116 - GORONGOSA NO SUNDAY TIMES

O jornal Britânico "Sunday Times" publicou um interessante artigo sobre a Gorongosa escrito por Chris Haslam, que esteve durante algum tempo a visitar o Parque Nacional da Gorongosa.
O título do artigo é "Big Ears Strikes Back" e de acordo com Chris Haslam:

"O  PARQUE NACIONAL DA GORONGOSA é a maior maravilha de Moçambique — África em miniatura, com um ecossistema que parece ser o protótipo divino."

Este título encabeça o artigo integralmente transcrito no site oficial do PNG e que acabamos de receber através do Dr. Vasco Galante, que sempre nos mantém informados das reacções que os mais diversos órgãos de comunicação de todo o mundo têm tido nos últimos anos em relação aos progressos alcançados neste Parque a partir de 2004, altura em que o filantropo americano Greg Carr iniciou  ali um bem sucedido - e sem precedentes -, projecto de recuperação.

Dado o seu interesse, a seguir se transcreve o texto (na forma original) do mesmo artigo, recomendando-se a quem necessitar o uso deste tradutor:

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The lions turned up

just after three in

the morning. Two

big males, right outside

my tent. Their

roaring had woken

the whole camp, but

nobody could move.

First off, these were Gorongosa

lions, which consider humans

legitimate prey, and second,

the pride had us surrounded.

I lay still, my wine-soaked

brain telling my adrenalinestoked

heart that lions. Never.

Enter. Closed. Tents. The roaring

stopped. Through the mesh door,

I could see their silhouettes,

slightly darker than the surrounding

forest. I could hear

their breathing: short, stressedout

grunts. I could smell their

fetid breath.

I reasoned that if I kept my

movements to a minimum, they

wouldn’t see me. Fool. They see

better at night than a police

surveillance helicopter, and their

sense of smell is acute enough

to distinguish perspiration from

cold sweat. But they never come

into closed tents.

The nearest of the pair probed

the canvas with a paw. Then he

pressed his nose against the

mosquito-net door. I could hear

the scratch of his whiskers

against the mesh, the tinkling of

the zip puller, the belated alarm

call of a thick-tailed bushbaby

somewhere in the trees above.

And it was then, with utter

horror, that I realised I hadn’t

zipped the net door shut. This

was not a closed tent.

GORONGOSA NATIONAL PARK

is Mozambique’s greatest wonder

— Africa in miniature, with an

ecosystem that looks like the

divine prototype. In the north,

the 6,000ft walls of the Gorongosa

massif force easterlies from the

Indian Ocean to rise, condense

and fall as rain, watering 1,550

square miles of dense forest,

wetland, open savanna and lake.

In one day, you can find

shades of the Congo, the Mara,

the Okavango and the Mountains

of the Moon.

Naturalists call it Africa’s lost

Eden, and in the late 1960s, it was

reputed to be the finest national

park on the continent, with more

predators than the Kruger and

denser herds of ungulates such

as wildebeest and buffalo than

the Serengeti. Hunting was

banned in 1956, and celebrities

such as John Wayne and Tippi

Hedren flocked to Chitengo camp

to experience a new style of safari

on which nothing got shot.

Gorongosa came through the

war of independence untouched,

and in 1976 it had the largest

population of lions anywhere in

Africa. Then, in 1981, it all went

wrong. Civil war broke out and

the park became a battleground

between the Frelimo government

and Renamo rebels.

Chitengo was destroyed, tens

of thousands of mines were laid,

and air and artillery strikes

shredded the forest. The wildebeest

were slaughtered to feed

the troops. The elephants were

poached for their ivory. Only the

waterbuck were unmolested —

their inedibility being their

greatest asset. By the end of the

war, in 1992, populations of some

species had been reduced by 90%

or more — of one buffalo herd

numbering 14,000, fewer than 50

had survived, and of the masses

of blue wildebeest, there were

just five traumatised individuals.

The people had suffered, too:

Gorongosa’s lions and crocodiles

had grown fat on the flesh of

refugees. Villager Joao Antonio

recalled his family’s flight after

being chased away by Frelimo

forces. “It was a dark night. My

aunt was carrying my baby

sister. We were running because

the rebels would kill us if they

caught us. I heard my aunt

scream, then the lions.” He

paused. “We did not stop.”

In 2000, a chance introduction

at a New York cocktail party

brought the American philanthropist

Greg Carr face to face

with the Mozambican ambassador,

Carlos dos Santos. Carr,

who had made his millions

selling voicemail systems to

business, accepted an invitation

to visit Gorongosa, saw the

potential and immediately

pledged $500,000 to rebuild the

place. That figure soon became

£16m, in return for a 20-year shot

at resurrecting the park.

Its recovery has as much to do

with nature’s capacity for selfrepair

as it does with Carr’s cash.

He relocated herds of buffalo

from the Limpopo national park

and from Kruger in South Africa,

and brought in elephants,

hippos, blue wildebeest and

cheetahs. The zebras returned,

followed by the antelopes.

The infrastructure, however,

remains reassuringly basic.

There are just two camps — the

rebuilt Chitengo, at the park

entrance, and Explore Gorongosa,

where I stayed, which has just

six tents, bush toilets and the

shambolic feel of a research

camp. Come at the end of dry

season and you’ll have a chunk

of Africa the size of Suffolk to

yourself. Most of it is inaccessible

and, in recent times, unexplored;

this is no place for those who

want to tick off the Big Five, then

return to a luxury camp for a spa

treatment. It’s a park for those

seeking raw, unchoreographed

Africa — a home for beasts who do

not yet know their place.

