The Last Great Ape: A Journey Through Africa and a Fight for the Heart of the Continent
Ofir Drori, David McMannald
Language: English
Pages: 206
ISBN: 2:00247926
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
An epic journey through Africa by a man who fell in love with a magical and disappearing world and then transformed himself into a warrior on the front lines to protect it.
Staging heart-pounding, espionage-style raids, Ofir Drori and his organization, The Last Great Ape (LAGA), have put countless poachers and traffickers of endangered species behind bars, and they have fought back against a Kafkaesque culture of corruption. Before Ofir arrived in Cameroon, no one had ever even tried.
The Last Great Ape follows a young Ofir on fantastical adventures as he crosses remote African lands by camel, on a horse, and in dug-out canoes, while living with exotic tribes and struggling against nature at its rawest: charging elephants and hyenas, flash floods, and the need to eat river algae and snails to stay alive. The story moves from places of extreme beauty to those of the darkest horror: the war zones of Sierra Leone and Liberia. Ofir begins to work as a photojournalist in order to expose his shocking encounter with war victims and child soldiers. His experiences forge in him a resolution to become an activist and to fight for justice.
The search for a cause eventually leads him to Cameroon. When Ofir discovers that no one is fighting to disprove Jane Goodall's dark prophesy that apes in the wild will be extinct in twenty years, he decides that he is the man to step in; because he knows he can make a difference, he sees it as his responsibility. And LAGA is born.
The Last Great Ape is a story of the fight against extinction and the tragedy of endangered worlds, not just of animals but of people struggling to hold onto their culture. The book reveals the intense beauty and strife that exist side by side in Africa, and Ofir makes the case that activism and dedication to a cause are still relevant in a cynical modern world. This dramatic story is one of courage and hope and, most importantly, a search for meaning.
skydive in wheelchairs. Ofer and Ofir. Ofir and Ofer. We danced with friends at clubs like Echoes and Kat Balu and dreamed that when peace came we would guide the first Israeli tourists into Syria. Ofer and I were drafted on the same day and then discharged on the same day in October 1998. A few weeks on, we sat at a table in a mall near an eye doctor’s office. We had appointments for Lasik surgery, as the jungle was no place for contact lenses. Ofer and I had worn our oldest, thickest glasses
to the curb when a car passed—a side-effect that had become habit since the crash. Near the Kampala bus station, we ate matoke, a dish made from plantains, and Rachel joked, “Who the hell can make ugali out of fucking bananas?” She sang as we paid and walked up the road toward the market. I reached out and took her hand. She looked around, embarrassed, and pulled her hand back, hid it in her pocket. My stomach dropped away from my ribs, and I thought, Maybe she doesn’t feel what I do. An engine
being angry at Israel and all places like it. I was stronger now against the blank stares I’d always received from family and friends when I told stories of Africa, stronger in large part because Rachel defended so much of what I held dear. I found that my new need to give back was satisfied for a time by teaching in a private program at schools in central Israel. But home for us had morphed from a place we didn’t want to be into a place we couldn’t be. So Rachel and I headed back to Africa, to
saving. The village is where? With a patience that was almost holy, he continued in KiMaasai. I pointed in different directions, said, “Kijiji? Kijiji?” Village? He smelled of cooking fires and cattle. “Kijiji?” I said and, as his monologue continued, I reached across his field of vision and pointed. “Kijiji?” I pointed as if a brush fire were roaring toward us through the valley. “Kijiji!” I said, “Wewe kulala wapi?” You sleep where? In dozens of variations and tones, miming and pointing in
of the car is CE 4535. A white minibus, Alliance Voyages. The man wears a red cap and squared shirt. Did you get it? A red cap and—” The line died. Julius, Temgoua, and I headed to Nkoabang. There were three MINEF officers in the station. We brought two more policemen. Out of seven men, only Julius and Temgoua knew Eunice was undercover. She beeped me at two in the morning just before her bus appeared in the cold night, the moment of conflict coming, as always, sooner than I was ready for.