Gorilla Doctors

Category: Field Procedures, Monitoring Visits | Date: May 05 2008 | By: admin

Nyiramurema carrying Umoja the day before surgery.

Nyiramurema seemed to realize her mistake. She turned sharply and headed uphill before the trackers even got close. Still woozy from the anesthetic, she tried to run, limping as usual, and stumbling in the effort to carry her infant. It didn’t help that she’s blind in one eye. I followed her dark outline through the dense vegetation. She navigated several obstacles, holding onto Umoja, then fell on her belly. Umoja slipped off her back. He barely moved and made no sound. Nyiramurema didn’t even glance back at him as she rose; instead, she took off at a run. In a few seconds, she’d disappeared.

Umoja nursing from Nyiramurema the day before surgery.

A wave of fear hit me. Healthy juvenile gorillas can find their way back to their mothers and family group if placed nearby, but this was a two-year old with a broken leg. If Nyiramurema rejoined the group without her infant, would she look for him later? If Kwitonda figured out that we’d intervened, he might move even faster uphill, away from the infant. Umoja needed his mother’s milk, body heat, and protection. The group might not find him in time. Or, he might be rejected.

Nyiramurema moving through dense bamboo.

I looked at the trackers, raising my eyebrows in an effort to signal “Should we carry him to the mother?!” (They speak mostly Kinyarwanda.) I asked the same to Elisabeth in English. Nobody moved or said a word. For a moment, we were all at a loss. We could no longer hear Nyiramurema. I asked Magda what she thought. My instinct was to pick up Umoja and run uphill in the hope that we could still find his mother and set him down near her, ideally on a trail leading back to the group.

Umoja covering his eyes, a sign of agitation and discomfort (the day before surgery.)

Magda agreed we should make the effort. Elisabeth nodded her head. I put my mask and gloves back on and picked Umoja up with my right arm under his buttocks, trying not to knock his broken leg or touch the surgery site, and my left under his left armpit. It didn’t feel right to be holding a wild gorilla so closely, but I didn’t see any other way. The infant barely reacted, raising his hands over his head. I began climbing, knowing I’d need help from one of the trackers soon. We needed to quickly get between the mother and the rest of the gorillas so that we could leave the infant in her path.

Kwitonda Group trackers during the intervention to remove Magayane’s snare (see blog); Pierre is in the middle.

I ran out of strength after ten minutes. Umoja weighs only about 15 pounds, but I’m not used to carrying that weight up hill on uneven ground. I didn’t want to slip and fall, or run completely out of energy. The vet work might not be over. I asked again for help from the trackers. Pierre, the tallest and strongest of them took the infant from me. He carried Umoja carefully, and with ease. Elisabeth called back and forth on the radio, trying to find out from the trackers where we should be heading. Suddenly, we heard gorillas. We stopped, hoping to intercept Nyiramurema as she caught up with the group.

Dr. Lucy Spelman tries to warm up Umoja without getting too close to him.

I took Umoja back from Pierre, thinking we should set the infant down in the vegetation near the gorilla group sooner rather than later. But our patient now felt cold, and his hair was damp. He had been relatively dry at the end of his surgery, but had since been carried through the wet forest on his mother’s back. If I put him down, the other gorillas ignored him, and the mother didn’t appear soon, he could become hypothermic. Sweating from the effort of having carried him uphill, I decided to sit with the infant in my lap, let my body heat warm him, and wait quietly, hoping Elisabeth and the trackers would soon confirm the mother’s location.

Kigoma, one of two black backs in Kwitonda Group.

A few minutes later, I caught a glimpse of a gorilla in a tree to my left nearby. Magda and Elisabeth confirmed the group was very close. Umoja’s older sister Chiri was also nearby, a good sign. I hoped they couldn’t see me holding the infant. They would have every right to charge me. Umoja had begun to warm up and regain some strength, moving his arms a bit and opening his mouth. His broken leg trembled but he seemed amazingly calm otherwise.

Nyiramurema eating bamboo shoots with Umoja lying on his back nearby, after medical intervention.

Seconds later, the vegetation crackled to my right. No matter which gorilla it was, I was in a dangerous position with Umoja in my arms. We thought it could be the mother. I put the infant on the ground in a pile of recently eaten bamboo shoots. He rolled downhill a bit, and we all backpedaled. Seconds later, Nyiramurema appeared. She paused only briefly, picking Umoja up matter-of-factly, as if she’d expected to find him there and went on her way. Twenty minutes later, we watched her eating bamboo with the main group, the infant at her side and Chiri once again nearby.

Umoja’s mother, Nyiramurema.

The infant lowland gorilla at the National Zoo whose wound I’d repaired grew up with no recognition of me as a bad person. His mother, however, has never forgotten. Every time I’ve gone back to visit, she regards me with what I would characterize as a glare. Nyiramurema never saw the dart, and never saw me holding her infant, but will she know me or Magda? We’ll find out soon enough. One of us will check on Umoja every day until he’s out of danger. We’re crossing our fingers that he’ll live long enough to learn to recognize his doctors.

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