Gerald Durrell (19 page)

I had always
considered chameleons easy things to keep, but I discovered that they could be
just as temperamental as a monkey or a duiker if they wanted to be. In a cage
they did not seem to get enough air or sunlight. Once I placed three of them in
a rather exposed position and they all promptly died of sunstroke. At last,
after much experiment, I found the best way to treat them. On four saplings in
the corner of the compound I had a palm-leaf roof erected, and under this,
tethered by the waist with fine grass cords to branches, I kept my chameleons.
They were tied about three feet apart, so they would not crawl over each other
and get their ropes entangled, and in front of each one was suspended a lump of
rotting meat. This attracted the flies in hundreds and the chameleons would
squat there, rolling their eyes, and flipping their six-inch tongues out, and
every time they would hit a fly amidships. Three times a day they had to be
sprayed with water, which they did not seem to enjoy very much, but without
this treatment they sickened and died.

There was a
third species of chameleon in the Cameroons, and my first meeting with this
rare reptile was unusual to say the least. One afternoon I had decided to
attack several large termites’ nests which dotted the fields and low
undergrowth which lay outside the village and within easy reach of the camp. I
had gathered about twenty people to help me, as a large area around the nests
had to be closed in with nets, and you needed plenty of people to patrol these
and remove anything that was caught. Arriving at the first nest, a massive red
earth fortress some twelve feet high and about thirty feet around the base, we
commenced to clear away all the surrounding undergrowth and leave an open space
round the nest. When this was done the usual selection of mysterious holes was
brought to light. Round the edge of this clearing we had made, we strung the
nets, and posted the excited helpers at intervals along them. Then we blocked
up most of the holes in the nest and, lighting a bundle of dry grass, thrust it
down a hole and stood back. Slowly the smoke drifted along the tunnels and
appeared at the mouths of other holes, little coiling skeins at first which
rapidly turned into great rolling clouds as more and more fuel was added. We
all waited in a tense silence as we watched the smoke. A quarter of an hour
passed, and not a sign of life came from the nests. I had just decided that it
must be devoid of life when a great uproar started at the other side of the
hill. Hurrying round I found Elias and Carpenter convulsed with laughter.
Choking with mirth they pointed into the smoke, and peering I could see, at the
mouth of the largest hole, a tiny chameleon, about three inches long,
staggering out into the fresh air.

“Masa, we done
catch big beef to-day,” roared Elias, slapping his plump thighs in an excess of
mirth.

I picked the
chameleon up and placed him in the palm of my hand. He was, as I say, no more
than three inches long, and had a tiny stumpy little tail about an inch and a
half long, which was curled up neatly like a watch-spring. On the end of his
upturned nose was a small horn, which gave him a very disdainful, camel-like
expression. He was a light fawn, covered with faint specks and streaks of rust
red. He was my first Pygmy chameleon, and I was fascinated by his size, by his
unhurried movements, and by his disdainful expression. Why he, an essentially
arboreal reptile, should be found in the tunnels of a termites’ nest I could
not think, but there he was. Later, when I got to know him better, I discovered
other curious things about him. I never saw him eat, for example, yet he must
have done so, for he stayed with me a long time and remained plump and in the
best of health. I could not get him to change colour at all, either by annoying
him, or by putting him on different coloured surroundings. The only time he
changed was at night, when he would close his eyes and turn a delicate ash grey
all over, thus looking more like a small dead leaf than ever. I eventually
obtained four of these amusing little creatures, but I was never lucky enough
to see one in its wild state, except the one in the termites’ nest, which I
don’t think counts! Each time, when they were brought to me, I would ask the
bringer where it had been caught, and each time they would say that they had
captured it on the ground, generally walking solemnly along a native path. With
the other chameleons they always insisted that they caught them in the trees,
but the Pygmies they found on the ground. Careful questioning failed to shake
them on this point. Wondering if perhaps these little reptiles were quite so
exclusively arboreal as I had supposed, I made an experiment with the four I
had. I placed them in a cage which had, in addition to numerous branches, a
layer of earth at the bottom covered with dead leaves and bits of twigs.
Hitherto they had been forced to remain in the branches because of the bareness
of the cage bottom. As soon as some natural cover was available down below,
they left the branches and lived entirely on the ground, hiding happily among
the leaves.

The only habit
they had which was exactly like their larger cousins was the dance. This is a
most curious action which chameleons indulge in occasionally, and which really
has to be seen to be appreciated to, the full. Place them on the ground, or on
a branch, and they will stand stock still for a minute or so, only their eyes
moving. Then, very slowly, they will put forward one front leg and the opposite
hind leg. With these two members in mid-air they will sway rhythmically
backwards and forwards for a few seconds. Then they will take the step and
stand stock still again before repeating the performance with the other pair of
legs. All the time their great eyes would be rolling round and round, looking
up and down, back and front.

Neither the
Africans nor my collection of monkeys appreciated the chameleons. The Africans
would have nothing to do with them, alive or dead, and the sight of my handling
and being bitten by these reptiles would set them all off moaning and clicking
their fingers in agitation. They considered that every chameleon was deadly
poisonous, and no argument would convince them otherwise. The monkeys made it
quite obvious that they disliked and feared these reptiles, but not in the same
way as they feared a snake. The chameleons fascinated them and revolted them at
the same time. The monkeys were tethered to stakes next door to the shelter
that housed the chameleons, and they never tired of watching the reptiles
moving slowly about their branches. Whenever a chameleon would shoot out his
tongue for a fly, all the monkeys would start back as though bitten, and utter
sharp cries of wonder and interest.

