Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
approaching cunning in his eyes. Boston began to bark at him in Bugandan, before the man
gave a sanguine shrug and chattered back.
'He says they take it to market. They can get a good price for bush meat. Then they'll
use that money to buy food for their families.' Boston stopped. 'He says - does the white
man want to buy it?'
I looked at the man and had the distinct impression that this was not truly an act of des-
peration by an impoverished family. This was a tiny movement in a much more complex
economy, one that encouraged the impoverished to plunder the forest's natural resources
without thought of the future. Like the drunk villagers channelling fire behind us, this man
and his children were pawns put into play by much bigger corporations, whose only re-
sponsibility was to their own profit. With a little help, locals like this could be taught how
to look after the land and still make a living from it - but that was too much of an effort.
'Don't buy it off him, Lev. He thinks you're a weak European. He thinks you'll pay top
dollar, because you're too soft.'
'I wasn't going to
buy
it from him, Boston.' Instead, I strode towards the boys and, be-
fore they could protest, simply lifted the baby vervet from their hands.
In mine, the vervet was no less frightened. Ignoring their protestations, I strode into the
bush, clambering over smouldering embers to where the mother had last been seen. Sure
enough, she was still waiting - but, on my approach, she set up the same startled cry as
before. To this desperate mother, I was no better than the boys I could sense stealing after
me, eager to reclaim their catch.
Panic took the mother and, before I could get near, she scuttled off to the sanctuary of
a bush. Creeping near, I placed the baby vervet on the ground. Behind me, Boston was
barking at the boys to go back to the forest, but I remained fixed on the vervets, hoping
the mother could be coaxed out of her hiding. Slowly, I beat my own retreat. Only when I
was some metres away did the mother emerge from the scrub. Tentatively, she crossed to
where her baby was yowling - but still she seemed unsure. After sniffing the baby from a
distance, neatly evading its grappling hands, she turned tail again, and disappeared into the
undergrowth. Thirty minutes later, the baby was still there, stumbling in circles, and the
mother was nowhere to be seen. Who can tell what truly goes on in the minds of animals?
But it seemed to me, watching the baby left alone, that the mother was afraid of its new
smell, corrupted by the hands of man. She had abandoned it.
'Let's go,' muttered Boston, in sadness.
Over my shoulder, the boys were still lurking - and, even though I knew there were
countless other animals being destroyed in the forest today, I did not want this one on my
conscience. Ignoring Boston, I crept close and retrieved the vervet. Instantly, she set up a
screech - but, moments later, still screeching, she was clinging to my neck in the way she
