Joseph

In mid October, I got a real surprise. A lorry pulled up in front of my house and the driver announced that he had a ‘sokomutu’ for sale cheap. In the Swahili language that means ‘man of the market place’, the name the chimpanzee has earned because of his shrewd, sociable nature. In the back of the lorry was a full-grown male chimp, trussed up inside a heavy hunting net. He was too powerful an animal to turn loose in my garden, and I was about to refuse the offer when I noticed that he had an open, weeping wound on his right wrist.

“That wound is infected. It may kill him,” I said to the driver.

“Why else do you think I’d sell a chimp for twenty dollars? If he dies, you won’t lose much, but if he gets better you’ll have made a smart deal.”

It was clear that unless I intervened the chimp will die a slow, agonizing death while his owner was trying to sell him. I paid, and the driver and I unloaded the heavy bundle of netting and carried it into the garage. I picked up a sharp knife from the kitchen, went back to the garage and locked the door from the inside.

The chimp was smaller than I am, but much stronger. Even with a disabled hand, he was quite capable of breaking most of my bones. Yet he was certainly intelligent, taking in every move with his weary-looking brown eyes. I decided to put my trust in that intelligence and so I squatted down next to him, trying to explain by my gestures and tone of voice that my intentions were friendly. I talked to him for about 10 minutes, calling him Joseph.

Joseph listened attentively, looked at me with pleading eyes, and hooted with astonishment when I gave him a little pat on the head and a big kiss on the nose. I gently cut his right hand free. Joseph winced with pain as I accidentally touched his swollen fingers, but showed neither anger nor alarm. I then slowly freed his legs, watching him carefully. He didn’t make a move, even when I finally released him from the last folds of netting round his arms. That was where the real danger lay: like most animals, chimpanzees will rarely bite before they catch hold of their prey.

Now he was completely free, but he remained motionless. Finally, pushing his big lips forward, he saluted me with a rising crescendo of hoots, climaxed by a broad, winning smile. I hooted back at him, with a matching smile. Still squatting, he moved towards me slowly. He raised his hand and peered at the wound with a melancholy expression. I extended my own hand and he rested his swollen fingers in my palm.

I must have held the hand for five minutes, while I tried to determine the extent of the infection. Joseph hooted a running commentary until I tried to leave the garage to get medical aid. As soon as I unlocked the door, he shrieked and shot out of the garage past me. When he was about 60 metres away, he sat down, screaming hysterically. I walked towards him slowly. To my surprise, he let me close the gap and take him by the left hand. I squeezed it tightly in my own, trying to reassure him and yet also trying to give him the illusion of my superior strength and authority. Gently, I persuaded him back into the garage. I sat down and waited quietly. After some moments, he sat down himself.

“Stay here!” I said, holding a finger in front of his nose; but as soon as I got up he tried to follow. We did this again… and again… and again for more than an hour. Finally he gave in and decided to stay there. I left in a hurry, locking the door from the outside.

I went to the District Veterinary Surgeon. He was away until the next day, so I left an urgent message and returned to my house to gather some elementary medical supplies.

I opened the garage door and found Joseph sitting just inside. This time he made no attempt to escape, but remained entirely submissive, even when I washed the wound. Only when I probed at the deepest parts did he pull away his hand away in pain. He inspected the wrist slowly and then put his hand back in mine. I covered the wrist with sulphur powder and wrapped it in about 6 metres of bandage, hoping that some of it would remain in place.

When I brought him some food later, the bandage was still on his wrist. I changed the dressing. Then Joseph tried new tactics. He seized my hand, and pulled me into his corner. Curious, I sat down. He sat next to me, leaning heavily against my side, and grunted with satisfaction. He became sleepy and his head nodded towards my shoulders. Then he put his big left hand in my lap and held it there, open and expectant, until I clasped it in my own. We slept in that position until morning.

The next day the vet showed up. I asked him urgently to treat Joseph.

“A full grown chimp?” he said. “He’d try to kill me the moment I touched him!”

I argued with him until he finally agreed to examine Joseph. Then he got a good look through the window of the garage.

“That monster is as big as gorilla,” he cried.

“You’ll see how gentle he is,” I said. I went inside, made Joseph sit and stand, and put my hand between his teeth. After that the vet came in, but he insisted that I keep my own body between himself and his patient.

“Moist gragrene,” he said at last. “To save the animal, that hand will have to be amputated above his wrist.”

I was appalled.

“It’s intolerable,” I said finally. “What kind of life would he have?”

“Why don’t you give him to the Central African Scientific Research Institute? They will operate and take good care of him afterwards- if you can get him there: it’s 300 hundred kilometers from here.”

It was the only solution, but still I didn’t like it.

I injected Joseph with a massive dose of penicillin, and then we were on our way. He was very quiet as he sat beside me in the cab of my new pick-up truck. When we reached the Research Institute, several hours later, the men loithering nearby suddenly saw Joseph, and screamed in panic and fled. I eased the big chimp out of the cab and walked him into the building, holding his hand. As I said goodbye to him, I held out my left hand’ he stretched out his own, and the two of us- ape and man- shook hands like brothers.