As we drove through the Congo basin, lush rain forest arose and closed over us, forming a long dark green tunnel, spiked with palm and broken by delicate groves of bamboo. Early one morning, when mist still lay on the land and the air rustled with the scuffling of monkeys rousing overhead, a young man materialized in the road. He held his crossbow at the ready and dangled a sheaf of poisoned arrows from his shoulder. When he brought a monkey crashing down from the canopy, he tied its tail around its neck to make a handle. He would carry it home like a basket. Bush meat.
