Leaving camp, little eight year old Mundunnde trod along the forest path in front of me, snatching up branches and debris so I would not stumble. Of course I did inevitably trip, my clumsiness embarrassing me and sending ripples of snickering among the Pygmies following behind. I pressed on, lifting my feet higher than I do in my city life of hard surfaced streets.

As we moved deeper into the unfolding forest, I studied my surroundings to see how I would interpret the forest setting and the quality of light with the people who live here. The high, thin root structure of the trees made a beautiful background. Curving and bending botanical forms would both contrast with and complement the folding forms of the human body. Fleeting shafts of light spilled through the thick canopy dappling the forest floor. I realized I would have to work fast in order to capture the light before it changed. At the most, I had ten minutes to set up and take pictures before the light passed into shadow.

After a while, we emerged into a clearing where the Pygmies camp had once been. The ground and abandoned huts were thickly covered with a deep layer of creepers and vines. The camp had several old huts and a large clearing, all being quickly reclaimed by the forest. It was a charming location for a camp and was nicely walled in by great stands of trees. Suddenly, women and children rushed about, tearing at the plants and gathering up the foliage in their arms. I was at first surprised by this abrupt disruption of the peaceful scene I was taking in.

Then I saw the fat smiles of delight as the women and children adorned themselves for the shoot. They wrapped their heads and bodies with their new found jewels of cascading leaves. Mundunnde discovered a large mushroom, the size of a plate, a was wearing it, upsidedown, on her head as a hat. Some of the women found flowers full of pollen and powdered their faces to a rich golden color. Others had found a type of twig that released generous amounts of black dye used to streak and decorate their skin. Many men, women and children wore small leaf buds in their earlobes and in a tiny hole pierced above their upper lip. Some women also wore short, thin sticks, placed horizontally through their nostrils like cat whiskers.

After everyone had finished dressing and gathering, we continued our journey through undulating forest. Our path became dotted with flutters of brilliantly colored butterflies, circling and dipping into puddles of water for a drink. Further along we scrambled over fallen trees, climbed through tunnels of bush and crossed the most delicate streams I'd ever seen. I was in awe of the overwhelming beauty of the place as we moved from one magnificent forest room into the next. Each "room" opened up a new mysterious chamber. The forest seemed to manifest a different aspect of its vibrant, overwhelming life, and each "new" room held its own power. I felt surprisingly comfortable there, as in a house where I had once lived: it was familiar yet foreign.

The Pygmies are thought to have been the original inhabitants of the African equatorial region, dwelling in the rain forest for at least 25,000 years. For the Pygmies, the forest is the giver of all things, it is both mother and father. Traveling with them, I saw the Ituri Forest as an entity, a being that nurtured all the forms of life held within its embrace. The forest is a demanding place. It requires, respect, awareness and stamina.

Mundunnde's signal came a split second too late. I had already stepped on the river of army ants crossing my path. They scattered, attacking the people following behind me, who hopped and shouted, pulling at the fierce insects clinging to their bare legs and feet. They were no doubt swearing at me for being clumsy. But in the middle of the commotion, the head of the clan who called himself Brussels, (after the capital of colonialist Belgium) signaled the group to stop and be quiet. He cocked his head from side to side and listened attentively. Then he waved the men in different directions. Armed with their bows and arrows, they disappeared quickly and silently behind the trees. The women and children followed Diani, an elder woman. Diani had a thick, short branch balance over her shoulder that was smoldering at the end. (The Pygmies never go anywhere without fire.) Leafy twigs were tucked into the back of her loincloth, dangling down from her waist like a tail. Vines were twisted around her neck and fell down her breast into a cascading necklace of leaves. Vines wrapped her head like a crown sending out one leaf that stood straight up. She was beautiful. She walked slowly, sharply observing everything around her. In a deep, sustained voice she called out into the forest; whether to inform the hunters of our direction or to avoid surprising wild animals, I do not know.

Sharp eyed Mundunnde spied a large snail glued to underside of a leaf. Proudly plucking it, she wrapped it in a broad, flat mongongo leaf to keep it as an afternoon snack and twisting the stem into a handle, dangled the parcel from her arm. Others wandered off the path to search of wild mushrooms and tubers. We rested at last on a mound, waiting for the hunters to come back. I sat and stared at the forest as if in a trance. Diani immediately started building a fire from the ember she carried. The other women crouched down, protecting the flames from the wind with their bodies. From where I sat, I could just see their heads poking up above the undergrowth.

Loud piercing whoops broke the quiet. Springing to his feet, Tutee, my guide and interpreter yelled, "They've killed an antelope!" Bounding through the trees, Tutee followed the sounds of the wooden bells hung around the necks of the Pygmies barkless hunting dogs. He soon reappeared, out of breath, followed by the others, returning with downcast faces. Their arrows had missed the creature. I was disappointed too. Weeks of eating leaves, tubers and minute rations of dried antelope had left me ravenous for the taste of fresh meat. I had lost close to five pounds already and I expect to lose more weight by the end of my visit.

After the men had rested a moment, Brussels announced that it would rain shortly and I should put my photographic equipment away. I saw no evidence of a storm and wondered how he knew it would rain. Moments after I had put my stuff away, we heard a clap of thunder, even though there were still rays of light streaming through the trees and I could see no clouds. But they were coming; and as the rain began to fall, we started to walk slowly back to the camp. Soon the leaves were wet and heavy with rain, bending under the weight of the deluge that was pouring down on us. I was drenched and my glasses wet, steamy and useless. I took them off, and kept my eyes fixed on little Mundunnde's feet in front me. All the while trying desperately not to trip as we all picked up our pace and sped back to camp. Everyone had a good laugh at my pathetic condition. My light cotton, impractical clothes and long hair were soaking wet and clinging to me, making me look ridiculous to them. They, on the other hand, had short hair, barkcloth loincloths and leaves and were quite comfortable and still good-looking though wet.

The storm had passed as quickly as it had come and the women who had stayed behind, brought the fires back out of the huts. Some of us went to get water from the spring to make tea. We then sat around the fire, waiting for the water to boil, talking and telling stories. Mostly they were telling all the shocking news to the rest of the camp about the army ants and the misadventure with the antelope. Mundunnde threw her snail on the hot coals and as soon as it stopped sizzling she knew it was done and devoured it.