Gorillas — and to This Day, We Are the Only…

There’s something hauntingly familiar about gorillas.
Their eyes hold stories, their gestures echo ours, and their silence often feels deeper than words. When I look at them, I see a mirror—one that reflects not just our similarities, but the deep bond humans have long shared with nature. And to this day, we are the only ones they’ve ever truly trusted.

It’s strange, isn’t it? We humans, often the cause of their pain, sometimes become their saviors too. Somewhere between destruction and devotion, a handful of people around the world have earned the rarest gift—a gorilla’s trust. That’s not something easily given. It’s something sacred, something that takes years of patience, understanding, and presence.

I’ll never forget the first time I stood in front of a gorilla.
The forest was still—alive, yet holding its breath. A low mist hung around us, clinging to the dense leaves. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from awe. And then, through the foliage, she appeared—a mother gorilla with her infant clinging tightly to her chest. Her eyes met mine. For a second, everything stopped. Time, breath, thought—all paused. It was as if the world was reminding me: You are part of something bigger.

That moment became a turning point.
It wasn’t about research or photography or adventure anymore. It was about connection. About realizing that these beings—so powerful, yet so gentle—were not just animals in the wild. They were kin. And yet, their existence hangs by a thread we humans hold.

Over the years, I’ve watched them move through the forest, communicating with grunts, chest beats, and gestures that express more emotion than any words. I’ve seen them cradle their young with tenderness, comfort one another after conflict, and gather around fallen members in what can only be described as mourning. These are not just instincts—they are emotions. Real, raw, and human-like.

And still, to this day, we are the only species capable of protecting them—or destroying them.
That thought carries a heavy truth. It reminds us of our role, not as masters of this planet, but as stewards of its beauty.

In certain parts of Africa, conservation groups work tirelessly to ensure gorillas have a future. Rangers risk their lives daily, protecting them from poachers, logging, and encroaching civilization. Many of these rangers have developed relationships with specific gorilla families—recognizing them by face, by temperament, by the sound of their calls. To the gorillas, these humans are no longer intruders. They are part of the rhythm of their forest. To this day, they are the only humans some gorillas have ever trusted enough to come close to—to share space, to coexist.

It’s humbling.
Because gorillas don’t forget. They remember kindness, but they also remember pain. If a troop accepts you, it’s not luck—it’s earned. It’s years of quiet observation, of moving slowly, respecting boundaries, and speaking softly. It’s understanding that sometimes, the best way to connect is to say nothing at all. Just be there.

There’s something powerful about earning the trust of a creature that owes you nothing.
They don’t follow you for food. They don’t depend on your shelter. They survive in spite of you. So when they choose not to fear you—that’s grace. That’s forgiveness in its purest form.

And yet, beyond the beauty, there’s urgency.
Habitat loss, illegal wildlife trade, and human conflict continue to threaten their existence. Baby gorillas are still stolen from their families. Adults are killed for bushmeat or trophies. Forests are cleared for farming and mining. Every time we take, they lose a piece of their world. And when they lose, we lose too—something ancient, something irreplaceable.

To this day, we are the only species with the power to make that right.
We can protect their forests. We can support the people who live near them. We can choose to value life over profit, compassion over convenience. Every donation, every shared story, every mindful action matters. Because somewhere in the mist, a baby gorilla is taking its first breath, holding tight to its mother’s chest, unaware of the dangers beyond the trees. It deserves a chance to grow, to play, to beat its chest in pride one day.

Whenever I think of gorillas, I think of the quiet lessons they teach us.
To slow down.
To stay present.
To nurture what matters.
They remind me that strength isn’t always loud—it’s often calm, patient, and kind. They remind me that family isn’t defined by species, but by love and protection. And most importantly, they remind me that we are not separate from nature—we are part of it.

So yes, to this day, we are the only ones who can walk into their world and be met not with fear, but curiosity. We are the only ones who can speak for them, act for them, fight for them. We are the only ones who can choose to be gentle.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s our purpose.
Not to rule, but to coexist.
Not to conquer, but to care.
Because when a gorilla meets your eyes in the quiet of the forest, you realize—it’s not just them who are wild. We are too. We’ve just forgotten how to live in balance.

So let this be a reminder.
To protect.
To preserve.
To honor the trust that, to this day, only we have been given.