Searching for AC Troop yesterday was one of those epic 3.5 hour slogs up and down mountains where we find every baboon group imaginable except the one for which we are searching.  Makes one a titch grumpy.  We even saw a chimp or two in our quest, which is supposed to be all kinds of lucky but mostly feels like a kick in the teeth.  However, finally, after a slip-slidey stint down a rather precarious path, Hamimu, my intrepid young assistant, and I found the little buggers.  Of course we didn’t find any of the females I really wanted, but beggars can’t be choosers (which really is one of the most annoying sayings ever).  We followed Ugly Umea for a bit and, when we were done with her, lucked upon Ubergiji.  Of course, several minutes into that follow, Ubergiji and her entire troop climbed the highest tree they could find to eat mtatarana, a currently very prevalent food that looks like miniature pumpkins (see picture below).

Despite the bad viewing, sitting under an mtatarana tree can be quite lovely, as dozens of mouths bite and then spit out the outer shell and inner seeds, creating the pitter-patter of a gentle rain on the leaves below (without the wet shoes to show for it).  Hamimu and I sat and politely waited for the baboons to descend.  The rain continued.  Hamimu made himself comfortable in a sort of impromptu vine-hammock.  I climbed an incredibly steep path to get somewhat closer to the treetops and then reclined back on the heinous incline like it was a Laz-E Boy, my head resting more or less comfortably on a mossy rock.  The rain continued.  Occasionally little pieces of fruit would skitter off my knee or my arm and the firm thwack actually felt kind of nice.  That is, until one nailed me between the eyes and left a welt.  I decided to sit up.  The rain continued.  We were working our way into hour three under the tree.  The rain was starting to get annoying.  And then the chimps showed up.

 

The naming of chimps is a far more arduous process than the naming of baboons and therefore renders some interesting English outputs that no Tanzanian can say.  The two chimps that happened along the path yesterday were Tarzan and Fuji (Fuji is actually named Fudge…the Tanzanians are doing what they can with what is obviously a ridiculous moniker).  Everything was calm and quiet and then the first baboon saw them.  All hell broke loose.  Every time I’ve been around baboons and chimps they mostly seem to ignore each other, but the baboons must have known that Fudge was an adult male and

perhaps even saw Ferdinand (the current alpha) in the wings.  Baboons are not necessarily exceptionally learned when it comes to chimp behavior, but they do know one thing: male chimps eat babies.  Immediately, mothers snatched their children and ran as if they tree had suddenly burst into flame.  Females screamed.  Kids cried.  Males started lots of angry grunting.  And Fudge took off after the moms.  Stunned, I just watched the drama unfold, Fudge chasing after various females, everyone screaming, my hands clasped while I chanted, “Please don’t eat my babies!  Please don’t eat my babies!”  When the dust settled, though, it looked as though everyone had escaped.  Perhaps disappointed, Fudge gave several dramatic displays of his power, running up and down the path, yelling and waving his arms.  Soon Ferdinand arrived and put on a show of his own.  Then everyone joined in for a rousing (and eardrum shattering) hooting session.  The baboons (the ones without babies) looked on placidly, almost as if they were thinking, “Now, what are they on about?”

 

Thinking the drama was over, I resumed following another female and then Golden arrived.  Golden is one of the horribly named twins belonging the famed Gremlin (the other is Glitter…or “Grita” if you’re Tanzanian).  Golden has a tiny baby that is about 9 months old.  It’s adorable.  Golden sauntered up to Ferdinand to say hello.  However, instead of greeting her politely (no one has taught any of these primates any manners), Ferdinand proceeded to trounce her royally, kicking and hitting her until she was rolling on the ground.  Once again I am stunned.  “But she has a baby!” I exclaim in her defense.  Ferdinand ignored me.  Golden eventually managed to get away and I officially decided that I am not a huge fan of Ferdinand’s.  Or Fudge’s.  My shit list is starting to get kind of long.

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I bet you’ve been wondering about our digs here in the jungle.  I know you picture safari tents, perhaps lanterns lighting our nightly cocktail as we look out over the lake (or perhaps you actually picture the Serengeti, lions roaring in the distance).  Or perhaps you see a thatched hut surrounded by jungle, monkeys swinging above our heads, softly calling to one another in an effort to be polite.  Romantic notions these.  Not quite accurate though.

