Through a Window (7 page)

So it was that morning. I found her sitting on the ground, hunched and looking cold and miserable, for it had rained a short while before—one of those short, heavy deluges that sometimes catch one unawares in the middle of the dry season. Close by, Flint was teasing Crease. The old baboon was minding his own business, but Flint kept shaking rain-laden branches above his head, showering him with drops. In the end Crease, who had been bowing his head as though trying to ignore Flint, lost his temper and leapt up at his tormentor, threatening him. Flint screamed, and at once Flo sprang into action. Sticking her few remaining moth-eaten hairs on end she charged at Crease, uttering fierce waa-barks of threat. And Crease fled!

A few weeks later, Crease tried to take one of the eggs I had just given to Flo. She bristled up at once, stood upright, and ran at the baboon, flailing her arms and actually hitting him. And Crease withdrew and sat watching from a respectful distance as the ancient female slowly savoured the eggs, one at a time, chewing them with leaves.

Sometimes I followed Flo and Flint when they wandered past the house. From time to time, Flint still tried to ride on his old mother and she would have carried him, I believe, had she been physically strong enough. As it was, she collapsed under his weight and so he had to walk. Even without him on her back Flo had to sit and rest frequently during travel, and Flint often became impatient, moving on and then whimpering when she did not immediately follow. Sometimes he went up to her and, with a sullen pout on his face, pushed her vigorously, trying to force her to move on. When she insisted on resting he gave her no peace but constantly pestered her for grooming, pulling her hands towards him, crying petulantly if she refused. Once he even pulled her out of a low day nest, so that she tumbled ignominiously onto the ground. Often I felt like slapping him. Yet it was clear that Flo would have been very lonely without him. She moved so slowly that even her daughter Fifi seldom travelled with her, and by then Flo had become almost as dependent on Flint as he was on her. I remember once, when they came to a fork in the trail, Flo went one way, Flint the other. I followed Flo. After a few minutes she stopped, looked back, and gave a few low, sad whimpers. She waited a while, hoping I suppose that Flint would change his mind. When he did not appear, she turned and went after her son.

It was a bright, clear morning when I received news of her death. Her body had been found, lying face down in the Kakombe Stream. Although I had long known that the end was close, this did nothing to mitigate the grief that filled me as I stood looking down at Flo's remains. I had known her for eleven years and I had loved her.

I watched over her body that night, to keep marauding bushpigs from violating it. Flint was still nearby, and his grief might have been the worse had he found his mother's body torn and partly eaten. As I kept my vigil in the bright moonlight, I thought about Flo's life. For nigh on fifty years she must have roamed the
Gombe hills. And even if I had not arrived to record her history, to invade the privacy of that rugged terrain, Flo's life would have been, in and of itself, significant and worthwhile, filled with purpose, vigour, and love of life. And how much I had learned from her during her long acquaintance. For she taught me to honour the role of the mother in society, and to appreciate not only the immeasurable importance to a child of good mothering but also the utter joy and contentment which that relationship can bring to the mother.

M
ANNERS MAKYTH MAN,
" wrote the poet William of Wykeham. Ah—but what makyth the manners? We might, perhaps, venture "Mother makyth manners"—along, of course, with a dash of early experience and more than a little spicing of genetic inheritance. The relative roles of "nature" versus "nurture" caused much bitter argument in scientific circles in recent years. But the flames of the controversy have now died down, and it is generally accepted that, even in the lower animals, adult behaviour is acquired through a mix of genetic make-up and experience gained as the individual goes through life. The more complex an animal's brain the greater the role that learning is likely to play in shaping its behaviour, and the more variation we shall find between one individual and another. Information acquired and lessons learned during infancy and childhood, when behaviour is at its most flexible, are likely to have particular significance.

