by John Crocker
Melissa and Nova demonstrated effective mothering techniques as they nurtured their young single-handedly in the wild. Passion was another matter; she was typically slow to comfort and protect young Prof in dangerous situations.
Fifi grabbed my attention from the start. As she was Flo’s eldest daughter, this was not surprising. Although we did not know who her father was, we could easily see that Fifi resembled her mother in her confident, affectionate nature and the way she remained nonchalant about mothering her offspring. To spend a day observing her was physically challenging at times but well worth the exhaustion at the day’s end, as I wrote to my family, using field notes from a typical day in the forest:
At 5:30 A.M., half asleep, I threw on clothes, washed my face, grabbed a flashlight and tape recorder, and dashed to the cho (outhouse). Everything was dark and quiet, except for an occasional gust of wind.
Hot tea and toast with honey at the upper-camp kitchen helped fuel me for the day’s adventure. After I met Hamisi, we set off to find the site of the chimp nest, which we had marked by placing sticks on the trail the night before. I felt increasingly awake and alert with excitement, frolicking through the forest as we neared our destination. We finally arrived at the tree where we had left the chimps the evening before. We lay back and watched their leafy mattress moving high above. Birds began to chirp, baboons grunted, and strange clicks and buzzing gradually grew in volume throughout the forest.
In the dawn light, we saw a little hairy arm stretch out of the nest. We waited quietly as the morning routine began. There was shaking and stirring, then a small spidery form crawled across branches away from the nest. Soon, a much larger form emerged and gracefully swung down to lower branches. We heard what sounded like a small waterfall as Mama Fifi took care of her morning duties, and we made sure we were not directly below.
After she’d fed on a few large milk apples, Fifi moved closer to the ground and caught the eye of Freud, her son, who had preceded her out of the nest. She waited until he approached her. He clung to her belly and enjoyed suckling milk as they descended the tree and began their travel on the ground.
Fifi signaled Freud to climb on her back, and our trip began, Freud riding jockey-style while we followed at a distance. We tromped after the pair through thick bushes and vines, over hills, and across streams. The undergrowth is especially thick this time of year, with lush grasses and small stunning red and purple forest flowers. The chimps moved through the jungle on the ground or swung through trees, giving no hint of their ultimate destination. They were usually in search of food or sometimes other chimpanzees for grooming sessions and playtime. We crawled, stooped, and jumped over branches in pursuit. The chimps, hunched down, glided with ease through the tangled foliage, while we clumsy bipeds flailed along behind. Loaded down with lunch, a tape recorder, and a clipboard, we struggled to keep up.
Fifi took a fruit break, climbing up into a gnarled, medium-sized tree to eat fiber-filled, plumlike mbula for an hour. This fruit grows in big clusters in trees high up in the woodlands. It has a semisweet taste, and it has just come into season. Melissa and Gremlin joined them, and while the mothers fed, Freud did acrobatics in the trees or played sociably with Gremlin on the ground. During their long play session, Fifi was constantly alert to Freud’s whereabouts, and was always receptive when he returned to her for a quick suckle of milk or a reassuring embrace. I saw Freud twist the fur on Fifi’s chest between his fingers, and she held him tenderly with an arm wrapped around him until he was satisfied. He then returned to the ground to resume his play with Gremlin.
After their feast, both mothers returned to the ground and groomed their infants and each other. This calm activity involved one chimp combing his or her hands through the hair of another, likely purely for bonding and relaxation. Fifi then instigated a play session with Freud; she rolled around with him among the leaves and sticks on the ground, both displaying openmouthed play faces, their laughter sounds easily heard. Gremlin was busy nursing but soon returned for more play. Both mothers then sat back and just observed the young chimps wrestling and chasing each other.
I was awestruck by Fifi’s and Melissa’s devotion to their infants. Their mothering seemed calm and effortless, yet it required a high level of competence as they stalked through the forest and climbed high into trees to find food, always keeping a close eye on their offspring. In addition, they nursed and provided affectionate care and protection all at the same time.
Crouching on the damp soil watching this scene, I was suddenly transported many millennia back through time, picturing early humans doing almost exactly the same things. Melissa and Fifi were like women sitting around a campsite, watching the children play amid their food-preparation duties.
I did this a lot. I would picture early humans making their way through the forest valleys in search of ripe milk apples and social interaction, like the chimps were doing before my eyes. I daydreamed about them stripping leaves from sticks to use as tools, or building places to rest with their families. I imagined daughters watching their mothers feed and care for their offspring, and pictured mothers patiently looking on while their children learned to prepare their own food.
As a youngster, Fifi had been fascinated with her younger siblings. Back at Stanford, I had been glued to National Geographic footage showing close-ups of Fifi’s persistent attempts to take her infant brother from her mother, Flo, so she could hold and groom him. Flo usually allowed Fifi to try out her future mothering skills during these short practice sessions but was very quick to intervene when needed. In the field, I loved watching Fifi engage Freud in play, using her foot to nudge him, just as I remembered having seen Flo do with her son Flint in films.
