I dislike monkeys. Something deep down inside of me is
repulsed by their little inquisitive eyes, their curious nature and opposable
thumbs. Not sure if it’s because they throw poo at each other, have a tug when
they are bored or that they think they are higher up on the food chain than me
but I really, really dislike monkeys. It may be to do with some mental scaring:
I am 9 years old at the Elephant Hills resort in Zimbabwe.
Sitting at the tee box on the 7th hole my Pops tees up a ball for me
to have a go at. I was raised with a shorted little 2 iron. So with a big smile
on my face I set my grip, approach the ball and settle my stance. Slowly back
and easy forward. I feel so chuffed to watch the ball cruising through the air past the 40
meter mark but then it starts to take a sharp hook to the left. Now my Pops
only used to give me one golf ball so if it gets lost in the rough then that is my
day over. Luckily my eldest Sister, Kelly, was walking down the pedestrian
pathway and she managed to collect the ball for me. Well, to be more specific, it
hit her on the back of the head at full tilt actually. She burst out into
tears, I burst out into laughter and my Dad bolted down the fairway to her aid.
Oh no wait, sorry, that’s a different time. Rewind a few
years:
Same resort, I was about 7 years old at this stage. I
remember walking with my Dad on the golf course and I got stung by a wasp. Now,
for anyone that hasn’t been to the Harare region, the wasps there fly around
with 9 inch nails hanging out of their backsides. I got drilled by this thing
like it was taking core samples of my finger. So I had a little cry, my Dad
saved the day and we headed back to the hotel rooms. Parking off in the
swimming pool later that day I remember getting out of the water and grabbing a
hold of my towel. As I pressed the towel against my chest I got drilled by
another wasp, a massive bugger. That was me tickets. In my head I was in a
scene of Alfred Hitchcock: The Birds but with these satin spawn winged piling
contractors flying around. Hated it.
Wait, wait. Again that’s a different time. Promise I’m
getting to the monkey story soon.
The exact same resort. Elephant Hills. I was tiny, still in
nappies. Obviously I can’t remember this but I have been told the story at
family Christmas parties. My parents decided to go out for a little romantic
dinner together and left me with my Sisters in the hotel room. Our room had a
patio that lead out into the woodlands that surrounded the resort. I was 2
years old; Nicky was 6 and Kelly as 12. So, as young girls do, they got bored
and perhaps a little annoyed with my incessant mumbling.
In a plot for entertainment they took me outside, sat me
down on the lawn and they ran back inside giggling. I parked off there
quite happy and unperturbed by their absence. Pulling grass and eating worms I
imagine. My Sisters were not impressed by my resilience. So they ran back
outside and loaded me up with a banana. A fresh, ripe and bright yellow banana.
Watching me from inside the hotel room giggling away, they
noticed the trees started to move. I imagine a scene from Jurassic Park where
the bushes shake, the trees whip around and the clouds being to roll in. Then,
a spot of silence. Out pops this sole little monkey from behind a tree. Curiously
it sniffs and bounces across the lawn towards me. “What has that Human got in
his hand?” The cute little monkey gets closer…”It smells like a banana” as he gets
closer and closer “hmm – it is a banana!” and he reached out to snatch the
fruit from my hands.
I (apparently) gripped onto the banana with all the kung foo
might of Bruce Lee and fought off the monkey with Spartan like screams and a
nappy full of poo. I must have been so proud of myself.
I’m sure my Sisters at this time were canning themselves
laughing. Not such a bad situation really you know? I did ok, I wasn’t hurt and
everybody seemed to of had a good time. Everyone except the monkey. He shot off and the troop above my head in the trees started to get revved up.
They attacked me.
The troop descended out of the trees like falling foliage
and started climbing all over me. With aggressive shrieks they frantically gripped
at my hair and tugging at the banana. Scratching and screaming and kicking and
nails and teeth and carnage.
They got the banana. I hate monkeys.
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