That seems to be the ultimate goal, no matter how it's done.
From: Eliza Griswold
Subject: Amuzati Returns to the Scene of the Massacre
Tuesday, March 23, 2004, at 11:19 AM PT
Long isolated in central Africa's dense jungles, pygmies are susceptible to disease in urban environments
Today, Amuzati reluctantly agrees to take me, Marcus the photographer, and Orib, our translator, to the massacre site. He hasn't returned to the jungle village of Difoho since the attack. We set off with a dozen or so pygmies in the back of our truck. Pygmies love to ride, I am told. It's both a status symbol and a novelty for them. If you don't insist they get down after a few hours, they'll let you drive them days away from home. As we drive past a group of Bantus, they call out teasing, "Oh look, here comes the project for short people!" The truck we've rented belongs to an NGO: Programme Assistance Pygmées de Beni. People call pygmies goats or monkeys—they're less than human here.
After several hours, we stop at a gold-mining village called 26. It's 26 kilometers south of the town of Mambasa, where Operation Effacer Le Tableau reached its bloodiest apex. Like the pygmies, the Bantus here have recently come back to the forest. The road is pitted with chest-deep holes where they have begun mining gold again. The miners stare at us: Two Muzungus—white people—led by a natty pygmy (he's now in gold-rimmed sunglasses) as well as Amuzati's wife and his bodyguards armed with bows and arrows trailing behind us.
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