s paper on bushmeat passes the “breakfast test” – that’s the term we use for a story that is so gross it makes readers unable to their finish breakfast. I’ll let the editors be the judge of that.

Meanwhile, the Arcadia expedition leaders – Professors Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra – have so far been unable to get a satellite telephone released from custody. Airport customs agents confiscated the phone when our group arrived on Sunday (several more got through, fortunately, so we are not entirely incommunicado). Officials at ExxonMobil, the leading oil producer in Equatorial Guinea, which is providing logistical support to the expedition, wrote a letters to several ministers seeking the telephone’s release. The head of the National University of Equatorial Guinea also promised to see what he could do. But despite lots of letters and strings pulled, the telephone is still being held hostage. It makes me grateful that I was able to get the Inquirer’s permits in order earlier this month in only five days of schmoozing and letter writing – at the time, it seemed like forever. That gives you an idea of how much patience it takes to work in this country – not just for journalists and academics, but any business that wants to invest in this place.

But as they say with a sigh around the continent, T.A.B. – That’s Africa, Baby.

Warnings about worms and coups

2004-12-27T10:41:00.000-05:00

December 27, 2004
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74949° E 8.76031 Elevation 122 feet. Temp: 85° F

We woke this morning to a light drizzle on our tents, which did not raise my spirits because we are staying at the dry end of Bioko island, and this is supposed to be the dry season in Equatorial Guinea. The rainforest on the southern end of Bioko, where we are traveling in two days to begin our quest to count endangered animals, gets much more rain. I’ll try not to read too much into this early precipitation – we’re on a scientific mission here, so we are motivated by facts, not superstition. I’ll just consider it a friendly reminder that we are working in a humid climate.

The Arcadia University leaders of the expedition outlined some rules of proper behavior in Equatorial Guinea, whose people seem very friendly, though slightly suspicious of outsiders. The government here is hardly unique in Africa, where most colonists departed abruptly in the ’60s, leaving nations ill-equipped to govern themselves democratically. The Equatoguinean regime has been in power for 25 years, surviving periodic coup attempts, some real and others that look suspiciously more like manufactured pretexts for cracking down on the opposition. Freedom of expression is a foreign concept – the state owns the TV station, the radio station and the monthly newspaper –newspapers are not exactly a powerful medium in this part of the world. Nevertheless, the government does appear to be investing some of its resources into upgrading its infrastructure – the national university is improving each year. T

he Arcadia visitors were told this morning that it’s best to stay quiet about the government. “We’re apolitical,” said Wayne A. Morra, an economics professor who is co-leader of the expedition. “We’re here for the animals.”

Speaking of animals, our group received some thought-provoking guidance this morning from our hosts, the local ExxonMobil subsidiary that has allowed us to camp on their soccer field. The oil company’s medic treated us to a lecture about snakes, HIV-AIDS, malaria and other parasitical ailments that we may encounter. My favorite was the mango fly, whose larvae burrow themselves beneath the skin, causing a horrible boil. They are treated with a generous coating of Vaseline, which causes the worm to gasp for air and erupt to the skin’s surface in a matter of minutes. Gail W. Hearn, the biologist leading the expedition, pointed out that it was only a maggot. A couple of the expedition members cringed after hearing that description.

At the conclusion of the medic’s lecture, there was a small stampede to his office to get new supplies of repellant and insecticides.

The ExxonMobil security chief gave us a talk about avoiding crime, and also what to do in case of a coup – namely, do everything you can to get out of the way and look unthreatening to the government. Many of the members of the expedition have never been to a country like Equatorial Guinea, so I think they already have experienced something that most tourists don’t get to tell their friends when they return home.

Meanwhile, the group is preparing the gear for our trek. It’s all laid out under an awning on the soccer field. We’re carrying quite a lot of stuff – tents, cooking utensils, stoves, lanterns, life jackets, generators, satellite telephones – enough for the 30 or so members of the expedition, plus food for everyone, including 20 porters. The Zodiac boat that the group would use to send for help in an emergency was inflated and discovered to contain a hole. But it’s better to discover that now than when a real emergency arises.

And speaking of real emergencies, I glanced at a television at the oil company compound and caught an update on the tsunamis that have devastated the Indian Ocean coast. It was a brief, shocking glimpse at the rest of the world beyond our island.

