Cowardly Baboons
"Malam! Good Morning!" calls Amina as I leave my house. She lives in the compound next to mine, a beautiful nine-year old girl who greets me every morning from whatever task she is doing.
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"Malam! Good Morning!" calls Amina as I leave my house. She lives in the compound next to mine, a beautiful nine-year old girl who greets me every morning from whatever task she is doing.
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Today she is husking corn beneath the flame tree. 'Malam' means teacher and that is what I am called in Parewari, a small village nestled at the base of the Jos Plateau in central Nigeria.
I reply as well as I can. I am still learning the complicated Hausa ritual of greetings. First I enquire after her health and then the health of her house, her father and mother, brothers and sisters and, finally, her crops and her livestock. She calls the correct greeting to me when I make a mistake in the ritual and laughs when I say, "Thank you, Malam Amina!" On the road I meet Mamadi with his hump-backed zebu cattle. He tells me he is taking them to a meadow where he has dreamt there is some sweet grass. Mamadi is my best student, tall for his age (15) and slender like many of the Fulani. He seems to be perpetually on the verge of laughter and thinks his life is the best of all possible lives. While we talk he rests one hand lightly on the rump of his favourite cow, just where her tail emerges from her back. She stands peacefully as though that were her only goal in life. When we part he makes one small click with his tongue and the cow immediately walks on. I leave my motorcycle on the bluff above the river. Today, I am going to follow it to its source on the plateau. Demi and some other children are washing their clothes and bathing. Boi is there with his goats. He asks where I am going. I point upstream towards the plateau. |
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"You are going alone?" asks Demi, looking regretfully at his large pile of laundry. Demi is also an excellent student, a few years younger than Mamadi. After I have walked away upstream he calls, "Malam, wait," and runs up with a big mango to put into my backpack.
Soon the sounds of the children have faded and I am approaching the base of the plateau. The river is here only a stream trickling over well-rounded boulders. While I pick my way along its rocky banks, I scan the grassy slopes ahead because my goal this morning is to photograph some baboons. I know they are here because boys at the river have occasionally pointed them out to me - small dots in the distance moving along the edge of the plateau. By mid-morning I am hot and dusty. I stop to enjoy Demi's mango and dig my camera out of the pack. A short barking hoot attracts my attention to an adjacent ridge and there they are, baboons, a troupe of about 20. They seem to be relaxing. Some of the little ones are playing and adults are perched on rocks, lazily grooming each other, or looking for food in the grass. However, even with the zoom at maximum, they are still too small for good photographs so I decide to move closer. The ridge they occupy connects with the one I am on, about two hundred meters up the side of the plateau. I plan to climb up above them and then down to where they are. I try to stay out of sight while I do this so as not to alarm them. |
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Rounding a large boulder coming down to where they are, however, I suddenly encounter a young baboon. He shrieks and scampers out of sight and I hope they do not all take flight. As I come out onto the grass I see they have not fled, but are deployed on nearby rocks, with the biggest and eldest closest to me. I quickly put the camera to my eye and focus on the nearest, but before I can snap the shutter he disappears from the frame. He charges towards me, then halts and bares his large fangs while making a threatening noise. He leaps closer and I notice how huge he is. Several other older males move in on both sides of me, all barking and snarling and jumping up and down in rage. They do not seem to be afraid of me. Instead they appear to be having great difficulty in restraining themselves from tearing me to pieces. I move discreetly backwards. They advance. I remind myself that this display is just intended to frighten me. But what, I wonder, are those big teeth for? I retreat rapidly and in a disorderly fashion, running and tumbling down the slope whichever way seems fastest, followed by their hoots and barks, which have an undeniably victorious and scornful ring to them.
I rest when I reach the river once again and survey the damage. One sandal and my hat are somewhere above on the slopes and there is a long scratch on my leg from a thorn, but nothing serious. I limp downstream and find Demi lolling on his belly in the shallows. His laundry is draped on bushes to dry. He has scooped a basin in the gravel bottom that is deep enough to lie in. I join him there to let the cool water flow gently over me and wash the dust and sweat away. |
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"Where is your sandal?" He asks after awhile.
"It fell off." Demi digests this for a few minutes, then remarks, "Your hat fell off too.""Yes." He rises and disappears into the brush, returning a few minutes later with a young palm frond. He strips the leaves and throws the stem away before lowering himself once again into the basin beside me. "I will make you a traditional hat," he says, twisting and weaving the palm leaves."Do you ever have any trouble with baboons?" I ask, watching his agile fingers at work. "Mmm. Sometimes they come and steal from the farms. They are very troublesome! Our fathers send us to stay in the fields so we can chase them away. Sometimes we have to stay there for two or three weeks.""Aren't you afraid? They are quite big, about as big as you are." "Oh no. We just shout and throw stones at them and chase them and they run away." |
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"And they never try to bite you or anything?" "No. Baboons are very cowardly," he says dismissively. "Here's your hat."The broad, lime green cone fits me perfectly and is cool from the river. I sink my head until the edges of the hat touch the water and I am immersed in a small grotto rippling with green light. "And you have scratched your leg. Oh, sorry!"We drowse for awhile in the gentle purling murmur of the river, until Demi speaks again. "Malam," he says thoughtfully, "I think, I have heard that, sometimes, baboons can be very dangerous."I raise my head and look at him intently. And, there is a smile there, but only deep within his eyes. |