For chimpanzees, whose brains are more like those of humans than are those of any other living animal, the nature of early experience may have a profound effect on adult behaviour. Particularly important, I believe, is the disposition of the child's mother, his or her position in the family, and, if there are elder siblings, their sex and personalities. A secure childhood is likely to lead to
self-reliance and independence in adulthood. A disturbed early life may leave permanent scars. In the wild almost all mothers look after their infants relatively efficiently. But even so there are clear-cut differences in the child-raising techniques of different individuals. It would be hard to find two females whose mothers had treated them more differently during their early years than Flo's daughter Fifi and Passion's daughter Pom. In fact, Flo and Passion are at opposite ends of a scale: most mothers fall somewhere between these two extremes.

Fifi had a carefree—a wonderful—childhood. Old Flo was a highly competent mother, affectionate, tolerant, playful and protective. Figan was an integral part of the family when Fifi was growing up, joining her games when Flo was not in the mood and often supporting his young sister in her childhood squabbles. Faben, Flo's oldest son, was often around too. Flo, who held top rank among the females when I first knew her, was a sociable female. She spent a good deal of time with other members of her community, and she had a relaxed and friendly relationship with most of the adult males. In this social environment Fifi became a self-confident and assertive child.

Pom's childhood, in comparison with Fifi's, was bleak. Passion's personality was as different from Flo's as chalk from cheese. Even when I first knew her in the early sixties she was a loner. She had no close female companions, and on those occasions when she was in a group with adult males her relationship with them was typically uneasy and tense. She was a cold mother, intolerant and brusque, and she seldom played with her infant, particularly during the first two years. And Pom, being the first surviving child, had no sibling to play with during the long hours when she and her mother were on their own. She had a difficult time during her early months, and she became an anxious and clinging child, always fearful that her mother would go off and leave her behind.

Thus it is not really surprising that Pom and Fifi reacted differently to the various challenges that a young female must face as she grows up in the wild.

All chimpanzee infants become upset and depressed during the difficult time of weaning when the mother prevents her child, with increasing frequency and determination, both from suckling and from riding on her back. This usually takes place during the fourth year. Fifi became noticeably less cheerful and less playful for a few months and she spent more and more time sitting in close contact with her mother, looking hunched and sad. But she got over her depression quickly, and by the time her infant brother Flint was born, was back to her old self—outgoing, confident and assertive.

Pom's depression, however, seemed to go on for ever. Interestingly, sometime during her daughter's third year, Passion's attitude towards her had softened: she had become more patient and more playful. And Pom, presumably as a direct result of this, had gradually become less anxious. But these signs of improved psychological well-being disappeared during the trauma of weaning. It was clearly a far more disturbing experience for Pom than it had been for Fifi, despite the fact that Passion, to my surprise, was remarkably tolerant. She almost always responded to Pom's frequent requests for grooming and even allowed her to ride on her back with a minimum of protest. For weeks after we were sure that her milk had dried up, she let Pom sit close, a nipple in her mouth, her eyes often closed, for as long as twenty minutes at a time. But nothing seemed to help. Pom's inability to cope with weaning was almost certainly due to the harsh treatment she had received as an infant. So often her only succour had been her mother's milk and now, when this was suddenly denied, her early sense of insecurity returned. It was not until a few weeks before Passion gave birth to her next infant that Pom finally quit trying to suckle from her mother.

For all young chimps the birth of a new baby in the family signals the end of an era, a major step towards independence—although it will be another three to six years before they begin to leave their mothers and move out into the adult world. Fifi was about five and a half years old when Flint was born. Now that Flo had a tiny infant to care for she could not give her undivided attention to Fifi. But far from being upset, Fifi was utterly fascinated and delighted by the new baby, and spent hours, during his first two years, playing with him, grooming him, and carrying him during family travel. She jealously chased off other youngsters when they wanted to play with him, at least when he was small, and helped Flo by retrieving him from potentially dangerous situations.

