Clade 4: Cat Fight!

This will be my last entry to The Phylogeny of Max while in the employ of the Baboon Research Unit of the University of Cape Town. Barring a mass migration (they’ve evaded before) of our beloved monkeys, we will finish our data collection on the evening of the 31st. Then I will no longer be a researcher here in South Africa. I will magically turn into a tourist! This is fine. Bittersweet, as they say. Few can say they’ve spent such an intimate and extended time with baboons, and of this I am thankful and proud.

That’s said, time for a beer or 5. The last week of work has been tumultuous, to say the least. Not between us humans; that part has been easy and fun. It’s the monkeys. They haven’t been getting along.

Possible reasons why:

It’s getting cold and they’re poorly rested and grumpy. Possible, not likely.

There is a new born infant (scrawny and funny looking, like my sister was when she was born). Maybe they have been kicking hell out of each other because they have baby envy, or the birth is upsetting the dominance balance. Ehhhh, maaaaybe.

Is there a new male around? Might be, but I haven’t seen one, and the other males are no more (or less) combative than usual.

They are sick of looking at our disgusting hairless (mostly) faces and changeable multicolored bodies? Wouldn’t blame them, but that doesn’t seem right.

All of those things seem stressful but not SOOO stressful that they would…wait a second! STRESS! That sounds right. It isn’t one thing, it’s many! The straw that broke the camel’s back kind of a thing. So these animals are stressed out. No shit, they have to find food and water every day, and they might get killed at any turn by a lion. In the case of my baboons, there are no more lions around, so replace lion with Toyota Avalon. The males always fight anyway, so we’re not really talking about them, although they definitely get involved with the females fisticuffs. The ladies are stressed out, and they kick ass when they’re stressed out. Watch your back.

There are plenty of reasons to be stressed out, so baboons, like good social animals, deal with stress as a group, or more accurately as many small groups. They groom each other. And they have favorites. It’s like the hair salon my grandmother used to go to. These old ladies would come in and spend the day gossiping and chatting and getting their hair done. There were (most likely) less mites and ticks hidden in Nanny’s blue locks than there are in the course manes of female baboons, but the stress relief is just as real. The baboons (and the grannies) leave feeling refreshed and relaxed.

But it isn’t as relaxing to go to a different hair salon each week, and gossip with different ladies. Too complicated. Too many personalities to appease and rules to remember. The ladies who have the most rewarding Saturday salon experience are the ones who regularly patronize the same spot, with the same group.

This is true of baboons, as well. The baboons with the lowest glucocorticoid (a compound found in mammals, and in elevated levels in stressed out mammals) levels in their poo are the ones who have small grooming groups. The baboons who groom with many more baboons still get a benefit from the behavior, just not as big of a benefit. Fewer, closer friends relieve more stress than many, peripheral friends.

So what is causing their stress? Like we said in the beginning during my brilliantly faked inquisition into the cause of all these fights (I knew where this was going all along), there are quite a few stressors. In a normal population of baboons, existing in a healthy ecosystem with all of its parts, 95% of adult baboons die by getting eaten by some other animal, mostly lions. I’d say that’s pretty damn stressful. If 19 out of 20 in your graduating class were going to be eaten by a lion, you’d be stressed out too. There are also the males in the troop.

Males are bigger, because they have to have something to offer to ensure they get picked to breed. What they have evolved to offer is protection. Unfortunately, the protection is most often from other males who want to kill the babies that don’t belong to them. But it’s protection, none the less. Females have to not only bare and rear the young, they also have to appease and bond with the males so they are protected. They do this by grooming and copulating. If a female copulates with many of the males in her troop, they will all protect her and her offspring because the baby MIGHT be theirs. Obviously only one of them is the proud papa, but they don’t know which, and neither does she.

When a new male shows up, an immigrant male, the females get stressed out. They have to get on this males good side right away, or they might become childless mothers very quickly, and that sucks. So they groom a lot. As long as they’re regular grooming crew is available.

What happens, though, when a grooming partner meets an untimely demise? How do baboons mourn? You guessed it! They get stressed out. If Doris and Esther are best pals, and are each other’s favorite grooming partner, what does Doris do if Esther takes a trip to the big sleeping site in the sky? Well, she has to replace Esther as best she can. This means she broadens her grooming circle. This is not only stressful to Doris. It is also a pain in the ass for all the other female baboons, because their grooming circles have to be broadened by proxy. So all the ladies are a bit on edge while they wait to see how everything will work out.

When Nanny’s favorite salon closed, I don’t think she got in more fistfights than usual, but I can’t say for sure. She fought a lot.

So that’s what’s going down in baboon town this week. I’m on my way out, the gals are fighting they’re way towards a less stressful existence, and the sands pour through the hourglass. Such are the days of our lives…

Clade 3: The Pink Ladies vs. The Bookworms

With all the social drama going down in the troop, I couldn’t help but think of high school. Yes, that wonderful time when no one feels good about themselves but everyone acts like they know the story, like they have been living in a grown up body for years, when really everyone is living in total fear of being found out as a mere teenager. Love, hate, violence, sex. High school has it all.

