Wild Spirit (16 page)

Rodo asked me to check with Kruger at the morning radio session what the going price was for a baby gorilla. The people at Mayebut had wanted 15,000 CFAs (US$65)
for her. Kruger's answer came back in his flat monotone, ‘The purchase or sale of gorillas is absolutely prohibited under Gabonese law, Madame 'Enderson.' It was the ammunition Rodo needed. Next time he went to Mayebut, he would tell them.

Throughout the morning, we both stayed close to her to monitor her physical and mental state. Her enthusiasm for food was an encouraging sign. Better still, she could climb out of the box by herself and knuckle-walk around the room with no sign of a limp. However, her anxiety of the night before had resurfaced – she ground her teeth constantly. As long as she could see us, she remained in her bed, but when we moved to the next room, she climbed out and followed, screaming. When she caught up, she stopped and sat with her shoulders hunched and arms clasped tightly around her body, and rocked back and forth on her bottom. Her fear of abandonment seemed all-consuming.

In the wild, gorilla infants cling to their mothers' bodies for at least two years. If she were to survive and thrive, her care was going to be a full-time job.

‘I'll just work in the office for the next few days,' Rodo said, ‘until she settles in.' When Étienne had cleared away the breakfast things, Rodo spread out his geological maps on the dining room table to work until lunchtime, while she lay tucked up in her bed close by the legs of his chair.

Win hurried down from the workshop at lunchtime, eager to see her, and I watched the joy flood his face. ‘She looks amazingly bright, considering what she's been through! How's she been this morning?'

Rodo looked down at her indulgently. ‘She's had a bottle of milk and a whole banana.'

Win bent down and stroked her head. Any gentle touch seemed to soothe her. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. ‘I'd guess she's about four months old. How's the leg going?'

Rodo looked up with a wide grin: ‘She's not even limping.'

Over coffee, we talked about possible names for her.

‘She's gentle and delicate,' I said. ‘It should be something feminine. What about Josephine?' We all liked that, so it was soon settled, and she would be called Josie for short.

Win felt that the wound should be bathed each day for a week to keep it clean, so in the late afternoon we set up a low wooden table outside with a bowl of warm water and disinfectant, some cotton wool and a clean towel. Rodo held her on her side while I did the bathing. The wound looked clean and healthy, with no discharge. All the stitches had held firmly, and Josie seemed unaware they were there. When I'd finished, she sat up, folded her arms, and met my eyes with a lingering look that seemed to say, ‘I'm tired of all this fuss. Can't I just sleep?'

By then, the air had grown chilly. We knew she had to be kept warm or she could develop pneumonia. I thought for a while, then remembered an old woollen singlet I had tucked away in the flat. If I could adapt it to fit her, I calculated it just might work.

The singlet was twice as long as she was. I cut the lower half off so it came just to her bottom, tied a knot at the top of each armhole to make it smaller, then slipped the singlet over her head and slid her arms through the holes. It fitted perfectly, and to our relief, she accepted it with no fuss.

We sat with her in the guesthouse until dinnertime. Josie had been with us just twenty-four hours, yet already it seemed much longer. She made her need for bodily contact plain at every opportunity – leaving her bed, making her way across to Rodo and climbing unaided on to his lap, where she wrapped her arms tightly around his chest.

For a second night, Rodo barely slept. Josie spent most of the night climbing around the furniture and grinding her teeth, and only dropped off to sleep when she was allowed into his bed. In the morning, he discovered she couldn't be left alone in the bedroom while he showered and shaved. She screamed and shrieked, threw herself around in panic and knocked over furniture. In the end, he asked one of the surveyors to sit with her.

On the second day, the beginnings of a routine developed. Étienne had kept the leftovers from the dining room for her. She ate the boiled rice and cooked vegetables from a bowl on the floor, bent over it on all fours with her bottom in the air. She had a voracious appetite and finished every morsel. Then Rodo fed her a bottle of milk while he ate his own breakfast. Afterwards he took her outside to relieve herself.