At this time my
monkey collection consisted of a Red-eared Guenon, four Putty-nose Guenons, and
six Drills, and one day I tried an experiment. One of the chameleons had died,
and so I took the corpse to the monkeys, and sitting down among them I showed
it to them. They formed a respectful circle round me and examined the chameleon
with interest. After screwing up his courage the eldest Drill touched it
quickly, then drew back his hand and wiped it hastily on the ground. I could
not persuade the Guenons to come anywhere near it. The Drills eventually became
very brave and started to play with the corpse, even chasing the screaming
Guenons with it and threatening them. I had to put a stop to this as the Drills
were quite bad-mannered enough, and the Guenons were protesting bitterly, and
seemed genuinely terrified. Then I tried something else: I got a large live
chameleon and let it walk amongst the monkeys. Although they kept out of its
way and chattered and made faces at it, they did not seem more than slightly
afraid. I then got a fair-sized water-snake and released that. There was no
mistaking the fear this time: they all fled to the top of their stakes and
clung there screaming blue murder until I had removed the snake.

The Drills were
the street urchins of the monkey collection. Everything, or almost everything,
that you gave to them was first put through the test of whether it was edible
or not. If it was not, then it was played with for a while, but they soon lost
interest. If a thing was edible (and few things did not come into this
category) they would treat it in two different ways. If it was a delicacy, such
as a grasshopper, they would cram it into their mouths with all speed in order
to prevent anyone else having it. If it was something that was not
very
attractive they would play with it for a long time, occasionally taking bites
out of it, until there was nothing left for them to play with. The Drills,
though ugly in comparison to some monkeys, had a brand of charm all their own.
Their rolling, dog-like walk; the way they would wrinkle up their noses at you,
showing all their baby teeth in a hideous grimace which was supposed to be
ingratiating; the way they would walk backwards towards you, displaying their
bright pink bottoms as a sign of affection. All these things endeared the
Drills to me, but the thing that never failed to melt my heart was the trustful
way they would rush to your legs as soon as you appeared, and cling there with
hands and feet, uttering hiccuping cries of delight, and peering up into your
face with such trustful expressions.

The six Drills I
had acquired ruled the roast over all the other and more timid monkeys for a
long time. The slender and nervous Guenons could always be persuaded to drop a
succulent grasshopper if a Drill charged them, uttering guttural coughs of
anger. But one day a new arrival proved their reign at an end: a man walked
into the camp, preceded on a length of rope by a three-parts-grown Baboon.
Young though he was, he was at least three times as big as the largest Drill,
and so, from the moment I purchased him, he assumed control of the monkeys.
Apart from his great size he had a shaggy coat of yellowish fur, huge teeth,
and a long sweeping, lion-like tail. It was this latter that seemed to give the
Drills an inferiority complex: they would examine it for a long time with
intense interest, and then turn round and gaze at their own blunt posteriors,
ornamented only with a short curled stump of a tail. I called this baboon
George, for he resembled a character in the village with this name, and he
turned out to be gentle and kind to the other monkeys, without allowing them to
take any liberties. Sometimes he would go so far as to allow the Guenons to
search for salt on his skin, while he lay prostrate on the ground, a
trance-like expression on his face. When he first arrived the Drills banded
together and tried to give him a beating up, to prove their superiority, but
George was equal to the occasion and gave far more than he got. After this the
Drills were very respectful indeed, and would even give a quick look round to
see where George was before bullying a Guenon, for George’s idea of settling a
quarrel was to rush in and bite both contestants as hard as he could.

George, owing to
the fact that he was so tame, was a great favourite with the staff, and spent
much of his time in the kitchen. This, however, I had to put a stop to as he
was used as an excuse for almost anything that happened: if dinner was late,
George had upset the frying-pan; if something was missed there were always at
least three witnesses to the fact that George had been seen with it last. So in
the end George was tethered among the other monkeys and accepted the leadership
without letting it go to his head. In this respect he was most unusual, for
almost any monkey, if he sees that all the others respect and are afraid of
him, will turn into the most disgusting bully. He also did something that
astonished not only his fellow-monkeys but the staff as well. Thinking that he
would show the same respect for the chameleons as the other monkeys did, I tied
him with a fairly long leash, and his first action was to walk to the full
extent of it, reach out a black paw, snatch a chameleon off its branch, and
proceed to eat it with every sign of enjoyment. I hastily shortened his leash.

The Red-eared
Guenon was the most delightful of the monkeys. About the size of a small cat,
she was a delicate green-yellow colour on her body, with yellow patches on her
cheeks, a fringe of russet hair hiding her ears, and on her nose a large
heart-shaped patch of red hair. Her limbs were slender, and she had great thin
bony fingers, like a very old man’s. Every day the monkeys had a handful of
grasshoppers each, and the Red-eared Guenon, when she saw me coming, would
stand up on her hind legs, uttering shrill bird-like twitterings, and holding
out her long arms beseechingly, her thin fingers trembling. She would fill her
mouth and both hands with grasshoppers, and when the last insect had been
scrunched she would carefully examine the front and back of her hands to make
sure she had not missed one, and then would search the ground all round, an
intense expression in her light brown eyes. She was the most gentle monkey I
had ever come across, and even her cries were this delicate birdlike
twittering, and a long drawn-out “wheeeeeeep” when she was trying to attract
one’s attention, so different from the belching grunts and loud, unruly screams
of the Drills, or the tinny screech of the Putty-noses. George seemed to share
my liking for this Guenon, and she seemed to find comfort in being near to his
massive body. Peering from behind his shaggy shoulders she would even pluck up
the courage to make faces at the Drills.