Free Gorillas in the Mist by Farley Mowat Page A

error in filling out the form and that she actually had another month to go.
    The customs men obligingly agreed to take her word for it on the understanding that she would return in a month to pay the fee and complete the necessary forms. She did return on July 1, but by then the understanding had apparently been forgotten, and she found herself sinking into a kind of bureaucratic quicksand that seemed likely to swallow, if not Lily, then several hundreds of dollars in fines and forfeits. She protested long and loud and, when that failed, recruited the assistance of park director Anicet Mburanumwe and drove with him to the main customs office at Goma to complain to higher-ups. She was advised to discuss the matter with the chief customs officer at the frontier, who had been away but would be back on July 10.
    So she returned to her Kabara camp, where larger events intervened, and on July 9 she was escorted down to park headquarters.
    On July 10, Dian sought permission from the park authorities to visit the frontier and straighten out the vehicle problem once and for all; but it was not until a week had passed that the military situation was sufficiently stabilized for her to go anywhere. On that day she left for the frontier with a park guard as driver and accompanied by the bilingual secretary to the park director, who had been instructed to assist her in sorting out her difficulties.
    At the border they found the chief Congolese customs officer drunk, disheveled, and in an ugly mood. He waved her papers aside and ordered some soldiers to seize Lily and impound it as an unregistered vehicle.
    Dian was livid, and her reaction, as recorded in the affidavit she prepared for Leakey, was completely in character.
    I immediately jumped back into the car, grabbed the key, put it in my pocket, and settled myself behind the steering wheel. The secretary tried to make himself invisible, and the driver tried to take a stand to protect me but was pushed aside by the military men who came trotting up, also full of native gin.
    Now, let me make myself quite clear: no one threatened me with a gun nor was I touched by any of these soldiers after the initial attempt by one to jerk me from the car. I have a beautiful command of international cuss words that they seemed to understand. However, the hour and a half that followed is kind of like a bad dream. Each soldier was ordering me out, screaming, yelling, threatening, and the big man was outscreaming them all. Since I wouldn’t leave, he then started with the “prison” routine and ordered the man nearest me to take me to prison along with the driver and the secretary. By now the secretary was whiter than I and said it would be a good idea for me to leave the car. But the driver was still ready to pounce if anyone touched me, so I continued to cuss and threaten anyone of the military who got too close to me.
    The standoff ended when the head customs man produced a document from the capital, Kinshasa, ordering the military to seize all improperly registered vehicles. In the face of this indisputable authority, Dian had to back down. Through her driver she asked the customs officer if he would accept a three-hundred-dollar cash payment in lieu of impounding the car.
    This immediately pacified him until he realized I would have to go across the border to Kisoro to get the money. Then he flew into another screaming, mouth-drooling rage that even frightened the military. Finally he consented, but only under the conditions that he retain my passport and that I be accompanied by a Congolese guard. I wasn’t too happy about letting my passport go but felt it was cheaper than losing the car. Nor was I happy about the drunken Congolese military who crawled into the front seat and ordered me to sit on his lap. The driver told him to leave me alone, I told him to leave me alone, and on we went to Kisoro, where I spilled my troubles to Mr. Baumgartel.
    Baumgartel was appalled. He fully understood the