By late November, the Sungue

River is a necklace of shrinking

pools on a serpentine ribbon of

dust. Covered in a dense rug of

Nile cabbage, these ponds are

death traps for the unwary.

“Be very quick and very

careful,” said our guide, Jeff

Trollip, as we tiptoed around one.

“Don’t for Christ’s sake fall in.”

From the high rocks, baboons

were watching hopefully, like

safari tourists waiting for the

kill. The blackened backbone and

ribs of a zebra, exposed by the

dwindling water levels, attested

to the presence of a monster croc

that could explode from the

water with terrifying speed. By

mid-morning, however, the

pools were too hot for the crocs.

We followed tracks up the

bank and into the forest. The

darkness was tangible, the leaf

litter scattered with fallen trees

and huge logs. One of those

logs had a glint in its eye. And a

sawmill mouth of yellow teeth.

Outside of Australia, she was

the biggest crocodile I’d ever

seen, and she considered

our company a threat.

The feeling was

entirely mutual, but

the standoff was cut

short by elephants.

The herd was so far

away that only Alfonso

Bereira, the tracker, could hear

them, but there seemed to be a

pressing need to get back to the

safety of the vehicle before they

arrived. “They’re not hostile,”

Jeff lied. “But they

remember what

people did to

them in the war.”

Fleeing one herd,

we met another. The

adults were tuskless —

possibly the result of an

emergency evolutionary response

to poachers — but lack of ivory

didn’t mean lack of aggression.

The adults formed a defensive

circle under a sausage tree,

dragging the toddlers inside with

twitching trunks, grunting and

farting in fear.

Suddenly a young female

charged the vehicle, her acceleration

proof enough that this

was no feint. Jeff sped away,

stopping 200 yards down the

track, but she kept coming

— and coming — until

she had pushed us a good half

a mile from the herd.

Back at camp, Jeff was called

away to deal with an uninvited

guest. He was pale-faced and

wide-eyed when I caught up

with him, carrying a plastic box.

Inside was a 6ft snake, a black

mamba that had moved into

an outbuilding. Catching it had

been trickier than he had

thought, and the trickle of

venom on his face showed how

close he’d come to getting nailed.

The release was an African

botch job. We drove three miles

from camp to let the snake go —

mambas possess an uncanny

homing instinct — but before

the awkward moment of opening

the box, someone asked Jeff

what his plan was in the event

that he got bitten. Radio? Helicopter?

Antivenom? He waved

a dismissive hand. “If I get

whacked, it will take more than

an hour for a heli to get here,”

he replied. “I’ll be stiff by then.”

Predictably, the furious snake

headed straight for the vehicle

when released — and arrived

back in camp 48 hours later.

This first day in camp brought

other surprises: a python in a

thorn tree, a suicidal monitor

lizard making repeated attempts

on a crocodile’s eggs and a sunset

over Lake Urema pixelated by

tens of thousands of flocking

waders. Over dinner, we discussed

the threats facing Gorongosa

— poaching, deforestation

and Chinese mining interests

in the mountains that could

disrupt and contaminate the

watershed.

Then I asked about lions.

Where were they? It was a dumb,

touristy question, and it got the

smartarse guidey reply.

“Oh, they’re out there,” said

Jeff, peering into the darkness.

“They’re probably watching you

right now.”

Yeah, right. I finished my

wine and went to bed.

Chris Haslam travelled as a guest

of Aardvark Safaris

Travel brief:

Aardvark Safaris

(01980 849160, aardvarksafaris.

co.uk) has a four-night stay at

Gorongosa, with three nights at

the White Pearl resort, on the

south coast, from £3,245pp,

including flights from Heathrow

to Beira via Johannesburg,

light aircraft transfers into the

park, all meals and game drives.

Or try Rainbow Tours (020 7666

1250, rainbowtours.co.uk) or

Abercrombie & Kent (0845 485

1565, abercrombiekent.co.uk).

Once devastated by war, a national park in Mozambique is now

again teeming with (rather terrifying) wildlife. By

Chris Haslam

(fim de citação)

NOTA À MARGEM

Embora a informação e algumas observações contidas neste artigo sejam a repetição de muitas dezenas (ou mesmo centenas) de anteriores artigos, documentários cinematográficos, programas de rádio e televisão, entrevistas, crónicas, etc., a verdade é que este jornalista soube também enquadrar  expressões que merecem  todo o destaque porque são um autêntico hino de enaltecimento às maravilhosas condições do Parque Nacional da Gorongosa:

                 - É a maior maravilha de Moçambique
 
                 - É a África em miniatura

                 - Tem um ecossistema que parece ser o protótipo        
                    divino

Fonte de inspiração de muitos escritores, poetas, fotógrafos, cineastas, jornalistas ou simples amantes da natureza, a beleza selvagem da Gorongosa, não obstante os massacres da sua fauna  de que foi vítima nos anos de guerra civil, que lhe roubaram mais de 90% deste importante recurso natural, a verdade é que continua pujante  graças ao conjunto de ecossistemas únicos que a sustentam e ao esforço humano que ali é desenvolvido. Não admira, pois, que continue a inspirar as pessoas sensíveis, como este jornalista!

Saudações amigas!

Setembro, 2012

Celestino Gonçalves

Ver no link abaixo o vídeo da libertação da cobra mamba citada no texto:
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NONOANNN

of those

 

19

thesundaytimes.co.uk/travel 23.09.12

“One of those

logs had a

glint in its eye

and a sawmill

mouth full of

yellow teeth”