Pom, like Fifi, was initially curious and fascinated when infant Prof was born. But soon, after the novelty of her little brother had worn off, she reverted to the depressed state in which she had been before his birth. And she remained lethargic and listless for most of Prof's first year of life, seldom showing much interest in him. Even when, at five months old, he began to toddle about—a stage that Fifi had found irresistible—Pom remained unresponsive to Prof. She seldom carried him, and when they played, which was not often, the game was usually initiated by Prof. Gradually, however, Pom got over her depression, and her brother then became more appealing. She began to carry him and play with him more often. She became very protective, too. Once, for example, as Pom led her family through the forest, she noticed a large snake coiled up beside the trail. Uttering a small warning "huu," she swung up into a tree. Three-year-old Prof, tottering along behind his sister, seemed not to see the snake. If he did, he had no thought of possible danger. Nor, apparently, did he understand Pom's soft warning. Passion, bringing up the rear, was far behind. Suddenly, when Prof was within a few yards of the snake, Pom, every hair on end with fright, rushed down, gathered up her little brother, and climbed with him to safety.

The next major upheaval in the life of a young female chimpanzee is when, at about ten years of age, she becomes for the first time sexually attractive to the big males. Fifi was enchanted by this new experience. Sometimes, when a male was, quite obviously, uninterested in what she had to offer, she would recline close by and, ever hopeful, stare at him. Or rather, stare at a certain portion of his anatomy that was, so far as she was concerned, disappointingly flabby. Once she went so far as to tweak the limp appendage—with highly satisfactory results! It soon became clear that the males regarded Fifi as a most desirable sexual partner. She did not have quite the sex appeal that Flo had once radiated—but in those days she was, after all, younger and less experienced.

When Pom, in her turn, first became sexually attractive to the adult males she, like Fifi, clearly found the new experience pleasurable and hastened to any male who showed signs of interest. But whereas Fifi had been calm and relaxed when she complied with the sexual demands of the males, Pom crouched before them, tense and nervous, and the moment intercourse was over she leapt away, often screaming. She developed strange, neurotic behaviours. Often, for example, as she went up to a male to greet him, she would utter loud and frenzied pant-barks of submission and, crouching in front of him, dab a hand out towards his face, then leap away. The males were irritated by this and sometimes threatened or even attacked her. And so, in a vicious circle, her nervousness and tension increased. It was scarcely surprising that Pom was far less popular as a sexual partner than Fifi had been at the same age.

Adolescent female chimpanzees, like their human counterparts, typically go through an infertile phase between menarche and the first conception. For both Fifi and Pom this period lasted for about two years—two years during which, for about ten days each month, they came into oestrus and were sexually attractive and highly receptive to the adult males. These months were
clearly beneficial to Fifi. Although Flo sometimes accompanied her daughter when she went in search of male company, she was old, and Fifi often went without her. And so she learned how to get on in adult society without having to rely on support from her high-ranking mother. As she matured socially and became more self-reliant, she filled out and became stronger too—she would be the more able to cope when she eventually became a mother herself.

Nevertheless, while Fifi became increasingly independent and worldly-wise, she always rejoined her mother after each period of dalliance with the males. And so she was still very much a part of the family when, in 1968, Flo gave birth to her last baby. Sadly, little Flame only lived for six months, but during that time Fifi, whenever she had the opportunity—when she was not sexually preoccupied with the males—delighted to carry, groom and gently play with the tiny infant, thus gaining additional experience in maternal skills.

Towards the end of her two-year period of infertility, Fifi was frequently taken off by one or other of her male suitors to the outskirts of the community range. There the couple would remain—if the male could pull it off—isolated from other males, for the duration of Fifi's swelling. It is during such consortships that males have a good chance of siring a child. In fact, though, it is fairly certain that Fifi's first infant was not fathered by a male of her own community, but by one of the Kalande males in the south—for Fifi made a number of visits to their territory, obeying the peculiar urge to wander, to meet and mate with stranger males, that we have observed in most females during late adolescence. And it seems that she conceived during one of those excursions. Once pregnant, Fifi returned to her own home range. Her relationship with Flo and seven-year-old Flint became even closer now that her sexual urge was, for a while, quiescent.