Well, here at Baboon High, the grapevine is boiling about the new boy. He is getting the attention of all the girls, and the once popular guys are not happy about this. He’s a little bigger, and mysterious…

Everyone knows, however, that the real social posturing happens between the gals. Baboons are no exception. In fact, female baboons put humans to shame.

First, you have a dominant female baboon (we’ll call her Debbie). She gained the favor of all the boys, and is protected from fights, no matter what. Now, you would think that another adult lady baboon would be next in line, maybe Debbie’s bff (best friend forever, duh). Not so. Before any other lady baboons can take a place in the social hierarchy, all of Debbie’s daughters get a spot, and inversely according to age.

So it breaks down like this:

Debbie is at the helm, followed by her youngest daughter. Then comes the middle daughter, followed by the oldest daughter. Then comes Debbie’s bff, Lucy, and her daughters, and so on. This is very defined. A little squirt of a juvenile female can walk up and snatch the food right out of the hand of a socially inferior adult female with no consequences. Rude.

Now, where this social structure really comes into play is when the non-dominant adult female (Lucy) that had her lunch money stolen by Debbie’s little daughter gets pissed, and smacks Lil’ Debbie (yum) around for the mugging.

First:

Baboons have a very limited number of vocalizations. They don’t make a bunch of different sounds, they just make a few. They are so aware of all of the social relationships in the troop, however, that all they really have to say is “look, something’s going down over there” and all the other baboons will glance over, and instantly know who is doing what to whom, and if that is cool, or if it upsets the normal balance.

Back to the lunch money revenge story:

So Lucy got her milk money swiped by Lil’ Debbie, and instead of taking it on the chin like she’s supposed to, she gave Lil’ Debbie the what for. Lil’ Debbie has a few moves. 1) She could fight back. Yeah right. Lucy is a grown ass lady baboon and would kick Lucy’s ass. 2) She could let it slide. Yeah right. Lucy is lower on the social totem pole, and should have handed over the goods quietly like a good subordinate. She needs to be punished. 3) She could scream her ass of like she just had her leg bitten off by a lion. We have a winner. We call this “The Drama”, as in,

”Did you hear that cat being strangled?”

“Oh don’t worry, it was just Lil’ Debbie pulling out The Drama.”

So Lil’ Debbie starts to scream bloody murder. Immediately and subconsciously, every baboon knows that Lil’ Debbie should not be messed with by Lucy, and that there is something seriously strange going on. Everyone stops what they are doing and gathers around. Lil’ Debbie’s mom and sisters get into the mix, and they all chase Lucy, hold her down and bite the hell out of her, amongst the frenzied screams of the onlookers. Just like high school, right?

Now let’s reverse the field and see what happens. Same scenario: Lucy gets her snack cakes jacked by Lil’ Debbie, but instead of going upside her head, Lucy takes option 3 and screams. A quick glance by the troop will confirm that they don’t care. Lucy is allowed, neigh, supposed to get bullied. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Might as well keep feeding while Lucy keeps screaming. Even her own daughters don’t care that mom was just seriously wronged by a pipsqueak of a lady baboon. Such is life.

This happens with the males, too. If a dominant male gets mean with a sub-dominant and whips him, it’s business as usual. Like a band geek (sorry band geeks, but you have a stereotype to overcome) getting bullied by a jock (sorry jocks, but you have a stereotype to overcome). No one really notices. People might gather in the hall to watch for a minute, but they soon go back to necking behind the lockers. If the band geek were to take an alto sax to the jocks dome, however, the crowd would certainly take notice, and the band geek would be a hero. Right up until the other jocks showed up and shoved his alto sax up his…well, you get it. Such are the woes of a social animal. High school. Baboons. Science.

Clade 2: New kid in town

I don’t have much time, but here’s an interesting situation we researchers have found ourselves in:

There are 6 baboon troops that utilize the park in which I work. 5 of the troops are known to raid the houses of locals and the cars of anyone for food. I work with the one troop that does NOT see humans as a food source. That is precisely why we are researching this troop. They are untainted by the lovely flavors of bread and cheese.

A few days ago, my troop was crossing the main road, something they do most days. Sometimes they linger on the road. People stop to gawk, and they are curious animals, so it’s not THAT surprising. On this day however, something strange happened…

Back story:

We think we might have an immigrant male in the troop. That is to say that an adult male from another troop is attempting to join our troop. There are already 6 adult males in our troop. We think there’s a new guy because the fighting has increased a LOT. The males have become protective of the young, which is not there way. This is because a new male will try to kill the other male’s kids, so he can breed with the gals, and have only his genes perpetuated. Selfish, but expected. No infanticide…yet.