Arrival in Malabo

2004-12-26T13:37:00.000-05:00

December 26, 2004
Malabo, Equatorial Guinea
N 3.74647° E 8.77472 Elevation 126 feet. Temp: 86° F

Our group arrived in Malabo this afternoon, safe and sound, though a little weary from more than 24 hours of continuous travel. I am a little sleep-deprived after two six-hour flights on crowded planes, where I unfortunately sat in front of passengers who could not keep their feet off the back of my seat.

The Malabo airport is new and modern, thanks to the oil income that has been flowing into this tiny nation for the last decade. But the airport officials still follow Africa’s old rules. The customs agents at the airport took a dislike to the camouflage gaiters that an Arcadia student brought in -- the expedition leaders had warned us to avoid anything with a military appearance. After a coup attempt earlier this year, the government is suspicious of anything that might be used to topple the president, even a pair of cammy spats. The student was taken in for questioning, along with Gail W. Hearn, the Arcadia professor who is leading the expedition. They were released a short while later, although the agents kept one of the expedition’s satellite telephones for reasons that are not entirely clear. The expedition’s local friends seem to think they will get the equipment returned without difficulty. This is a pretty normal reception in a place like Equatorial Guinea.

Barbara, the photographer, and I got through customs without too much hassle – I think the agents were bored with our group by the time we slogged through. We certainly carried enough stuff to cause alarm, but the agent just shrugged at the items we had containing our satellite telephone and Barbara’s extensive camera collection.

We’re setting up tents on the lawn of one of the oil companies that is working in Equatorial Guinea, ExxonMobil, whose local subsidiary provides support to the Arcadia expedition. We will be treated to oil company food and access to their showers until Wednesday, when a boat has been arranged to take us to the southern end of Bioko island, where our expedition will venture into really wild country. The boat is also being provided by an oil company, Amerada Hess. The Arcadia people seemed to have established conducive relations here with people who can get things done.

It is very muggy in Equatorial Guinea, quite a shock to my system after Philadelphia, where I took a walk yesterday morning at daybreak and the temperature measured 16 degrees. There is so much humidity here that the air-conditioning system in the plane began to spew out fog as soon as the aircraft hit the ground – a strange disco effect to disembarking.

I’ve talked my way into an office at the National University of Equatorial Guinea where I’ve connected to the Internet. The Arcadia folks, funded by a grant from an oil company, set up the Internet connection here.

We begin our journey

2004-12-25T10:12:00.000-05:00

December 25, 2004
Glenside, Pa., USA
N 40.09243° W 75.16562° Elevation 306 feet. Temp: 24° F

While many Americans are relaxing at home this Christmas morning, I and my colleague Barbara Johnston of The Philadelphia Inquirer are gathering at a loading dock at Arcadia University in Glenside, a suburb north of Philadelphia. We’re here to meet Gail W. Hearn and Wayne A. Morra, Arcadia professors who are leading a group of 32 volunteers, scientists and students on a three-week journey to Equatorial Guinea in Africa.

The expedition’s goal is to trek to a remote rainforest on Bioko island (about 20 miles off the coast of mainland Africa) to count endangered monkeys and sea turtles. The beach where we will be landing and the ancient volcano crater into which we will hike have one of the highest concentrations of primates in Africa. But the goal for the two Philadelphia academics is much more ambitious than counting animals – they’re committed to saving the animals from extinction on Bioko island, a place they have come to feel fondly about over the years.

The expedition’s immediate aim will be focused on counting several mammals and reptiles, one of which starkly symbolizes the peril of the wildlife on Bioko – a primate called the drill. Hearn calls the drill Africa’s most endangered monkey. It’s a magnificent creature -- the males weigh more than 50 pounds, and they have a striking face ringed by a gray beard and a bright red lower lip. They’re clever creatures and very elusive. Few photographs have been taken of them in the wild, partly because there are so few of them left to photograph. They’re being hunted relentlessly for food.

We’re meeting about a dozen of the team here at Arcadia. Some members of the expedition, including about 13 Equatoguineans, are already in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea. Others will arrive from other parts of the world – California, Wisconsin, Washington, Spain. Today we’re packing up our camping gear and setting off by van to New York’s JFK airport, where we depart this evening for Madrid. Tomorrow we should be in Malabo. We’re departing on Christmas Day as a matter of convenience – cheap airfares are more plentiful, and this departure date coincides with Arcadia’s academic schedule. It’s also the dry season on Bioko, which is a critical issue – the rainforest to which we’re traveling gets more than 30 feet of rain a year. That’s an inch a day.

