Travel

Jessica, like many youngsters who grew up in her neck of the woods, had a tough childhood caused mostly by her very large family. Whenever she did something naughty, which was often, an authoritarian aunt or an eagle-eyed grandparent could be relied upon to witness the misdemeanour and dish out an appropriate reprimand. But like many of us who grew up amongst extended family, Jessica knew that she was loved, she knew she was safe, and she knew she would never be alone. Recurrent scoldings were a small price to pay for a family full of mischievous siblings and cousins.

Then one dreadful day they were all gunned down. And Jessica saw it all.

It was two years later that I became acquainted with Jess, a sad-looking specimen with empty eyes and jittery fingers. On our first of many meetings she merely stared at me through the electrified barrier that kept me safe from her notorious tantrums. It was an intense, cold gaze. "Hello, Jessica," I said hoping to communicate my desire to help. But we didn't bond on that occasion. She just glowered, slapped herself across the face with terrible force, and ran off into the corner of her cage.

Jessica was a West African chimpanzee, and I was a volunteer working in a primate rescue and rehabilitation project called Pandrillus, situated in the heart of Nigeria's dwindling rain-forest region. Jess's family was killed to fuel a growing demand for primate meat on the international market. Dubbed the bush-meat trade, this illegal harvest of Africa's forest animals is driving many species toward extinction. Although primates are among the most favoured on the bush-meat menu, babies such as Jess are often spared from slaughter. There is little meat on their tiny bones, and a hunter can occasionally get a better price by selling the animal as a pet.

When logging, human population expansion, and firearms are taken into consideration, the outlook for chimpanzees and gorillas does not look good. Dale Peterson and Karl Ammann, in their 2003 book Eating Apes (University of California Press), predict the animals will be gone in less than 50 years. By rescuing, researching, and rehabilitating two of Africa's most endangered primates-the rare drill monkey and chimpanzee-the Pandrillus primate project hopes to find a way of preventing their extinction.

My wife, Sasha, and I had committed to a minimum of a year on this project, but upon arriving in the heaving city of Lagos, we couldn't help but wonder about the folly of our decision. Our chauffeur-driven vehicle careered through the random traffic, while our armed escort scanned the crowds. Lagos is an immense place, overflowing with a bewildering mix of people, vehicles, domestic animals, and poverty. It is also one of the most dangerous cities on Earth.

However, our stay in this madhouse was thankfully short, and our ultimate destination, the tiny village of Baunchor, was situated on the other side of the country. At the end of a long dirt track kilometres from the nearest highway, a scattering of palm-thatched adobe cottages stood huddled together under the great Afi Mountain. Steamy rain forests surround the village, oozing earthy smells and mysterious sounds.

A sea of beaming people had gathered in the dusty village square to greet us. "Welcome," said the red-capped chief. "Please join me at my palace for some excellent vintage wine."

Goats bleated in angst, dodging the giggling children who chased them with sticks. The chief's "palace" was a hut about the size of garden shed, and the "excellent vintage" was a mug of two-day-old palm-tree wine. It smelled like socks but tasted like candy. The insects floating at the bottom added a little extra zest. We were then treated to roasted bats and a bowl full of "draw" soup, a mucuslike broth that made me understand why there are not many Nigerian restaurants outside Nigeria.

"Thank you, Chief," I said "It's delicious."

"Traditionally, I would offer a visitor to my village a meal of roasted chimpanzee or gorilla," he told me. "But we don't do that any more, because Pandrillus has taught us that this is not a good thing, and besides, there are very few chimps and gorillas left to hunt."

As well as striving to help the local wildlife, Pandrillus also supports local communities by providing employment, education, and health care.

The project itself is situated 11 kilometres west of the village, deep in the forest, and consists of many multihectare primate enclosures. Behind these fences, amid the vegetation, chimpanzees and drill monkeys, survivors of the bush-meat trade, get a second chance. They are the lucky ones-if you can call living in captivity lucky-that have been rescued by the authorities and brought to Pandrillus. At least they get to socialize with members of their own species and once more have the chance to climb amongst the trees.

Before arriving at the project, Jessica (and many like her) had been mistreated by her human captors, and as a result had become introverted and withdrawn. She did not get along with the other chimps, nor did she get along with her human charges. This is where Sasha and I came in.

We sat for hours, then days, and then weeks next to her forested enclosure quietly and patiently, until little by little she became inquisitive and trusting of our presence. Once her fears had abated, she slowly began to integrate with the other chimpanzees, and eventually began to live a semi-normal life surrounded, once again, by her own kind.

The chimpanzees at Pandrillus will never be released into the true wilds, because they could carry diseases dangerous to their free-living counterparts. But the main reason for their perpetual captivity is because outside, they are very likely to be shot at again.

Acclimatizing animals with mental trauma such as Jessica was just part of our job. The bulk of the work involved constructing enclosures and developing infrastructure. We helped with education and outreach programs for surrounding communities, and we learned how to become bush veterinarians. Occasionally, some of the animals have disagreements, and when that happens, fur flies and flesh tears. Sasha and I once spent five days practising our suture techniques on a raw steak before having to do the real thing on two male baboons after an incident caused by a very flirtatious female.

We left, after a year and a half in the Nigerian forest, touched by the animals, their plight, and the many good people who work on projects like Pandrillus. It is nice to know that Jessica and many like her will be safe. But the bush-meat crisis, like so many African problems, goes mainly unnoticed by the outside world.

In recent years, the threats facing Africa's wild apes have taken a turn for the worse courtesy of Ebola. Entire populations, including those protected within national parks, have been wiped out. One can only hope that the serious threat posed to human health from viruses such as Ebola and HIV (both of which are thought to have transferred to humans via the bush-meat trade) will prompt international and local governments to clamp down on the illegal trade in endangered animal meat.

However, that doesn't look likely, and so projects like Pandrillus do what they can, where they can, with little help from the outside world, all for the betterment of every living thing on Earth-not the least of them, human beings. -

ACCESS: Throughout the world, volunteers are needed to help animal welfare, conservation, and research projects such as Pandrillus in Nigeria. Some projects require specialist skills (like a veterinary qualification or a life-sciences degree) and a commitment of at least six months. Other projects accept anyone regardless of qualifications but usually require a donation and at least a week's commitment. To find out more, visit www .greenvolunteers.org/ or www.earth watch.org/. The International Primate Protection League (www.ippl.org/) works closely with primate sanctuaries and raises funds for them. For more info on bush meat issues, visit www.bushmeat.org/.