A long and varied history of positive interactions with monkeys.
We were living just outside of Chicago, in Winnetka at the time. My parents had moved us from our apartment on Lake Shore drive when my little sister was born – the fourth child. I was eight then and looked up to my ten-year old sister and tolerated my three-year-old brother. My earliest memories were pedaling my bike as fast as my little legs could carry me and calling to my sister, Katie, “Wait for me! Wait for me!” as she and her friends lengthened the distance between us on their lightweight Schwinn three-speeds.
My father commuted into the city each day to carry on his career in corporate law and the move to a home with a large garden meant we could have pets! We already had our parakeet, Hop-a-long, named for a favorite television personality; soon we had Jimmy and John Henry, two black cocker spaniels, designated as Katie’s. Finally, my dad helped me pick out Skippy, a stately tan boxer. The cockers were well-behaved, but Skippy took after the name of his breed and wanted to pick fights with all the neighboring dogs. At one point, a neighbor’s maid opened a screen door to let in their dog who was being chased by Skippy. She quickly closed the door and Skippy sailed through the screen, proceeding to chase their dog all through their house leaping over beds, knocking over lamps, sliding on carpets, and causing more of a mess rather than any real damage. Nevertheless, my dad punished Skippy by limiting his freedom with a strong chain whenever he was outside.
My dad and his colleagues often had to travel for legal cases and the most memorable trip for me was his assignment to a case in Miami. He traveled with a colleague, who was husband of one of my mom’s best friends and a neighbor in Winnetka. Apparently, in a phone call to his wife, Bob told her how much he missed her and that he had a surprise for her. She begged him for hints and when she heard “furry and warm”, she immediately assumed he was bringing her a mink coat! Imagine her dismay when it turned out he had brought her a small squirrel monkey! Well, it was furry and warm! Her response was to lock him out of the house and threaten divorce. That is how Celeste ended up with us, since my dad had also brought home a small squirrel monkey! Celeste could bunk with our Josephine; my mom, who was always a good sport about these things, set them up in the guest bathroom where they swung from the shower curtain rod, enjoyed shallow warm baths, oranges and bananas, and seemed very, very content.
My sister and I would dress the monkeys in our dolls’ clothes and wheel them around in our doll baby buggies. They had little harnesses to keep them from running away when we took them out of the guest bathroom. Sometimes I pretended to be a circus ringleader and would make Josephine trot in a circle on her lead, as I had seen ponies in the circus perform. This was not a hit with Josephine and once, when the trotting stopped, she ran up, hugged my leg and bit me!
The three dogs were curious about the sounds and smells coming from the guest bathroom, but n’er the twain did meet! Too risky. There were times when the monkeys would join Katie and I in our bath time, splashing and leaping from the edges to our arms or hanging upside down from the shower curtain rod. Then one day I found them holding each other very tightly. They were listless and not even interested in sampling a piece of banana. Mom called the veterinarian for advice. He had little to offer so mom gave them a bit of medicinal bourbon from an eye dropper. The next morning, we discovered that Celeste and Josephine had died in each other’s arms. The vet seemed to think it had been pneumonia.
My next encounter with monkeys was many years and several continents away. My husband had accepted a position at the American Embassy School in New Delhi, India. So, off we went. We had to give our flat-coated retriever, Gus, to neighbors and I had the fantasy that we would adopt him back when we returned in two years, but the whole separation was truly traumatic for my seven-year-old daughter. This could explain why she presently has seven dogs, six being rescues! At any rate, she, and my almost three-year-old son, joined us in receiving numerous required inoculations to prepare for life in India where rabies is endemic, and many other sorts of dangers lurked. But what an adventure we had! We settled into our flat on the school campus very smoothly. The school hired a cook, sweeper, laundry person, nanny and gardener for us on spec. We were a bit overwhelmed and, in fact, outnumbered by all the helpers in the household to make our transition to India easier. The embassy provided school servants with housing on their “campus” and that was a huge lure for these people who really became members of our family in a matter of weeks.
