Last week I told you about our “animal encounter” with a Vervet Monkey - or to give it its proper name, a Savanna Monkey. Well, here are some more Monkey stories, because while as dangerous as anything else with fur and fangs (think leopards, lions, hyenas, wild dogs), they really are very funny – provided you’re not on the receiving end of their brazen behaviour.
Vervets are smart – and cheeky. Many of them have worked out that human spaces are good places for rich pickings. The Skukuza restcamp where we stayed is overrun with the critters. They swing through the trees, chattering, ready to scavenge and “make a fast buck”. They’re not easily intimidated and will happily try their luck. They also hang out at all the picnic spots where one might be inclined to take a midday break.
We had our first encounter at the Nkulu tearoom on the riverine road between Skukuza and Lower Sabie, where the Vervets were having a field day. Hanging out in the trees, they kept a beady eye on the comings and goings of the lunch providers – that’s you and me, to them. One monkey would stake out a family and watch them, keeping a keen eye on lunch preparations. It would edge closer, seemingly innocent and just as the sandwich was ready, it would leap with astonishing speed, grab the sandwich and beat a hasty retreat up the nearest tree – usually to the chorus of “Voetsek! jou blerrie ding!” (which roughly translated means “sod off, you bloody thing!”) What I found deeply amusing was the outrage of the robbed humans. I mean, come on, the monkeys were there first, right, you’ve got nice goodies and it’s winner takes all. Frankly, I admire the chutzpah!
As I sat watching these antics I became aware of the fact that I too was being observed. And the watcher was sidling ever closer. What, I wondered, did I have that Mr Vervet could possibly want. All that was in front of me was an empty coffee cup and a small packet of sugar.
The Vervet gave me a look and looked away. He leapt a tree branch closer. He gazed innocently into the sky and had a scratch. He shot me another glance and hopped to the ground. Again, he gazed around him the picture of perfect virtue - and the next thing he was on the table. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he sat there, studiously ignoring me. Then in a swoop his arm shot out, the paw grabbed the sugar packet and in a flash (and I’d like to think with a whoop of triumph) he was gone and bounding up his tree, where, mightily pleased with himself, he tore open the sugar packet and scoffed the lot.
But not only do Vervets irritate humans, they have a fine sense of humour that involves irritating each other – especially if they’re young and full of fun. One small chap, taking a break from capers and antics, had snuggled up to mum for a drink. An older youngster, peeved that his playmate had disappeared, snuck up the tree and gave the baby’s tail a mighty tug. The baby finished his slurp, shot down the tree and the game was on again, involving chasing, biting and squealing. It’s clearly a very tough life being a Vervet (okay, being eaten by leopards, aside) - all fun, romps, scratching, eating and snoozing all day. We’d do well to heed the lesson!
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