Before leaving for Budongo, I was freaking out. A new place, new people. What if I hated it and didn’t want to stay? By the time I had spent a week there, I never wanted to leave. I came to Budongo as an intern for Perspectives Collective, where I would try to extend the platform beyond its roots in primatology and create space for the knowledge and experiences of other teams working in the forest. Derry and I had agreed that I would spend two months there, as that seemed like a sufficient amount of time to carry out this task. But there will never be enough time. Budongo Forest carries so much wealth, from the fauna and flora that make up its landscape to the people who make it feel like home. And for two (too) short months, I was lucky enough to spend my time interacting with both, learning about the former through the latter. And I learned a LOT.

It is only when you step into the forest with the people of Budongo that you begin to realise how much knowledge they hold. Knowledge that does not come from ten years of studying at university, which did little to prepare me for navigating and understanding the forest. Rather, it comes from ten years of showing up, in the same space, every day, and watching, listening, reacting and learning.

Listening to the birding team whistle every bird song they hear early in the morning (most of which I could not hear). Watching the chimpanzee team predict, with remarkable accuracy, where the group will move next. Having long conversations with the phenology team about trees and what they mean for local people’s livelihoods. Walking through the forest at night, trying not to miss all the frogs that the amphibian team spot with such ease. Witnessing the snare removal team notice the subtlest changes in leaves, trees and soil that lead us to snares. This was my experience in the Budongo Forest: learning every day a little bit more from the people who interact with it on a daily basis.

Of course, it did not come without challenges. As the first Perspectives Collective intern, everything felt a little bit like trial and error. Some efforts paid off, some ideas never amounted to anything, and that was okay. The unpredictability of my day-to-day life made the experience all the more special to me. But more importantly, arriving in a different space, surrounded by people I did not know, meant that relationships had to be built. The type of relationships that evolved varied, and that was also okay. What I did witness, with time, was the willingness of people to slowly share pockets of what they knew. And the more I asked, the more they shared.  

The first few walks, or few hours, in the forest were quiet. I remember wondering whether I was really the right person to do this. Would people feel comfortable around me? Was I a burden, getting in the way of them carrying out their day-to-day tasks? Slowly, I started feeling that less and less. Some days I still did. But most days, I felt like I was able to give something back. Often, simply a listening ear. Sometimes a different perspective, a story about where I come from. Small things, perhaps, but those moments are what made the experience so fulfilling.

I also struggled at first to navigate some of the social dynamics and quickly realised that even the seemingly mundane logistical tasks, like organising Perspectives meetings, were not always so straightforward. And I would not have got through it without the two other wonderful people working on this with me, Mike and Noemie. Where I lacked understanding, they patiently supported me in finding ways to create an environment where people felt comfortable sharing their knowledge and safe to ask for what they wanted in return. The moments sitting in the banda with the two of them, bouncing ideas around, confusing each other, making sense of it all, and laughing along the way, are some of my fondest memories.

And through all of this co-creation, a new issue of Perspectives Collective emerged. One that includes stories, conversations, articles and posters from those who wanted to share their knowledge and experiences with us, reaching beyond primatology to reflect some of the many different ways in which people understand and interact with Budongo Forest.

Thank you. Asante sana. Webale muno. To everyone who contributed to this issue, shared their knowledge, challenged my ideas, welcomed me into their teams, and helped me feel at home in a place so far outside my comfort zone. This issue does not even begin to cover the depth of knowledge held by the people of Budongo. But it is a start: a small step towards a more inclusive Perspectives, one that makes space for the many different people, teams, stories and ways of knowing that make this beautiful forest what it is.