Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
I was surprised when I heard the words
godlike ape
, but Savage-Rumbaugh's idea wasn't new;
humans often admire and tell stories about those with transformative powers.
“We're just on the cusp,” she said, “of really understanding how brains interact. . . . We have
thought of ourselves as individual sacks of skin. We're far more connected than we've ever under-
stood. And bonobos have almost a sixth sense. They have an understanding of their connectedness.
And when we are able to finally grasp and measure that scientifically, I think we'll be able to know
what it means when we say humans have vibes or humans react with each other. I don't think that's
just a phrase. I think there's something going on that's really happening between us, but that lin-
guistically we have, through our culture, shut out. And bonobos haven't shut that part of themselves
out. I want people to realize that we're just on the cusp of understanding the most fascinating spe-
cies on the planet—not that elephants and dolphins and others aren't—but we're on the cusp of
understanding that species and we're about to decimate it in the Congo.”
In her writings, Savage-Rumbaugh explores the question of bonobo cultures, whether they, like
human cultures, exist and are taught, exerting an influence on the instinctive behavior of apes. She
describes how bonobos and humans who live together come to share a hybrid culture, an observa-
tion that leads naturally to speculation as to how humans might learn a new way of being. Simply
looking at the history of human culture reminds us of the degree to which it shapes us, leading us
to select for certain genetic traits, the most obvious being the ideas of beauty that we might value at
any given time. Culture may become the most significant element of the environment to which we
adapt.
I was eager to meet bonobos, to understand what bond they could share with us, how we could
interact, and how spending time with them might shift my views. Savage-Rumbaugh was living
with bonobos on the outskirts of Des Moines, Iowa, at the Great Ape Trust, a research facility the
philanthropist Ted Townsend had created.
It was April when I visited, the sun warm though the air was still cool, the land yet to bloom.
A grove of leafless trees and a small lake separate the tall, electrified fence topped with barbed
wire from the Trust's two concrete buildings. Tyler, the laboratory supervisor, a man in his twenties,
showed me into the bonobo building and let me watch as he ran experiments with a fourteen-year-
old female bonobo, Elykia (“hope” in Lingala, the lingua franca of the western Congo). He told me
I'd have to sit in the hallway and stay still, that bonobos were generally shy. He went into a small
room next to a glass-walled chamber with a computer touch screen.
A doorway in the back of the chamber opened into the area where the bonobos lived. Elykia
entered through it on all fours, craned her neck, scanning the inside, then moved fluidly, rapidly,
onto the platform near the touch screen. She gazed out and saw me, her large black eyes opening
wide, before she fled in a black blur.
“She's just being dramatic,” Tyler called to me. “She'll be flirting with you in no time.”
She neared again, looking in, and made a high-pitched, birdlike sound before bounding to sit
on the platform. Though I'd read Japanese primatologist Takayoshi Kano's description of hearing
bonobos in the Congo, like “hornbills twittering in the distance,” I was startled by how different
their calls were from the barks and low hoots of the chimpanzees I had seen in zoos.
Elykia glanced around and settled in. Lexigrams appeared on the screen, and she hesitated be-
fore touching one with a fingertip. Her hands resembled my own but were long, with more distance
between each knuckle. The muscles of her arms were finely shaped, like those of an athlete. She
had somewhat less hair than the wild bonobos I had seen in pictures, since captive bonobos can be-
