OUT OF PIETERMARITZBURG
– A MONKEY TALE
November
2013
My South African residence, five kilometres from downtown
Pietermaritzburg, is located in a suburb that is bordered on three sides by hills
covered with plantations of wattle, some veld, and indigenous trees and shrubs.
My townhouse is on a hill and used to command a lovely view of the town, but
trees now obscure that view. Below my townhouse there is an open patch of natural
bush with a small stream meandering along the bottom of the hill. This acre or
so is cared for by the part time gardener, Sipho, who is responsible for the
townhouse complex gardens. The grass is kept short and the open field is
interspersed with indigenous trees and shrubs. An occasional antelope has been
spotted grazing in the open space. Altogether it has a lovely rural
appearance.
For me, another benefit of this location is that it is shared
with vervet monkeys, although many other residents consider this a curse. Regrettably,
a burgeoning human population has resulted in a need for housing, and the space
this requires has resulted in a diminishing habitat for wildlife. So what’s a monkey to do? The monkeys move
around in troops, the number of monkeys per troop varying from three or four to
about fifteen. A group will occasionally
visit the townhouse complex and play on the lawns. Watching a family of monkeys comprising babies,
toddlers, older children, and adults, frolicking on the grass, swinging on the
trees, playing catch, or grooming each other, is wonderful entertainment.
Unfortunately these creatures can be destructive, and residents cultivating edible plants
complain bitterly. This is when there is a war between humans and monkeys. Monkeys
are unable to shop for food at supermarkets, therefore it is a vain hope to expect
a vegetable garden not to be raided by monkeys.
Monkeys have now been around long
enough to realise that an open door or window leads to many good things stored
in kitchens. They know exactly where sugar, bread, fruit, and other delicacies are
stored. A monkey can outsmart a human. Mostly residents have learnt to keep
doors and windows closed when monkeys are prowling the area. Burglar guards or
security gates are not designed to keep out a determined monkey. One can tell
when they are around by the sound of them jumping onto carport roofs, a
rustling of leaves in trees, or the chattering of an obstreperous male monkey.
However, when a house is unoccupied it is usually securely locked up as a
precaution against burglars. On occasion a solitary monkey will sneak into the
garden and if one is concentrating on a task or reading a book, the monkey will
sneak into the house, and the next thing one is surprised by a monkey leaping
onto a chair back or table, or simply sitting in the open doorway, taking stock
of the situation. A sharp clap of the hands will ensure that the monkey turns
tail and rushes outdoors again, sometimes clutching a banana or apple or
whatever first caught his eye. One neighbor had her remote control for the
security gate grabbed, and another had a perfume bottle taken. Both items were
eventually retrieved from the rooftop.
The antics of the monkeys are
well known to my American husband, Stephen. On one occasion he did not close a
door while doing the four- minute walk to the mailbox at the entrance to the
complex. On his return a monkey was on the roof gnawing away at a butternut squash
that had been in a basket on a kitchen counter.
On another occasion,
Pietermaritzburg was experiencing a beautiful sunny day, after weeks of dull
skies, rain, and low temperatures. It was November, and it was supposed to be
summertime in Africa, after all. So of course Stephen opened the French doors
from the lounge, as well as the door from the third bedroom, to the patio, to
let in warm fresh air. All interior doors as well as the windows in the first
bedroom were open.
Stephen was sitting on the patio
reading and I was at the dining room table doing emails on my laptop. I looked
up and there was a monkey strolling from the patio into the lounge. Surprised,
I said “Hello, what are you doing here?” and in a louder voice I called for
Stephen only to find him answering from outside the front door, which was also
now open. As I turned to look at him, I spotted down the passage, a monkey
loping from the second bedroom into the main bedroom. Just then Stephen put in
an appearance at the junction of the hallway and the passage and was about to
go towards the main bedroom. I suggested he wait while I dashed to the patio to
determine which bedroom windows were open; just as well, because I discovered
that the main bedroom windows were closed. I warned Stephen not to go down the
passage as there would be no escape route for the monkey from that bedroom, and
there was no way of knowing how the trapped monkey would react.
Heading back to the dining room
table I noticed a monkey on the kitchen counter grab something and disappear
into the garage. Looking into the garage I saw the monkey on my car, busy
removing the remains of my raisin bread from its wrapping and then making a
dash for the patio, via the third bedroom, his entry route. By now the monkey
in the main bedroom had returned to the other bedroom and Stephen shooed it out
the window. Stephen was running from room to room, closing doors and windows,
to prevent these hungry and inquisitive animals from gaining entry. The kitchen
window was the last to be closed, just after a monkey had made a grab for the
bread bin contents.
Fortunately, there was no mess or
damage, but another lesson on being alert to the dangers of open windows and
the possibility of fur-covered intruders, was learnt, but not heeded!
A few days later we both had
appointments in town. The house was carefully locked up and the burglar alarm
set prior to our departure. On our return
three hours later, Stephen opened the garage door for me, and then entered by
the front door while I parked the car. I heard him exclaim loudly and as he
opened the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, he said “The monkeys
have been in the house!” “How did they get in?” I asked? A most unwelcome mess
in the kitchen confronted me. The mess extended into the lounge, down the
passage, and into the second bedroom, where a window had been left partially
open. The presence of the monkeys had
not been detected by the alarm sensors, because when I had the alarm installed
I had opted for the feature that did not detect small animals, because I owned
pets at that time.
The big cleanup then commenced.
The counter tops and the floors, both tiled and carpeted, were covered in
sugar, as well as powdered milk, and half-eaten fruit. I had left a packet of
full cream powdered milk, previously opened and clipped closed, on the counter.
I had no idea how sticky and all-pervasive this milk powder could be when
scattered over furniture and carpets. They had also emptied out the bag
containing the kitchen trash, scattering its contents comprising eggshells,
vegetable peelings, used teabags and assorted leftovers.
Every kitchen countertop had to
be washed, as well as the furniture where grubby monkey paws had clambered. The
carpets were vacuumed and floor tiles washed.
The cleanup continued in the bedroom where they had examined the items
on the dresser, and spilt more powdered milk. I had heard neighbours complain
about cleaning up after monkeys, but this was the first time in eighteen years
of living in Forest Lodge that I had become a victim. I did not check the time, but I guess it took
us about 2 hours to clean up. By that time Stephen was so disillusioned he said
he was ready to leave for the USA. I commented that South Africans usually left
the county because of the crime, and here he was ready to leave because of the
monkeys. I have always maintained that humans can be thankful that monkeys have
not yet learnt to use guns.
After his third visit to South
Africa, Stephen has finally comprehended that vervet monkeys are really capable
of getting up to monkey business and that they are smart – so smart that they
can outsmart a PhD and a pharmacist.