We had almost a month before the school meetings and opening began. In the meantime, Chris turned three! Well, on the advice of the families who were part of the faculty, we organized a party for Chris. There were quite a number of faculty kids, and they looked forward to a celebration. We lived on the edge of one of the many fields on the campus and so it seemed the obvious choice for entertainment would be elephant rides! Soon the turbaned elephant mahout arrived leading an adorable young elephant who was decorated with designs and jewelry and had a mirror-work saddle on his back. John, our cook, and his son, Pappou, our sweeper, had prepared an amazing cake and feast for the children. There were little sandwiches, ice cream, cake, juice, and tea for the moms.
John and Pappou had brought a little outfit from the market for the “Bara Sahib”, meaning “big boss” and Chris enjoyed the attention. He wore churidar trousers, which were gathered and tight at the ankle, a kurta or linen tunic, and a mirror-work vest. On his head he had a turban with an ostrich feather held by a large gem. John told Chris he was dressed as a Pathan warrior, like those who fought in the Khyber Pass. Well, he had Chris at the word “warrior” and this outfit was donned frequently over the first year of our stay in India.
Back at the party, soon our attention was on blowing candles, opening gifts, and playing with the new toys. John ran into the living room and motioned me to come quickly. It seemed the Mahout was having a tea break and the elephant was roaming the field on his own. One by one he was uprooting and eating the sapling trees the school had planted on the perimeter of the field! The cost of hiring the elephant seemed paltry compared to the cost of replacing a stand of young trees!
India is so diverse and beautiful. In the three years we were there I toured many of the sights near Delhi and beyond. Most of the ruins are populated by colonies of monkeys and, in fact, some even have “Monkey Temples” incorporated into the ancient, ruined cities. The monkey, among many other animals, is revered as Hanuman, a god in the Hindu religion. He is said to be an avatar for Vishnu and represents physical strength, perseverance, and devotion. I’ve read that the monkey colonies have become very aggressive toward tourists, but back in the late ‘70’s they were curious but shy with humans. They could scratch you if you held out your hand to feed them, so that was taboo. Like a scratch from any animal, the wound could become infected, especially in India, this could pose a serious health risk.
The colonies were amazing to watch as they groomed each other, fought, chased, wrestled, or merely lolled on the ancient statuary in poses seemingly to entertain the viewers. In the market the occasional character would have a monkey on a lead and ask for money or food. These monkeys were smaller and more akin to my beloved Josephine, but still, no touching!
Then a few years ago I had the opportunity to meet, Yoyo, a squirrel monkey just like my pet, Josephine. It happened in the Dominican Republic at a resort. We noticed two men walking up the beach and stopping occasionally to speak to the bathers. I realized they were asking if anyone wanted to pose for a picture with Yoyo or their colorful parrot, Romeo. My husband could sense my excitement and was not encouraging me. For good reason!
We had just come back from a disastrous snorkeling excursion with two men we had met on the beach, and I knew it would be a hard sell to persuade Ron to let these guys take our pictures holding the animals. Yoyo was so adorable! I wished I could have taken him home with me. His fur was so soft, and his little hand gripped my finger like a newborn baby’s would. His eyes were large and brown staring up into my eyes, and he seemed intelligent. He clung to me, and I just wished I could have kept him. The men told me they didn’t own the monkey or the parrot but rented them to use as props for photos with tourists. Romeo was heavier than I imagined, as he carefully balanced on my head. I held on to Yoyo and posed for several shots with Yoyo and Ron and with Romeo and Ron. The photographer was really an expert and the package of ten photos for $50 turned out to be money well spent. We framed several of the photos to remind us of our first trip together to the Caribbean.
Ron was a very good sport to humor me since only the day before we had paid a good sum of money to two men on the beach offering snorkeling excursions. They promised to take us in their boat to a good spot to see reef fish. The excursion was to include lunch and drinks, plus, they had the equipment for us to use, so it seemed like a good idea.