That day, we gained another insight into her needs when Rodo handed her a whole raw carrot. She grasped it gently with both hands, focused all her concentration on it, then turned it over and over, exploring the smell and texture. But instead of biting into it, she started to play with it. For half an hour, she passed it from one hand to the other, dropped it and picked it up again. Then she tossed it on the floor without having taken a single bite.

‘I think she needs some toys,' Rodo said. ‘Have we got
anything?' He rummaged in the back of the sideboard and found an old ping-pong ball which he put in the box beside her. She picked it up with both hands, delicately rotated it and examined it closely before putting it down. During the morning, she picked it up and played with it again several times. It was clear she needed mental stimulation. Rodo searched the guesthouse, and by lunchtime had collected a small plastic bottle, some cotton reels, another ball and an old tape measure. That afternoon, she sat on the floor and picked each one up in turn, minutely exploring their shapes and textures. As we observed her intense concentration, single-mindedness and fine motor skills, it was impossible not to be awed by the sophistication of her brain.

By the third morning, Rodo had developed dark rings under his eyes. Josie's night behaviour had not settled, and he was becoming increasingly exhausted. But that morning we saw a marked change in her. She seemed more independent, content to stay in her box bed for longer periods or move about the room by herself, picking up whatever she found on the floor. Étienne and Bernard both gave her lots of attention and made sure she had food and drink. She had become used to the guesthouse environment, and seemed less anxious and fretful.

It was the moment to try an experiment to test her independence. We left her in the guesthouse with Étienne and Bernard and went about our normal tasks around camp for the first time in three days. It proved to be a milestone – she managed to tolerate our absence for a whole hour before becoming agitated.

We learned the boundaries of her tolerance by trial and error. Our next step was to see what would happen if Win,
Rodo and I all went outside, whether she would come with us. The three of us walked out the guesthouse door towards the clothes line. She followed on all fours, screeching in frustration. When she had almost caught up, we moved a few paces further and she repeated the routine. The third time, her frustration erupted into a full-scale tantrum. She threw herself on the ground, flailed her legs and arms in the air and screamed louder than ever. When we turned and moved back towards her, the transformation was instant. She sat up, looked at us, and grew perfectly calm again.

Each scrap of behaviour gave us a deeper understanding of her needs and psychological state. By the end of that day, her teeth-grinding had almost ceased.

 

On the fourth day, Rodo could neglect his work no longer. He needed to spend the entire day out of camp, leaving Josie and me to spend the day together. As I had a pile of paperwork to catch up on, I hoped she would let me get on with it.

I settled her in the blanket-lined box in the corner with all her toys, then sat down at my desk. In seconds she had climbed out and was knuckle-walking towards me. My eyes met hers, and she fixed me with her steady gaze. I knew it was going to be a battle of wills, and I doubted I could win. I walked over, picked her up and placed her back in the box, making soft crooning noises to soothe her. Meanwhile, Étienne and Bernard watched, amused, from the kitchen door.

‘
Elle ne veut pas rester toute seule, madame!
' Étienne said. It was true – being by herself was the last thing she wanted.

On her next attempt, I ignored her until she reached the legs of my chair, where she sat quite still and looked up at me. I picked her up and we repeated the routine. Back at the box, I handed her the ping-pong ball, but she simply focused her gaze on me and held it. If she were going to be part of the Belinga family, I reasoned, she would have to learn some independence. Over the following hour, we repeated this sequence many times, and I didn't manage to do any work. In the end, I could no longer ignore her need.

She came over and paused beside my right leg, looking up. I looked into her eyes, made soft encouraging sounds, and patted my lap. She placed one hand on my thigh, gripped the leg of the chair with one foot, then the other, and climbed up. When she reached my lap, she placed her head and chest against my abdomen and wrapped her arms tightly around my waist. I felt her relax instantly. She breathed out a deep sigh, and I felt the rise and fall of her breathing against my stomach. All my nurturing impulses flooded to the surface. This was the first time I had held her. Was this how new mothers felt when they first held their child? I stroked her back softly with the tips of my fingers, then she nestled in and drifted off to sleep.