 

We really live in more of a village of cinderblock.  It’s not all exactly ugly cinderblock (though some of it is), but there’s a fair amount of it and it sits in a pleasant little line that stretches (I would guess) about ¼ of a mile.  The houses on the ends of the stretch enjoy a bit more seclusion, a bit more exotic forest dreaming, and we researchers (quite luckily) live on the south end of camp.

 

But let’s have a little tour.  This is the office:

This is where we do all our internetting and blogging and testing of poop samples.  The office sits calmly beside the guest house and its roof makes an excellent race track for juvenile baboons.  They also enjoy climbing on the nearby solar panel and hanging off the balcony of the guest house to peek into people’s rooms.

 

Walking from the office, you cross this bridge:

The bridge is incredibly sturdy and keeps us from having to navigate the Kikombe stream when we wander too and fro throughout camp.  Continuing south we pass through the staff area:

These buildings house all the chimpanzee and baboon field assistants and various members of their family.  Tucked in one building is a nifty little cooler where sodas are kept that are available for purchase.  Sometimes the even have Tangawizi (the amazing Tanzanian ginger beer).  It’s amazing.  Next we have the TANAPA houses:

TANAPA stands for Tanzania National Parks, and these buildings house park officials and staff.  They’re a bit swankier than the staff headquarters and often blast loud music with a fanciful beat.  Finally we come to our own little bridge:

which leads to the Minnesota house.  I have only seen water flow under this bridge once.  Mostly it’s just rotting and vaguely adorable.  The Minnesota house is where most of the researcher’s stay:

The house is also mostly cement (including the floor), but is surprisingly cozy and really rather nice for a research home (far better than I ever expected).  It is cut into two sides with two bedrooms and a sitting room apiece.  This is our side:

The door at the back left leads into my room.  It’s a bit of a hovel since very little daylight manages to sneak in the back window (the house abuts a cement wall and lots of foliage) and only recently has my mosquito net stopped reeking of mold (for some reason the left side smelled worse then the right, so I passed the first week here sleeping on my right side or suffocating myself with my pillow).

 

And finally we have our view from the beach, an amalgam of beautiful sunsets and sweeping vistas of the Congo (that is, until dry season sets in properly and the Congo slips away into the haze for a few months):

 

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I’ve been wondering if there’s a Swahili word for “plumber’s crack”.  Fortuitously, I know the words for “caterpillar”, “so-and-so”, and the equivalent of our “number 1” and “number 2”.  But I don’t know “plumber’s crack”.  Which is too bad because my pants have been getting soaked with rain, clinging to my legs, and then, with the help of my fanny pack, pulling themselves uncomfortably low so that when I lean over to crawl through the muck and grime and brambles and vines, I show my brand new assistant a class A plumber’s crack.  I would at least like to explain to him that I know I’m doing it.

 

So, I’ve had a couple days out and about in the forest and it’s all been quite dandy.  It turns out I remember all the baboons’ names (except for the slew of little ones) and that they have forgotten mine.  Many of them look at me like I have absolutely no business being there and act all surprised when I keep following them.  Makes me feel like a bit of a creep.  Males have been nonchalantly showing their teeth whenever I’m around too.  They’re not exactly threatening me, per se, but they ARE trying to impress upon me that they could totally f*** me up if I get out of line.  I’d hoped for a warmer welcome.

 

I’m following females again this time and I have a spry young man to help me keep track of them.  Today, my old nemesis WTW put on her soccer mom walking shoes and dragged us down a ravine, across a river, through miles of vines, to her favorite sap tree.  Hamimu, decked out in a soccer jersey and fun striped pants, kept with her the whole way, and then I struggled on up to him fifteen minutes later, my shins bruised, twigs in my hair, plumber’s crack ablaze, birthing myself onto the path at his feet, after extricating myself from a particularly dense thicket.  I’m sure he was impressed.

 

I also followed an old friend, Wildflower, who, in her youth, has become a bit of flirt.  And the males have finally started flirting back.  After a particularly amorous bout with Asayuti (who has been following her fervently for the last 2 days) there was some post-copulation cuddle time, which, apparently, is grooming.  Sort of cute.  The couple was also followed a couple other suitors who were waiting for their chance to work up to some cuddling, but Asayuti kept them at bay.

The day finished with soaking clothes and peculiar pattern on my pants that suggested I had somehow reverse-peed myself.  Obviously, a picture was merited.

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