Just Monkeying Around

Well, I might live in the city and I have certainly made lots of jokes about keeping my door open during the hot summer evenings with the danger of a baboon wandering in.

Fortunately with the on-set of winter┬ánecessitating┬áme actually wearing the thermal and flannel clothing that I brought with me, I don’t leave my door open at night any more as it is way too cool.

Last night after suffering through yet another power outage, which actually was a blessing as we all got to dine at the main house on Master Chef Peter’s stir fry cooked on a bbq, I was tucked up on my room all cosy and warm thanks to my flannel pjs. As I was lounging in bed watching the season finale of The Good Wife and chatting via email with my friend Linda I thought that maybe Christmas had arrived.

You see there arose such a clatter on my roof that I was sure that Santa and 8 reindeer had touched down. After all it is now winter here in Botswana. As the noise maker clattered across my roof only to make the long jump from my terrace tin roof to the roof top next door I knew it wasn’t Santa at all. The clattering and banging could only be one thing – a baboon!

Luckily, I had brains enough to remain safely indoors and not go out to commune with Mr. Baboon. Perhaps I am finally learning some sense after all. But I just couldn’t imagine my final moments being caught “dead” in a thermal long sleeved undershirt and flannel pj bottoms ­čÖé Not an attractive way to go!

Peter told me this afternoon that he had heard the noise as well all of the way in his living room and that I was very wise to not have opened my door. The only reason that the Kgale Hill baboons venture into the housing areas is a desperate search for food. Although my┬ánocturnal┬ávisitor likely would have found a veritable feast in my kitchen my compassionate nature doesn’t extend to food preparation or cleaning up after a baboon. Or at least I would prefer to much better attired when I welcome guests for dinner!