For years, I’d heard whispers of an “Elephant Village” deep inside the tangled jungles of the Central African Republic (CAR). A gathering of critically endangered African forest elephants in a clearing so large, its patch is visible from space. Researchers I’d met on a trip around Gabon, another home for these elusive giants—which are smaller, rarer, and shyer than savanna elephants, a separate species—spoke of herds in the hundreds. In northern Congo, just across the border from the CAR, my guide described his visit to the “village"—known as Dzanga Bai—as one of the most surreal wildlife encounters he’d ever had.
The Bai—“clearing” in the language of the local Ba’Aka tribe—lies deep inside the UNESCO-protected Dzanga-Ndoki National Park in the southern tip of the CAR. For centuries, forest elephants have gathered here to socialize and extract minerals from the mud, gradually carving out the vast glade that now gives scientists a peek into their lives and habits, which are usually hidden by the dense jungle they dwell in. Reaching it is no easy task, however: scarce roads, infrequent and expensive flights, and the country’s war-scarred reputation (and with it, a code-red travel advisory from many governments) keep most visitors away.
Photo by Chris Schalkx
So when, on a sticky January morning, I found myself plodding through Dzanga’s salad-bowl jungle to finally see this near-mythical spot for myself, my expectations were vertiginously high. After about an hour of following bushwhacking guides and slipping over an elephant trail twisting through the undergrowth, trumpets and guttural grunts pierced through the silence. Ahead, the Bai unfurled into a patchwork of mud and grass, criss-crossed with braided streams and sandy paths carved out by centuries of pachyderm traffic. The Bai is off-limits to human traffic, but a stilted viewing platform built on its edge offers a panoramic view.
From there, researchers observe and log the animals’ comings and goings from dawn to dusk. They said it was a quiet day; sometimes, almost 200 forest elephants could emerge from the thicket to cool off in the shallow pools and sift out much-needed nutrients from the soil. Today, the tally had stopped at a modest 80, but still, the scene was a fever dream: calves the size of tuk-tuks tucked beneath their mothers, young bulls caked in terra cotta–toned mud tested their strength in playful battles. The air was thick with the elephants’ musty smell, and low-frequency rumbles rolled like thunder across the gale. We stayed and watched for hours, while the researchers explained how forest elephants differ from their savanna cousins (smaller, with straighter tusks that help them nimbly navigate the undergrowth) and that, because of their prized ivory, they remain perilously at risk of poaching across much of their West African habitat.
Photos by Chris Schalkx
But this little-visited corner of the Congo Basin, the planet’s second-largest rainforest sprawl after the Amazon, hides more than elephants. We spotted mangabeys, large arboreal monkeys swinging through the canopy, crossed paths with chestnut-colored forest buffalo, and glimpsed more coucals, hornbills, and grey parrots than I could count. One morning, we followed trackers from the Ba’Aka tribe to a resident even more elusive: the critically endangered western lowland gorilla, of which an estimated 2,000 call these forests home. We sloshed through streams and scrambled over muddy logs until we eventually met Limo, a barrel-chested silverback, who only recently became accustomed to the presence of humans. He mock-charged us twice, chest heaving, while his hidden harem stayed put in the quivering thicket nearby.
Photo by Chris Schalkx
Later, we joined another group of Ba’Aka people, the traditional hunter-gatherer guardians of these jungles, for a night in their forest village. We camped beside igloo-like huts woven from twigs and leaves while the jungle pulsed around us. That evening, they gathered around a smoldering fire and sang to Boyobe, the spirit of the forest, their high-pitched cries echoing through the canopy like a child’s wail.
Photos by Chris Schalkx
At dawn, we followed them on a hunt for duikers, equipped with spears and nets knotted from vines—keeping half an eye out for elephants crossing our path. It’s a far cry from the game parks of East Africa, where ranger-driven Jeeps replace the legwork and elephants trundle past your tented suite while you sip your morning latte. Dzanga, instead, asks for sweat and patience, but it makes the up-close encounters with its wildest wonders feel like hard-earned rewards.
Photo by Chris Schalkx
Chris Schalkx traveled as a guest of Cookson Adventures, which organizes five-night trips to the Central African Republic.