A few words about our ambitious journalistic plans. Barbara and I will be filing stories for The Philadelphia Inquirer every three or four days, starting tomorrow, Sunday Dec. 26. I have about eight stories sketched out in my mind, and spent recent weeks doing the background reporting for those stories. In addition to the newspaper reports, we’ll be filing daily updates on the expedition at the newspaper’s website, www.philly.com. This link will take you directly to the series: http://go.philly.com/africa

The wilderness is unwired, so we will have to carry in all the gear we need to transmit our stories. Barbara and I are each lugging a laptop. We're also carrying a portable satellite telephone whose flat antenna unfolds to about the size of newspaper’s front page -- it allows us to make a fairly high-speed connection for uploading photographs. Barbara is also hauling a 500 mm lens, one of those cannons you see propped up near the endzone of an NFL game.

Power is another issue. The expedition runs three camps from which it conducts the animal census. Each camp has a small gasoline generator to power the expedition’s satellite telephones, which they use to communicate among the camps and also in case of an emergency. We’re planning to plug our gear into those generators. An undertaking of this scale is also possible only because the expedition will employ about 20 porters to help haul our gear into the rainforest. They have their work cut out for them. My gear alone weighs more than 120 pounds (a lot of that is trail food).

I’ve done a lot of primitive camping, and I’ve also transmitted stories from remote places. But there are many aspects to this expedition that worry me. We won’t be hiking at very high altitudes – not much higher than 4,000 feet. And the porters will lighten our loads. But the area where we’re traveling can be very wet, which will be a problem for all the electronic gear we’re carrying. I have invested heavily in plastic containers and bags. I’m also taking about a pound and a half of silica gel, which I’ll roast periodically over a campfire to expel the moisture that it absorbs from our gear.

The ancient crater where we’ll be camped, the Gran Caldera de Luba, is covered with dense rainforest, so I’m not sure if we’ll get a clear satellite signal through the trees to upload our data. And managing our power will be critical. Between the computers, the satellite telephone, Barbara’s digital cameras, and the GPS, we will require our own little portable electrical power grid. We will carry a 12-volt lead-acid automobile battery as a backup power supply (I fear the porters will flee when they see my stuff). If we run low on gasoline or our equipment starts breaking down, we will go into Apollo 13 mode – shutting down equipment in order to conserve power. If we have to go silent on the Web site for a few days, bear with us. We’ll be back.

The aim of this blog is to provide some of the backstory to our work, an outlet for some of the things we observe and experience that won’t make it into the newspaper stories. It will be a little more conversational and informal than the newspaper stories. I spent six years living and working in Africa for the Inquirer, and I spent eight days in Equatorial Guinea at the beginning of December doing some background work for this series (mostly convincing suspicious officials of the sincerity of the newspaper’s mission). So I have an appreciation for some of the obstacles we will be encountering in the coming weeks. A large percentage of the work journalists do in the developing world is logistical – the paperwork, the police checks, the equipment breakages and the bedbugs. But sometimes the tales that emerge in the quest to get the story are as entertaining and revealing as the news story itself.

My interest in doing this is professional and personal. I think the newspaper business inevitably is moving towards a multimedia platform, so I’m grateful The Inquirer is willing to experiment with this format (wait ‘til they add up the expense reports!). I have the ulterior motive of getting out of Philadelphia in January, though we should be back in time to see the Eagles in the playoffs. I will get to travel to a dramatic setting that is usually closed off to outsiders. I’m sure we’ll meet some extraordinary people. I hope to see creatures in the wild that are rarely seen even in zoos – many of the Old World primates from Africa do not adapt well to captivity.

And I hope we can share much of what we experience with our readers. It’s also my desire that the stories provoke at least a moment’s reflection on how we live on Earth, the relationship between humans and animals, and the relationship of Americans and the people who occupy the rest of the planet.

Feel free to send your questions or comments to me and Barbara and the Arcadia team, and we’ll try to respond as long as the equipment holds up. For some background on the expedition, the best place to start is the Web site of Hearn and Morra’s project, the Bioko Biodiversity Protection Program: www.bioko.org.