Joy in the Jungle

Nowadays, it's not unusual for people to find love on the Internet.

I am no exception.

I came across a picture online of the black howler monkeys in Belize's Community Baboon Sanctuary, and was instantly smitten.

These hairy Belizean celebrities, locally referred to as baboons due to their robust size, had been dwindling in numbers. The CBS was a place where the local landowners had all voluntarily signed an agreement to protect them and their habitat. As a resident of a concrete jungle, it filled me with joy to know there was a green jungle with its own special residents only a few hours away by plane and bus. I decided to meet my internet loves face to face, so I hit the road.

About an hour or so into the bus ride from Belize City , I noticed a long, rope "monkey ladder" stretching over the dirt road like an overpass, which allowed the monkeys to cross over without ever having to descend from the safety of the trees. Amazing-everyone's transportation needs had been accommodated. I immediately heard the howlers' creaky, rumbling calls echoing through the air - the perfect soundtrack to the lush scenery.

Although my reservation confirmed that I would have running water, broken pipes begged to differ. The river by the cabana was a bathing option, if I didn't mind sharing it with crocodiles. Instead, I "showered" with baby wipes. Since the dinner offered was turtle, I politely declined, ate a granola bar and hit the sack. After lights out, huge bugs that looked like they required some sort of insect air traffic control swarmed my room. I lay in my bed, wrapped in mosquito netting, and wondered what fumes I must have inhaled when I booked this months ago.

The sun rose not a moment too soon.

As I walked into the Belizean forest at dawn with my guide, I noticed my arms were covered with insects, and a few tiny streams of blood. "Onward," I thought. I hadn't come this far to let some hungry bugs get the best of me. My guide started to whack me with a homemade bug swatter, crafted from palms. Functional, yes. Annoying, yes again.

Just as I thought I couldn't stand another lashing, the branches overhead began to rustle, and large droplets of last night's rainstorm fell down on us from the shaken leaves. It was the howlers! First one, then two, three, five-who knows for sure! They moved so quickly and with such agility, they were difficult to count.

My guide gave me a cashew fruit, apparently a favorite treat of the monkeys, to hand to a large, particularly outgoing male. The howler knew the drill, and came just an outstretched arm away from me, while hanging from a nearby branch with a most reliable, prehensile tail. His little hands were soft as a baby! I didn't let the fruit go just yet, as I wanted to milk my contact as long as possible. Being this close to the monkeys was what had brought me to Belize in the first place, but it became very clear that the howlers didn't care much about my cross-species bonding fantasies. After a few failed attempts, the male abruptly shoved me away with one hand as he simultaneously swiped the fruit from my selfish clutches with his other. At that moment, in very different ways, we had both seized our own versions of joy! His straightforwardness cracked me up, and I admired him for putting me in my place.

Juice spilled everywhere as he bit into the coveted delicacy, and ravenously chewed with his frothy mouth open. It was amazing to be so close that I could smell the opened fruit's sweetness, and hear the monkey's every slurp and chomp.

As I emerged from the forest, ninety-something bites later, I reflected on how the CBS is a place where primates on all branches of the family tree have found a way to live together, at no one's expense. What a joy to know that still exists in the world. I left there not only having been touched by a monkey, but also by the people who treated their furry neighbors as important members of the community, not as nuisances to be evicted from the trees.

The road to joy isn't always paved and pretty, for sure. In this case, however, it was well worth the bumps and minimal bloodshed to be able to reach out and touch someone so memorable.

By Amy Tenowich