Never Run From a Gorilla
We are not women of the forest.
We do not speak Swahili, carry machetes, or dream of monkey stew. We do not love this crude wooden longhouse, which lacks essentials like heat and running water. So when the local rooster cocks us awake before daylight, we ignore him. We spool ourselves tighter in the bedding and close our eyes to the dark.
Outside, women of the village cook fried eggs and Nescafe over a campfire. The scent of food wafts through our open windows and lures us out the door to a soggy breakfast in the Virungas Mountains of Eastern Congo.