Once upon a
time, a family took a Sunday drive around the Cape Peninsula. A picnic basket
with sandwiches, fruit and a flask of tea was packed. Near Smitswinkel Bay, a
troop of baboons foraged, groomed and sunned themselves on the warm roadway.
Father pulled over so the kids could see the wildlife in its natural habitat.
He rolled down the window and held out a banana to see if he could get the big
baboon to come closer.
Decades later, a cage is being built to keep the descendants
of the troop away from the bananas on the table in the house of the great-grandchildren
of those Sunday drivers.
In the intervening years, I have spent 45 on the urban
fringe, observing the changing behaviour of the baboons from mostly
disinterested passers-by to sometimes an aggressive and generally traumatised,
fragmented and lost troop.
No more the squealing and scampering of young baboons in the
evening light as the sinking sun warms their cliff-top sleeping site, with the
disciplinary bark of the alpha male calling his family to order before
nightfall.
No more the recumbent baboon on the neighbour’s roof
enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation as he watches the breath-taking sunset
of late summer.
No more the lightning raid through the front door, eyes
fixed with intent on the fruit bowl before snatching a handful and escaping through
the side door to enjoy the booty while I doze on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
The change came when they found they were not threatened by the
presence of people and were actively receiving overtures of friendship. In
particular, it seemed that the males would no longer react to attempts by women
to chase them from a home raid, but still regarded men as figures of authority.
Baboons are exceptionally intelligent and pass on all the knowledge they
acquire, but unlike humans, are unable to unlearn or distinguish between right
and wrong (my observation). Having learned where to find high-calorie food with
minimal effort, they have chosen fast food over foraging – something we can all
identify with.
The problem is that they remain wild animals, and our
interactions should therefore remain respectful of the limitations of their
ability to understand the terms ‘ownership’, ‘right of admission reserved’, ‘do
not steal’ and ‘do not show any aggression when confronted’. Food remains food
and a baboon who is separated from his meal becomes defensive, which surely
applies to us as well.
Man’s propensity to harm anything that infringes on his
right to a comfortable existence has led to despicably cruel acts towards
animals by people who possess no emotional intelligence. The use of bear
bangers, firecrackers, pellet guns and even bullets are all intended to
frighten and disperse. Add to that the hysterical screams and barking dogs and
chaos ensues. Again, in the belief that Man is higher in the chain of
importance, it is decided that the baboons are the problem and must be dealt
with in human terms. Removal from society is recognised as the punishment for
criminals. A cage for animals is a prison for them. Because Man cannot be
trained to be responsible for his own actions, to clean up his waste, close
doors and windows at appropriate times and learn a little about nature and interaction
with wild animals, the solution is always to deal with the results and not the
symptoms.
The clock can never be turned back. The banana cannot be put
back in the picnic basket. Man’s obsession with feeding wild animals cannot be
cured. The result will always be detrimental to the animals.
A cage is no solution. There is no solution except what Man
wants.
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