Back to the story:

So Sam and I are watching the troop on this particular day that they have decided to linger on the road. People have started getting out of their cars to take pictures (bad move, also not my place to do anything but say “Bad idea.” All of the sudden, Sam saw a male baboon get into an empty car (guess who). He ran down there and realized that the baboon had opened a car door itself. Behavior our troop doesn’t know, but that the other troops know well. Uh oh. At this point we know we’ve got a bad influence on our hands. We start thinking about ways to mark it: squirt guns filled with peroxide, paint balls, etc.

Fast forward 3 days. Matt and I are in the field, and we hear 'bang...bang, bang'. The troop takes off, which implies that they know what that sound means. We catch up and keep watching, and then the bad boy walks up. He’s bleeding from his chest like a stuck, well, baboon. He doesn’t seem to mind. He goes on feeding. He gets in some more fights. He “spend time” with the troop females. Today (3 days hence the shooting) he is still bleeding, slowing down, but still eating, moving, shagging. The drama continues…

Clade 1: Introduction to a New Animal.

So, here we go…

I arrived in Cape Town, South Africa just short of a week ago. Flight was fine, blah blah blah. Met at the airport, blah blah blah.

The World Cup, for those of you not savvy to the most popular sport in the world, is to be hosted by South Africa in a few short months. June, I believe. This is very apparent upon arrival to the country. It’s everywhere. They advertise it on the inside of the bathroom stalls, as if to say, “We KNOW you’ll be here for a minute, and since we have your attention, have you heard about the World Cup?”

I was greeted by my boss, a guy named Matt Lewis. He’s a grad student at the U of Cape Town. It was late, so we went to his house, in what he described as the suburbs. The neighborhood had an entrance sign (that screams suburbs). The median was landscaped (again SUUUUBURBS!). All the houses were nice, modest, and landscaped (suburbs). Oh and there were laser grids patrolling each front yard (subur….wait what the hell!). Evidently Ronald Regan is in charge of home security in the suburbs of Cape Town. Point illustrated: South Africa is a bit grittier than the newly remodeled, brushed stainless steel airport and the flashy World Cup veneer would have you believe. Regardless, Matt’s home was great, and he and his mom made me feel right at home.

I met up with my friend Sam the next day. He’s the guy who tipped me off about the job. He and his gal Lindsay showed me around Cape Town a bit. It was more of a drinking and appetizer tour, than an historical immersion. Fine with me. Another day for logistics and food buying, and we were in the Cape Point National Reserve.

Here is a very brief synopsis of the work:

Baboons are monkeys (red backsides, not blue. The blue one is the Mandrill and the Drill, found in the tropics of equatorial western Africa. Close, but different). They live in troops of many males and females. They spend their days looking for and eating different foods. In this part of South Africa, some of the baboons eat marine life, such as limpets and shark eggs. Matt wants to know how much of their diet is made up of marine invertebrates, and if that changes anything we think we know about baboons as a species.

We go out each day to the place where we left the baboons to sleep and watch them wake up. They get up really early. We then follow them around all day and record their behavior for 3 minutes every 7 minutes. We do this all day. From about 6:15 am to about 7pm. Every 7 minutes. This is a relatively typical conversation leading into a behavior scan:

Observer 1: The Coen Brother’s film, The Big Lebowski, is clearly a metaphor for Operation Desert Storm, with The Dude playing the role of the clueless American populous…

Observer 2: Male, adult, rocky outcrop, social, copulate. Female, sub-adult, rocky outcrop, social, copulate…

Observer 1: Slow down! Did you say sub adult or juvenile?

And so on…

The baboons don’t really care that we are there. These particular baboons don’t see humans as potential food sources…yet. Not like they would eat us, but other troops will swipe your bag in a heart beat.

Sometimes they get pissed at each other and fight. Like, for REAL fight. Blood and gashes. So far the only way I know how to differentiate between individuals is with names such as gash head, gash face, and gash arm. Oh, there’s scar face too. I think he was gash face last month.

The do some really, really gross stuff too. Like deviant G.R.O.S.S. stuff. I don’t want to get into it. You can ask me later, but not over dinner.

Sometimes they involve us in the fights. We carry sticks for this purpose. Not to beat the baboons with, because that wouldn’t do anything, but because they get confused when you hold a stick out toward them as the charge you. They’ll get right up to it and then just stop, look at it, and walk away. We don’t have to yell or make ourselves look tough or anything. Just don’t look them in the eyes, and hold out a long stick. They’ll probably disregard the stick someday, but hopefully not in the next month.

There are tiny little baby baboons everywhere. They look like little furry human babies that can jump like 10 feet in the air. That would seriously freak me out. Walk up to a woman pushing a stroller, coo at her infant, and then stand back as it dunked a basketball. Weird.

So that’s what I do. It’s absolutely beautiful here. I like everybody. I sleep like a rock every night, and walk with baboons for 12 hours every day. I love it.