I’m taking a walk through Johannesburg Zoo in the late afternoon. It’s been a quiet day, I’m in a lazy mood and comfy clothes.
Fog is rolling in from across the lake, light is draining out of the sky and the people out of the place. In the near distance around the darkening park, the tops of city blocks are lost in the soft, grey suckling of low rainclouds.
And that’s when it happens. Suddenly, there’s the slap of something warm and wet and large against the side of my face.
It’s poo.
I turn to see a chimpanzee jumping up and down on a tree stump in his enclosure. He’s laughing.
“Hey! What’s with the poo?” I shout.
“Just trying to get your attention!” he shouts back. “It’s a sign of affection in monkey culture. In fact, fling some back at me if you like.”
“I don’t have any on me.”
“Take a look in a mirror, buddy.”
And so, I fling a bit of poo and we’re instant friends.
“Have you read this thing?” he says.
He’s flapping what looks like a tabloid newspaper in one hand. I immediately assume that it’s the Daily Sun but it turns out to be the Mail & Guardian from a couple of weeks ago. He’s pointing at the story on evolution being taught in schools.
“Yup,” I say, walking up to the railing. “Good news, I think.”
“Damn straight,” says the monkey. “It’s about bloody time we got some credit for allowing you to descend from us.”
“Yes, thanks for that. I quite enjoy being human. Art. Philosophy. Top Billing.”
The monkey shakes his head. “I don’t know how you watch that crap.”
We chat about this and that. He complains about how his best friend, Bobo, ran off with his girl (“That Bobo’s not such a great ape.”) and for a little while, it’s obvious that we’re not so different, me and the monkey. Until we get to talking about fresh produce and discover that I say po-tay-to and he says po-tah-to.
“What is it about you humans? Always trying to be different from the rest of us?”
“We are different.”
“Without us, there wouldn’t be a you!”
“It’s not like you actually did anything.”
“Oh yeah? Well, where would you be without the monkey wrench?”
I struggle for a quick comeback that will show off my higher brain. But, of course, the monkey’s right.
“And how would you like a world without crazy monkey sex?”
I take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, Mr Monkey. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
But he’s still angry.
“You people. Going off and evolving without us. You left us hanging, man. Literally.”
“Listen, that was 200Â 000 years ago. Can’t we just forget about the past?”
He looks off to the distance. Then back to me. He smiles a reconciliatory smile as best as his monkey-face can manage.
“Listen,” I say. “I just don’t think you should get your hopes up about the evolution-in-schools thing. People will believe whatever they want to believe. Some people still think the Earth is only 4Â 000 years old. Some that it rests on the back of a giant turtle. And the last thing most people want to admit is how much we are like you.”
The monkey hangs his head and fiddles with a lone leaf sticking out of the stump.
“What’s wrong with being like me?”
I think about it for a second.
“I don’t know, exactly.”
It’s now properly dark and they’re ringing a bell across the park that says I have to go.
“You bring me a banana sometime?”
“I’ll bring you a banana sometime. Promise.”
I start to walk off, then remember — “Hey! While you’re at it,” I shout, “check out my column on page 34.”
“I’m an ape,” the monkey shouts back. “I’m just getting the hang of these opposable thumbs. Do you know how long it took me to get to page three?”