I forgot the paperwork and lifted my gaze to the windows above the desk and the view of forest-covered mountains. At that moment, meeting Josie's needs seemed the most important thing in the world. Her presence in our lives was a gift. How many people had held a great ape in their arms? I thought back to the sequence of events that had brought us here, to this wilderness, to this moment, caring for this orphaned creature whose brain and biology so closely matched our own. My thoughts were interrupted by a tiny
movement as Josie adjusted her body against mine. I ran the fingers of my left hand up and down her back. With my right hand, I picked up a pen and wrote out an order for the following week's food.

That afternoon, to our dismay, Josie developed a runny nose and a cough. Étienne lit a fire in the guesthouse and we kept the doors and windows closed against the damp air. Josie moved over close to the fireplace and sat quite still, letting the heat seep into her bottom and back. Our drug cabinet, which held the bulk supplies of pharmaceuticals for the
infirmerie
, contained packets of children's aspirin and bottles of decongestant cough mixture. I marked out one bottle of cough mixture and a packet of aspirin to Josie in the drug register, and we began four-hourly doses.

Even this gave us fresh insights into her fine motor skills and lively intelligence. Each time we prepared to give her a teaspoonful of cough syrup, she reached out towards the spoon, gently grasped the handle and helped to guide it to her mouth. She must have loved the sweet syrupy taste, because she licked the spoon dry each time. That afternoon we started her on halves of aspirin tablets crushed up and mixed with jam.

 

As the days went by, Rodo lost more and more sleep. The dark rings around his eyes deepened, and he walked around in a daze. Although Josie had settled in well, she still couldn't be left with Étienne and Bernard for more than an hour. Beyond that, she would start screeching and running backwards and forwards trying to find us. The crisis came one day when she was left alone in the guesthouse for just ten minutes. Rodo returned to find his desk and all his
papers smeared with her excrement. She had panicked, climbed on the desk, and tried to get out the window.

So we devised a roster system. Rodo would have her in the early mornings and nights, I would take her with me everywhere during workdays, and Win would look after her on Sundays.

We also agreed on a daily routine. Immediately after breakfast Rodo would bring her around to our flat, by which time I would be ready for work and take her into the office. She would have been fed and toileted already, so all I had to do was keep her near me. Her feeding had become much simpler. She had a permanent saucer of milk on the floor, which she lapped at whenever she wished. In the mornings and afternoons, she ate half a chopped banana and some vegetables, which she managed by herself, and at other times she had a bowl of boiled rice.

There was never any doubt about when and how often she needed the comfort of bodily contact. When Rodo was in the office, she would sit under his chair with both arms wrapped around one of his legs, and rest her head against him with her eyes closed. When I was in the office on my own, she would approach my chair obliquely or from behind, very slowly, without a sound. The first inkling I would have that she was there would be the feather-light touch of her hands closing around my leg, or one hand placed softly on my thigh as she paused in her climb halfway up the chair leg. Occasionally, she would climb in between my back and the back of the chair and curl up against me for as long as I sat there. But her favourite position was the lap embrace, where she sat facing me with her legs curled up and pressing into my stomach, her chest against mine, and her arms locked around my
waist. That position gave her the maximum reassurance. She would remain there indefinitely without moving or taking any notice of what was happening in the room. She and I developed a regular routine: I would scratch her back lightly, she would relax her hold and drop off into a half-sleep. I could manage this quite easily while I sat at the desk operating the radio or writing.

She only became agitated when I moved about the room and didn't take her with me. If I left her on the chair, she would screech, climb down, and run after me. I learned that the best way to keep her calm was simply to let her cling to me all the time. When I stood up she simply clung tighter, as she would have in the wild. This allowed me to move about the room and still have both hands free.

I wasn't sure how she would cope when I took her in the Méhari for the first time on my routine deliveries to the
cas de passage
and the
économat
, and my trips up to the warehouse to work with M'Poko Lucien. But she took to it without a hiccup. When I drove, she sat perfectly still on my lap. When I walked around camp, she rode on my hip or sat with her bottom on my hand, clinging to my forearm. In that position she could see everything, and seemed to enjoy being swung. When I worked up in the warehouse, she sat quietly nearby and watched. With each day, my bond with her grew. Each morning I looked forward to the warm feeling of her body clinging to mine.