« | PREVIOUS POST
NEXT POST | »

Baboon Romances

March 2nd, 2011

I would very much like to narrate a nature documentary on baboon love triangles.  I would do so with a British accent and everything would sound vaguely like a poorly-written Monty Python skit.

BA troop, sporting a whopping 19 females, always seems to have one or two special ladies at their swelling peak each week.  To a male baboon, nothing is more exciting than a female who’s butt has quadrupled in size and taken on a lusty pink hue (alas, that does not appear to be the case for the human male).  But there are protocols.  As the female begins to swell, all the males ignore her.  As her butt gets bigger, she begins to be driven by some weird spike in libido to stick her butt in every male’s face, often several times, even if he pointedly looks away.  They still ignore her.  At some point, some teenage punk, on the verge of being a big male himself, will start following her around.  Makali, the biggest of these, has taken all sorts of liberties with the swollen females, disregarding the fact that many of them could be his half-sister (it’s considered polite, at least by baboon scientists, for males to forego mating until they’ve moved on to a different troop).  But, then, suddently, a magical day arrives when the real men care.  And then they REALLY care.

Yesterday, Asayuti had secured himself the lovely Maryo.  I think of her as small-faced, dainty, just a young woman getting her start in the world.  And Asayuti’s not a bad guy.  The general M.O. of these little male-female partnerships (called consortships) is that the dude follows his chick around, usually quite closely, and she meanders from grasp clump to grasp clump, pretending not to see him until he mounts her, as is his due.  Enter Male Number Two: Sufi.  I still like Sufi.  He likes children, isn’t big into lady-abuse, likes to nap.  But he is a man and he has needs.  So, as Maryo weaves her way through the forest, Asayuti follows her and Sufi pretends to just be passing by.  He’ll gaze at her longingly, but only for a few seconds before he’ll suddenly turn his attention to his foot, or a passing butterfly, or the sky.  When Maryo walks on, Asayuti at her heels, Sufi will follow them lazily.  He’ll saunter.  As if he just happened to be walking that way too.  At one point, Asayuti calls him on this, walking right up to him, lips smacking, ready to do the customary male “diddle” (a greeting ceremony that involves males tugging on each others’ junk).  And Sufi complies, saying, “Oh, gosh!  I didn’t see you there!  I just happened to be in the neighborhood…I mean, what are the chances that we are both here?  Is that Maryo with you?”  Asayuti walks away.  Sufi follows, pretending not to.  “Oh, you’re going this way, too?  Imagine that!”  I, in turn, follow Sufi.  Soon, we have a weird train going, pink-assed female, followed by lascivious male, followed by peeping Tom, followed by me.  Followed by Faridu (who’s out with me).  For over half an hour I watch Sufi trail after the amorous couple, feigning to “just be in the neighborhood for the delicious berries”.  Usually these sorts of things end in a fight, though how they escalate from neighborly to homicidal is still a bit of a mystery to me.

Anyway, the next morning Sufi and Maryo are the consorting couple, going through the same motions.  And evil Augosti I looks on, templing his fingers and thinking his nasty little thoughts.