le 17 fevrier I don’t know if you’ve ever been surrounded by a bunch of Barrys (which could either be very wonderful or very overwhelming, depending on what your comfort zone) but we’re “never dull.” No matter what is happening, there always seems to be some kind of commotion, some kind of scene unfolding. This might be at an ice cream stand, a normal American experience, but somehow it might turn rowdy. This may be at a Rascal Flatts concert where most seem to be assimilating just fine to being in a public setting, but even in a crowd we stick out.
This happens as a result of a few different, let’s call them “quirks.” We think each other are hysterical. To make this worse, we laugh a lot – and at a exceedingly high decibel. (My dad also happens to hit things mid-laugh, be it a table or the arm of the person next to him.) Someone is generally running about singing or dancing or overall just being goofy. We also find humor in making noises that most of society generally frowns upon. That being said, Camp Barry is a necessity for us all to really unleash our inner Barry – the part of us that we have to keep on neutral the other 51 weeks of the year. When you get a few Barrys together? Watch out.
Before my parents’ arrival, I had gone more than four full months without being with another Barry. I was using a lot of my energy just trying to repress myself, at least to a point of being able to blend reasonably well with others in my community. Being reunited with two people who know me better than I know myself and encourage my individuality was a breath of fresh air. I have begun rediscovering pieces of my personality that I had forgotten existed. Truly, it is a beautiful thing.
As my parents had already travelled halfway around the world, we decided to take part in Rwanda’s most popular tourist attraction – gorilla trekking. Long story short, you hike through the Virunga Mountains with a guide, a designated gunman to protect us if we happened to see any buffalo (an honest threat), porters, and once we enter into the Volcanoes National Park itself, gorilla trackers. And we were in legitimate AFRICA. After four months of living here, I finally felt as if I’d for sure stepped into the Africa I’d seen in the media. Envision a combination of “Jumanji” and “Fern Gully” and you’ll have a pretty approximate image of what we were hiking through.
We make it through half an hour walking carefully through Stinging Nettle Forest before we meet the trackers. Here, we must leave our backpacks and walking sticks which could scare the gorillas and continue along with our new guide. Somehow, I was able to be at the front of the pack. Our tracker, then trekking leader Hope, then this girl.
We dodged spiky branches as the two ahead of me swung their machetes at precarious-looking plants. We had to practically crawl at one point through a tunnel-like section of the Nettle Forest. And, most importantly, we had to start calling to the gorillas.
At first I thought the tracker was just clearing his throat. Then Hope started joining in with a series of variations. Well, I thought, what a perfect opportunity to make noises while actually being helpful. Much to the surprise of our proper and trendy German friend Gisela’s surprise, I started in with the gorilla calls. Why not, right?
We were told not to be making any noise so as not to scare the gorillas, so as much as I wanted to I had to hold back my laughter. Here I was, in the middle of Jumanji calling for gorillas. Hope was getting a kick out of it, and my dad just smiled and rolled his eyes, probably thinking “what a way to make a father proud.”
That night at dinner, after a successful and incredible morning filled with socializing with gorillas, the three of us were exhausted. We ordered our food and tried to stay awake long enough to see it arrive. The only other people in the room were a few Rwandan businessmen in the corner and – a life-sized wood-carved gorilla. The poor businessmen, all they wanted was to have a quiet dinner together. Then the Barrys arrived.
“Laura, why don’t you go up next to the gorilla and I’ll take your picture.” Great idea. With digital cameras you really have no cap on the absurdity that you can document. But no – I didn’t smile. I made my gorilla face. It’s easy – all you have to do is open your eyes up as big as they possibly can go and frown. It makes for a lovely picture. Then, much to the Rwandans’ dismay, my dad joined me on the other side of the gorilla. Will that ever look good hanging up in the hallway at home.
The whole evening, partially because of how worn out we were, we were cracking up. We would jokingly make gorilla calls (or golden monkey calls, which are quite different) and all burst out laughing. Even when one of us went to clear our throats, we all would laugh, as we figured a gorilla would soon come knocking on our door.
There aren’t too many opportunities when our Barry strengths are truly helpful to society, but this was one rare happenstance where it benefited the group. What a day.
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