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“there were millions of bats.” |
Our guide, Coolo, led us into the Maramagambo forest with a wealth of knowledge he really wanted to share. His enthusiasm and energy were contagious and without obstacle. I wish we had taken a longer hike with him, this one just lasted a couple hours.
The name of the forest comes from the story that a group of people were lost in the young forest, who took many days to emerge, and when they did they could not speak for a long time. Their exhaustion was so complete that it inspired the naming of the forest- maramagambo, which means 'the end of words'.
Coolo then led us up a gradual but tall hill, to where we looked down at a small pond, called camaron jojo (not sure about the spelling). The story for this one was that hunters were pursuing an elephant, and the elephant ran down the hill to swim across the lake (elephants are the only other large mammals that can swim long distances) to lose his seekers. The lake was so deep that, surprised, the elephant drowned. The lake is volcanic, with depths of up to 45 meters. Camaron jojo means "swallow an elephant."
Above the lake, where a waterfall feeds the body below, was the cave. It was beautiful, shrouded in thick, dripping moss. The growth around the cave glowed in healthy greens, fertilized by the rocks of guano deposited at the floor of the cave. I remembered hearing that the air inside a batcave is toxic, but one side of the cave was open, giving an eery quality to the vision before us. Coolo signaled me over so that I could capture a shot of the python that slithered below the rocks we balanced on. The carnivorous snakes probably find easy meals from dead or fallen bats.
There were millions of bats. Or thousands or hundreds of thousands, moreover, there were more bats than I'd ever imagined! What surprised me, although I must consider that it was daylight, was the commotion. At any given time a few dozen bats were changing positions. They hovered around and found new 'perches' to squeeze their tiny bodies within. I wish I knew why they needed new space or what characteristics of the stone attracted the creatures.As many hung, their eyes were open. The faces looked like rodents, but had a cuteness about them. These were fruitbats, and were about the size of a kitten. They had ashen, soft-looking fur, and funny wrinkled noses. The power of their senses is baffling, and the noise was pervasive. But nothing compared to the smell, which was completely original. Coolo introduced them to us by "then we will happen upon a cave of thousands of smelly bats," and his succinctness is enviable.
That night was the hatching of the lake flies. I had to research the phenomenon when I returned, and found that it's quite common, once a month for the warmer seasons, to have an infestation wherein a hatching of the flies, about the size of blackflies but paler, fill the air in Biblical proportions. This, I do not exaggerate. That night we ate in the dark, eating the flies, breathing the flies, as they flew into our clothes and tents and books with a density like smoke. It was a miraculous swarm. One of those moments when you absolutely love the planet you live on. Unfortunately I cannot share the experience because I only took a video, but those of you who do not like insects can be thankful, and those with my curiosity can look for photos of chironomidae (also known as the midge fly) swarms.
We left the next morning for Rwanda.
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