20:48, 2 November, 2012

I cannot believe it’s November, and that I’ve been here almost six months.  It’s nothing less than outrageous!

Sitting here in Nairobi, the rain poundig the metal roof and the power out.  If only computers had infinite battery, I could write all night long.  But alas, I am reduced to the hour or so I have left.  Best to continue on with my animal stories at once.

The primates have been busy around camp.  One afternoon I was working in my tent, only to hear a great commotion atop the tent tarp next door.  Thinking it only vervets, I went back to typing.  However, the noise only continued to get more violent, so finally I went out to see what on earth they were doing that was so exceptionally rowdy.  I found a fully-grown male baboon atop the tent’s rain tarp, which sagged ridiculously beneath his weight.  It looked like the tent shouldn’t be standing at all!  It gave me one look before naughtily crashing across the tarp once more, clearly having fun in his mischievousness.  I didn’t have time to scold, however, because he hopped to the ground, perhaps in anticipation of my reaction.  Lucky for the tent he did!  I sat down and observed the troop for a while, individuals coming in from both sides.  For once, perhaps due to their large number, the baboons practically ignored my presence apart from the discontinued circus act.  It was marvelous to sit there vulnerably accepted, a humble feeling that puts one in awe of Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey’s courage, two women whose primates were much bigger than these.  A different male from the clowning tarp artist sat back on his bum, right leg bent up and the other lying forward with the knee curved slightly outward, right arm hung over his bent knee as he surveyed the world, a spitting image of Homo sapiens himself.  The enormous swollen pink bottom (a huge turn-on in the baboon world) of a female advertised her as being in season as she stopped to pick through the dirt, and an eager young male sauntered up and mounted her from behind.  I thought I would witness a baboon mating, but she resumed walking and he became discouraged.  One large subadult baboon sat across the log from a female, looked into her eyes briefly and then touched her hand.  Absorbed in all this, I turned my head to find that Clowny had moved up toward my tent.  I stood to rescue it; seeing my approach, he released my washbasin pitcher and made off with my bar of hand soap.  So that’s the origin of the bubble-burping baboon, if ever you should see him.  At least it was all-natural.

The vervets have been amazing.  The past couple of months have been baby vervet season, and I cannot get enough of watching them out my tent window and around camp.  The tiny little ones cling to their mothers’ bellies, tails wrapped upward around hers as she walks along, sometimes supporting the baby with one hand but most often acting as though no one is hanging from her belly.  She’ll sit back and allow the little one to nurse more comfortably from time to time.  Once I saw two mothers nursing side-by-side, and one reached out to rub the back of the other’s baby.  A third mother stopped nursing her kid, only to have it start throwing a fit.  She caved to the first fit, but the second one  she wouldn’t take anymore and lightly bit him, which shut him up.  Coming from a girl whose mother’s intolerance of fits saved an originally hopeless-seeming disposition, that monkey will thank her someday.  Sometimes the tiny ones venture off, but I’ve yet to meet an inattentive mother.  Walking along the camp path I startled a mother, and she instantly grabbed the tiny baby off to the side to her belly and made off, glancing nervously back over her shoulder.  The baby closed its eyes in what seemed to be a practiced response when she reached for him, maybe bracing himself for the run.  I have to stifle laughter watching the slightly larger little ones learn to climb out my tent window; they will attempt a jump from one stick to another, only to fail miserably at grasping the connecting twig and fall to the ground.  Thankfully they are quite unperturbed, and restart their journey upward, perfect pupils of the “never give up” philosophy.  The big kids then show off what they’ve learned, tight-roping across my tent ropes strung to the surrounding bush in full view of their younger counterparts.

The older vervets continue to offer entertainment as well.  One afternoon an exceptionally rude group shamelessly watched me shower.  About five individuals sat scattered about the tree that our shower is fixed to, staring at me the entire time, suddenly perfectly amused now that I didn’t have clothes on.  You have to wonder how they perceive clothes, because I can’t imagine my actions of taking a shower are any more captivating than some of the other things we do that they couldn’t care less about.  Perhaps they confuse them, or make us look like a different species given primates’ exceptional vision.  I can almost imagine the little wheels turning in their heads as they piece together that the same individual drastically changes color almost daily because we take off our fur and exchange it for other fur, something apparently so fascinating it renders staring acceptable.

One particular male is crazily bold, and walked right up to the little waste bin while Charlie was in a chair about five inches away, grabbing at a tea bag to chew before Charlie made him drop it.  Then he walked over to where I was and stood on all fours looking up at me before continuing on to try and enter the unzipped tent.  “Don’t go in there!” I proclaimed, to which he just looked quizzically up at me, back at the open tent, up at me and attempted to proceed before I reached out and held it closed.  This was repeated one more time before he accepted I was serious and walked off.  Another monkey’s slender black hands appeared at the tip of the lab tent’s roof one morning as we ate breakfast, and just its head peeked over the edge, making us chuckle.  Still another I have named Sharon – she is a subadult who frequents the kitchen, and is the only one who doesn’t run when we approach, but only moves up a bit further into the tree above the dishes to chew whatever scrap she’s found unconcernedly.  I quite like her.  But if I think that the crazily bold male and Sharon have no fear, they are nothing compared to the clever little female at Keekorok Lodge the other day.  We stopped by in hopes of some ice cream after picking Jack up at Cell Phone Tree for the Nairobi trip.  As we made to drive off, we saw that a vervet was atop our car, so I got out to try and scare it off.  I moved to stand out the door when she suddenly came charging at me.  I jumped backwards, terribly startled as she eyed me, crouched as though she would jump on my head.  She then jumped to a vehicle roof next door, closer to me, and made as though to jump on me again.  I’m still not sure she wouldn’t have, but I stifled my fascination and quickly reentered the vehicle and shut the door; better not to know and miss out on her sharp little vervet teeth.  How clever, though!  A monkey who has figured out that we are the real scaredy-cats.  She even had a red bump above her left eye that added to the effect of her rough and ready ways.  I have yet to come up with a good name for her.  What a smart little lady.