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September 29 2006 - A Day In Tent Village
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I'm sitting in my tent writing this, enjoying my favourite time of day. Between 6pm and 8pm all the volunteers go up to the house for supper. I usually skip this because it means that I have tent village to myself, and I use the time to process the events of the day. I value solitude greatly; indeed I require it in order to maintain what little sanity I possess! I love listening to the wind sighing through the trees as I watch the stars fill the sky, follow the moon as she swells from a sliver of silver light into a full, golden globe filling my world with fairy dust and magic. Through the mosquito netting I can see a tree at the far end of the Skunkey enclosure. Atop the highest branch sits Mufasa, a VERY large monkey, surveying his domain; he does this every day, morning and evening, and every day, morning and evening, I hold my breath as I wait for the fragile branch he occupies to finally crash to the ground leaving Mufasa splattered over most of Southern Africa. Not only has this event not happened yet, it never will! Monkeys... ain't... STUPID! Every morning when I wake up, there he is, Lord of all he surveys, and it does cross my mind that this is a great way to start one's day... I was hauled over the coals this morning! 'Charlie Brown', the monkey I named and fed copious amounts of delicacies to, is - it turns out - NOT TO BE FED! This is because he was born in captivity, lives in an enclosure with his Mum and Dad and is thus reared on Mother's milk. It appears that I've humanised him, and this could cause big problems for him when he's released back into the wild. Gulp... Because he's so adorable, ALL the volunteers feed him, and due to all the extra rations, his coat glistens with health, his boot button eyes gleam with an outrageously sophisticated intelligence, and he has me completely wrapped around his rather attractive forefinger. (Very attractive actually; Vervets have long, slender hands and feet and adorable, tiny, toe and fingernails). As soon as I leave tent village he spots me, races to the front of his enclosure, squeezes himself through the wire and sprints up the path to meet me. He skids to a halt, stands on his hind legs, crosses his hands in front of him and looks at me very expectantly. When this happened this morning, the following conversation ensued. CB: "So... where's breakfast?" ME: "Charlie, Charlie, it's not that I don't want to give you breakfast, I'd like nothing more than to give you breakfast, but I'm not allowed to, Charlie because it might cause you problems when you grow up, and the last thing in the world I want to do, is give you problems Charlie..." CB: "Cut the crap. Where's breakfast?" ME: "No, I mean it Charlie, we've all been forbidden to give you extra rations." He considered this thoughtfully for a moment, gave me a very speculative look, then turned on his heel, raced back to the enclosure and bounded gracefully up the tree that stands next to it. 'Phew' I thought, 'he took that a lot better than I expected'. I came to the tree - he had concealed himself thoroughly within the thick foliage - and as I turned the corner leading to the Baby enclosure out popped his exceptionally handsome head as he said: 'I won't tell if you won't! How about pineapple for elevenses'? And as I realize that I can deny that boy nothing... However, I'm not being quite as irresponsible as it might appear at first sight. I know I'm leaving in a matter of days, and after that there won't be any more treats for Charlie. Which will undoubtedly upset me more than it will him! I think it's my age that makes me putty in the paws of virtually any animal. I meet. I'm old enough to be a Grandmother, and surely that's what Grand and Godmothers are for? To spoil the little darlings rotten and then return them to boring old Mum and Dad to supply the necessary discipline required for ones path through life. Well... that explanation suits me so I'm sticking with it! My favourite time with the monkeys is naptime. On a hot day - and most of them are - this usually occurs at around mid-day. Today eight of them decided to nap on me. Felix had slipped inside my top and only her head was showing; eyes closed in her tiny face, a small grin playing around her mouth, Armstrong was on my lap with Monks, Jaspar, Amber and Dusty piled on top of him. Almond made himself comfortable on my right arm, and Lily settled on my head. Baby monkeys, like baby humans are heartbreakingly vulnerable when asleep. My passion for Felix is seemingly endless. She knows I'm leaving soon (they all do) and she knows I'm not the happiest of bunnies as a result. Every so often she opens her eyes and looks into mine. At a very deep level, information is passed from her to me. This tiny creature is offering me solace and strength and an empathy that surpasses all rational thought. I've been weeping in quiet corners for several days now at the prospect of leaving my babies in general and Felix in particular. But I recognize that not only do they know I am leaving, they also know I am returning. Felix made me very aware of that today and I left the enclosure feeling a lot happier than when I entered it. Now you could argue that I am merely projecting onto Felix what I wish to believe myself, that I am anthropomorphizing her, and the whole exchange took place entirely in my own head. I would - before I came to Africa - have been inclined to agree with you. But I have spoken to volunteers who have several years of experience with the monkeys behind them and they confirm what I have experienced. Emotionally they are SO similar to us; they know love, hate, joy, anger, loneliness, jealousy, fear, pain, despair, etc., etc. Because they are so open emotionally, what they are feeling is instantly evident in their eyes, faces and body language. And they also possess that extraordinary sixth sense which we human beings are not privy to. That's not to say that they don't have their dark side as well. They do, also just like us. So today was a VERY good day, and now I'm lying in the darkness of my tent watching the stars and the moon, listening to the cicadas and the sound of dogs barking in the distance. Mufasa has left his tree and found somewhere not quite so high up to spend the night, volunteers are starting to return, lamps are beginning to be lit in the surrounding tents, and very soon Sandy will appear with two mugs of coffee, a big grin and an invitation to have a chat before lights out! This invitation will be accepted with alacrity - it's become quite a ritual - and a very good time will be had by all. (Both). Yeah, I know. It's a tough life but some-one's gotta live it...
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