The next morning a dilapidated van pulled up to the elegant entrance of our resort; we got in without a second thought. We drove about thirty minutes to the other side of Punta Cana and finally stopped at a hut with a corrugated tin roof. There we were led into what turned out to be a souvenir shop: J C Peney! Yes, that was how it was emblazoned across the front of the ramshackle storefront.
A flat bottom boat with rusted gunnels and an old outboard motor on the back, bobbed just off the beach. After we purchased too many tee shirts, fridge magnets, a carved wooden monkey and other knick-knacks, the proprietor gifted each of us with a carved wooden cross on a leather lanyard.
The boat was hauled up the sand almost to the shore and we gingerly stepped into the brackish wash sloshing on the bottom of the boat. We were given mildewed life jackets and shown the hodge-podge selection of snorkeling gear. Of course, Ron’s size twelve feet were not accommodated, but he was given a mask and snorkel; and I, determined to make the best of this outing, which had been my idea, put on my gear as the engine jerked to a start to take us out to where the fish could be seen. Ron determined that he would stay on the boat this time. It was a rough day on the water, not ideal for snorkeling, but I slipped over the side and swam a short way off to see some fish. I caught sight of a school of large needle fish standing still, in formation; they actually looked a bit like barracuda, so I put my free hand over my ring, since barracuda are attracted to flashy things. I saw a few non-descript grayish fish and a spotted fish, but nothing that looked remotely tropical. Soon I popped my head above the water and saw that I had drifted a bit away from our boat. The two men had turned off the engine, dropped a makeshift anchor, and were having a beer. They looked like they might have been part of a back-up band for Bob Marley, with dreadlocks and wide smiles. Ron was looking stoic and uncomfortable.
I swam back and Ron helped haul me back into the boat; the lunch turned out to be a few bags of chips and the drinks were comprised of a couple of rusted cans of beer. Soon we were back on shore climbing into the van for a return trip to the resort. Well, I felt satisfied that I had gotten that snorkeling thing out of my system and vowed to help Ron buy his own gear for the next time. Looking back, we were very fortunate not to have ended up as chum off that ratty boat! On our return to the USA, we learned that the crime rate in DR was high and it was not recommended to leave the resort. Ron still wears his wooden cross on its leather lanyard.
With the Monkey Pox outbreak, I am considering wearing my cross, too. It hangs on my mirror by the leather strap. I hate to think of monkeys being blamed for this latest medical scare. I mean was Chicken Pox traced back to chickens? Who came up with the label: Monkeypox, anyway? My interactions with monkeys have been nothing but pleasurable. These sweet, maligned animals have received harsh treatment over the years, being used as lab animals for experimentation. Furthermore, Jane Goodall, in her studies of primates, maintains that these creatures are very intelligent and family oriented.
Just when we are breathing a sigh of relief at what seems like the end of a virulent pandemic, now the media is hyping the whole monkeypox scare. This disease has been around for a long time, mainly in Africa, and the CDC has a vaccine at the ready if needed. Anyone who was vaccinated for smallpox may already have some protection against monkeypox.
Like the Covid-19 virus, this is a viral zoonotic disease, meaning that it can spread from animals to humans. It can also spread between people, with any close contact with an infected person. The media reports that there is already a tendency to stigmatize anyone with the disease or in those communities where cases have occurred. According to the WHO, monkeypox is commonly found in central and west Africa where there are tropical rainforests and where animals that may carry the virus typically live. The disease is called monkeypox because it was first identified in colonies of monkeys kept for research in 1958. It was only later detected in humans in 1970. The part about monkeys kept for research is the problem in my view.
Certainly, any new disease causes alarm, especially after our recent and ongoing pandemic illnesses with many hospitalizations and over a million deaths. But I am hoping that the latest outbreak, which is quite small at the moment, will not cause hate crimes against monkeys!! They are our distant cousins on the evolutionary timeline and share many of our traits, or we theirs. Opposing thumbs, anyone?