The Sounds of Bwindi

In this remote corner of Africa, bounded by the DRC, Tanzania, and Uganda, it is a rural, agrarian society.  Although electricity is available, not everyone has it and it has been out for twenty-four hours now, but not here where we are blessed by the hospital's generator.  We had a downpour last evening, and as a precaution against damage to the turbine that creates the electricity from the dammed water flowing past its fans, the water in the channel to the dam was diverted back into the river.  As we walked past it today (I was with two men), the power plant was silent, the spillway empty.  There is universal cell coverage, provided by satellites, I think, so many people have cell phones, but not all.

The Hydro-electric Pland

My room is in the back of the Guest House, and I like my windows open (the low this morning was 69F, and the high this afternoon 73).  The humidity is always high, and the only wind comes with the almost daily thunderstorms.  It has not been a destructive wind, nor has the lightening struck close by.  The valley is very deep, and people don't seem to fear it.  Life goes on the midst of crackling thunder and torrential rainfall.  And the sounds of life are everywhere around, as is life itself.  Many nights there have been drums continuously until 3 or 4 in the morning, endlessly repeating the same rhythm.  I dared to complain at dinner one evening, and Leonard (one of the Ugandan physicians who comes frequently) mentioned that it might be part of a ceremony honoring a death..."when they are very old, many days are needed."  The sound was suddenly not so irritating.  There are of course, birds calling at daybreak, and all day long.  At night, when the drums are silent, it's very quiet, since there are so few vehicles.  And with no lights, people sleep at night, especially when they've worked physically all day long, to wash clothes by hand in tubs of water, to cook every single mouthful from its raw ingredients, to walk everywhere they want to go, and to milk cows, collect eggs, tend gardens, and mind children.  Although I will say that children are left pretty much to roam free after a certain age.

But in the morning, as people awaken after the twelve hours of darkness, there is a continuous hum of human murmuring, surrounding everything.  The vegetation is so dense, and the area so remote, one might think they were in a wilderness.  It is so not so, except for the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, which is a park.  Outside that set aside area, there are people, animals, homes and children everywhere, except on the steepest hillsides.  No roads, but trails.  Acres of tea plantations, but homes everywhere.  Because the weather is so mild constantly, kitchens are outside, and lives are lived outside.  Flip-flops are the most common footwear I've seen.  Goats blatting, cows lowing, children laughing and playing all create a low murmur all day long, every day.  No yelling, no screaming, very little crying of babies or children.  Just the sounds of humanity and all that goes with it. 

There's also always the sound of running water, in all the valleys, running down the hillsides and into the river at the bottom.  This is the rainy season, and daily thundershowers and storms are the rule, rather than the exception.  The sound of rushing water waxes and wanes depending on the volume, but it's always there. 

A waterfall along the river