Lobéké National Park

Listen first. Before you see anything, the forest is already speaking around you. Insects hum in a steady wall of sound. A bird calls somewhere high in the canopy, and another answers from further away. The air is warm and heavy, and it smells of wet earth, crushed leaves and something sweet, like fruit that has fallen and begun to soften. Underfoot, the red soil is soft and damp. This is Lobéké National Park, in the far southeast corner of Cameroon, and it is one of the wildest places you can stand in Central Africa.

Let us get our bearings. The park lies in Cameroon's East Region, close to the borders with the Republic of the Congo and the Central African Republic. Its eastern edge follows the Sangha River, a broad brown waterway that carries the rain of a huge forest basin toward the Congo River. The park covers more than two thousand square kilometres. Most of that area is dense lowland rainforest, broken here and there by swamps, streams and open clearings. Roads are few, and the nearest towns feel very far away.

Here is the first thing many visitors do not know. Lobéké is not a park that stands alone. It forms one part of a larger protected area called the Sangha Trinational. That area joins Lobéké with Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park in the Republic of the Congo and Dzanga-Sangha in the Central African Republic. In 2012, UNESCO added the Sangha Trinational to its World Heritage List. Three countries share one forest, and the animals cross the borders freely, with no passports and no checkpoints.

The forest here is mostly what scientists call semi-deciduous. That means some of the trees drop their leaves for a part of the year, during the drier months. Look up, and you will see that the canopy is not one flat roof. It is layered. Tall emergent trees rise above the rest, with pale trunks and wide buttress roots that spread out like the walls of a tent. Below them, smaller trees, vines and palms fill every gap. Light reaches the ground only in thin, moving patches.

For most visitors, the heart of a trip to Lobéké is the bai. A bai is a natural clearing in the forest, often marshy, with mineral-rich soil and water. Animals come to these openings to drink, to feed on grasses and sedges, and to take in salts they cannot find among the trees. In a forest this thick, a bai is one of the few places where you can see wildlife in the open. Several bais in the park have raised wooden platforms where visitors can sit, wait and watch.

And waiting is the right word. Wildlife watching at a bai is slow. You climb the platform, settle in, and keep quiet. For a long time, nothing seems to happen. Then a movement at the edge of the trees catches your eye. It might be a forest elephant, smaller than its savanna cousin, with straighter tusks and rounded ears. Forest elephants are one of the reasons this park exists. They dig into the mud for minerals, and their feet and trunks shape the clearings over many years.

The park is also home to great apes. Western lowland gorillas live in these forests, and so do chimpanzees. Gorillas move in family groups led by an adult male, the silverback, whose back turns grey-white with age. You are far more likely to hear apes than to see them. A chimpanzee group can fill the forest with loud hoots and screams. Gorillas are quieter, but you may hear branches cracking as they feed, or the hollow sound of a chest beat.

Here is a second surprise. Some of the most colourful moments at Lobéké do not come from large mammals at all. Grey parrots gather at certain clearings, sometimes in large flocks. Against the green and brown of the forest, their grey bodies and bright red tails flash as they land and lift again. Their calls are loud whistles and squawks. The park also shelters the bongo, a shy forest antelope with a chestnut coat and thin white stripes, as well as forest buffalo, sitatunga and several kinds of small duiker.

This forest is not empty of people, and it never has been. The Baka people have lived in the forests of southeastern Cameroon for many generations. They are often described as hunter-gatherers, and their knowledge of plants, honey, animal tracks and forest paths runs very deep. Many guides and trackers who work in and around the park come from Baka communities. If you walk with one, watch how they read the ground. A bent stem or a faint print in the mud can tell them who passed, and when.

The park's relationship with its neighbours is not simple. Logging concessions surround much of the protected area, and hunting pressure on wildlife is a real concern across the region. Conservation groups, among them WWF, have worked here for many years alongside the Cameroonian authorities. Much of that work focuses on anti-poaching patrols, research and support for local communities. When you visit, you are part of this story too. Responsible tourism brings income and attention to a place that needs both.

Getting here is part of the experience. The journey from Cameroon's larger cities is long, and much of it runs on unpaved roads through forest and small villages. The village of Mambélé is commonly used as a gateway to the park. Plan carefully, travel with an experienced operator or guide, and expect delays. In the rainy months, roads can turn to deep mud. Bring patience, insect repellent, light long-sleeved clothing and a good pair of binoculars. The rewards here come to those who slow down.

Think, for a moment, about scale. The forest around you is part of the Congo Basin, the second largest tropical rainforest in the world after the Amazon. The water in the streams you cross will join the Sangha, then the Congo, and finally the Atlantic Ocean. The trees around you store huge amounts of carbon and make their own weather, releasing moisture that falls again as rain. Standing here, you are inside one of the great working systems of the planet.

So before you move on, pause once more. Let your eyes adjust to the green shadows. Notice the hum of insects, the drip of water from the leaves, the sudden silence when a bird stops calling. Somewhere nearby, an elephant may be standing perfectly still, watching you through the trees. You may never see it. That is the nature of Lobéké. The forest keeps much of itself hidden... and that is exactly why it is worth protecting.