The Jungle and the Joy
A story from The Cowboy In You
The kids came sprinting out of the jungle, shouting and dancing:
"Moon Joo! Moon Joo!"
I turned to my guide. "What are they saying?"
He laughed. "They're saying... 'You're white.'"
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Somewhere in the jungle, there was a tribe that still lived like it was a thousand years ago. No phones. No wires. No plastic. Just firelight and stories passed through generations.
I had to see it. Before it disappeared.
So I started asking around. Took a bush bus from the Bangui market, packed full, people on top of people, chickens squawking. At a river crossing, I met a kid who spoke French. Said he was from a village deep in the forest and could take me there.
We walked for miles, no trail, just his memory and the shape of the sun. Finally, we reached a village by the river. Maybe eighty huts.
And that's when the kids came running.
I found the chief, followed the local protocols, and asked permission to stay. For a small donation, I lived in a hut with a local family. Ate with them, bathed in the river, drank palm wine.
Word was sent to the pygmy tribe, if they'd accept a visit, I'd bring offerings: salt, a pot, some basic goods. Fair trade.
After a few days, word came back. They'd see me. We packed up and hiked for days. Thick jungle. Mosquitos like helicopters.
Finally, we reached their settlement: four huts, maybe twenty people.
They really are small. But strong. Fast. Wary. Curious.
I sat with them, watched them hunt, learned how they moved through the jungle like it was stitched into their skin.
I'd thought I was going to observe something primitive. But instead, I witnessed mastery.
They didn't have much. But they had joy. Real joy.
They laughed with their whole bodies. They danced like the stars were watching. No phones. No plans. No anxiety about what came next.
Just here. Just now. Just alive.
They had less than anyone I knew, and more presence than most people I'd met in the modern world.
After a few days, I knew I wasn't meant to stay. I'd seen what I came to see, and it changed me.
They escorted me back to the village by the river, and on the last night, they threw a party.
We drank too much palm wine. We danced around the fire until our legs gave out. We laughed until sunrise.
And I'll tell you what I tell my kids:
You haven't danced until you've danced with the pygmies.
Go find your jungle.