Gremlin was one of my favorites among the young chimps. At two and a half years old, she had an intense desire to play with Freud and others her age. I often saw Freud and Gremlin playing together for hours as their mothers sat very close by, feeding or observing the play. In constant motion, the offspring chased each other, wrestled, and swung in the trees. They seemed to thoroughly enjoy being with each other.
As I watched the two interact that day, I wondered if the only reason the mothers spent time together was to let their offspring play. Fifi and Melissa might interact by grooming, but often they would just rest on the ground or feed in separate trees. I thought it made evolutionary sense in terms of allowing young chimps to learn communication skills while under their mothers’ watchful eyes.
Time for Learning
When playtime was over, Fifi moved on, Freud riding on her back. It took only twenty minutes to arrive at the next food source. As they slowed down, Hamisi quietly approached me and indicated that Fifi was about to fish for termites.
One of Jane’s first groundbreaking observations was the discovery that chimpanzees, like humans, not only use tools but also make them for use in collecting food and water. This literally changed the dictionary definition of “human.” After Jane described the fishing for termites to Dr. Louis Leakey, he famously said in a telegram back to her: “Now we must redefine ‘tool,’ redefine ‘man,’ or accept chimpanzees as humans.”
Sure enough, Fifi began searching for a long stick before I could even see the large termite mound a hundred feet ahead. “Wow,” I whispered. At that moment, I truly understood how closely linked our two species are. Fifi was not just reacting to what was in front of her; she was also planning ahead—remembering that there was a good termite mound in the distance that would require using her fishing tool. Combing through a large bush, Fifi examined several branches before selecting a suitable one. Then she removed the side twigs so she had a smooth, flexible tool with which to extract the termites. She clearly understood what she needed to do to sustain both herself and her son.
When Fifi arrived at the mound, she sat down and very carefully inserted the stick into a hole she made by pushing her finger into the dirt. She held the stick very still, then gently removed it. Ten or more termites clung to it, and she nibbled
them right off the stick. It might sound very basic, but most human researchers who attempt this skill initially rate quite low on the achievement scale. The problems seem to arise with human clumsiness and timing during the process of trying to get the critters from mound to mouth.
I watched Freud study his mother at the termite mound. Fifi allowed Freud to practice the basics of termite fishing by poking a stick in the dirt inches from where she was working. Though ineffective at first, by age five, Freud would become very efficient in collecting this high-protein food. Jane’s historic discoveries were more than just exciting moments that I had the good fortune to witness. I could also see how crucial it was for Fifi to be patient with Freud. She needed to allow him the time and space to try to copy her termiting technique. His survival would depend on it.
Not until later in my life would I understand how Fifi’s example of patience and steadfastness could apply to human teaching and learning. Though I didn’t yet have the life experience to directly apply what I was learning, the image of Freud closely watching Fifi termite was etched into my memory and emerged later as guidance for fatherhood and doctoring. “Be patient, be patient, be patient,” became my mantra during my sons’ terrible twos, as they boldly explored their surroundings and exhibited their emotions without restraint.
I did bow to social pressures at times. In one instance, when a neighbor was over and Tommy began banging and throwing pie pans across the kitchen floor, I asked myself: Is my two-year-old’s throwing pie pans actually dangerous, or is the perceived problem more the frown on the face of my visiting neighbor? I took the pans away from Tommy—but wasn’t entirely comfortable with my decision. I felt sure Fifi would have let him carry on exploring his environment.
“Be patient” was my mantra again during my sons’ teenage years, when they exerted their need for independence. Structure and boundaries were necessary, of course, as they are in any child-rearing, but for me the most difficult task was holding back. During their teens, I told myself, “Just be present,” when my impulse was to be more forceful. Their aloof manner, their ignoring certain requests we made, and the remarks intended to make us feel less than smart were all there.
But I would recall Fifi’s unwavering focus on Freud and her responsiveness to his needs through the simple act of paying attention. I learned later, after I left Gombe, that when Freud became an adolescent, Fifi continued to be tolerant of his intimidating displays and daring interactions with the adult males while still being present for grooming and brief hugs when he needed them. Fifi taught me that modeling calm and being observant were more effective in the long run than raising my voice (although I certainly gave in to loudness on occasion).
Our journey through the forest continued. I was thankful that during most of the day, I was shaded by the forest canopy and that the afternoon breeze cooled me down. As Hamisi and I forged through thick brush and leaped over streams, I wondered if the shorter stature of the chimps made their traveling easier, as they effortlessly weaved through the plant life on the ground and glided across branches in the trees.
There was no naptime for Freud unless he dozed off for a few minutes while riding on Fifi’s back as she traversed the forest ground. When Fifi stopped to rest and Freud nursed, he did seem to nod off now and again. Chimps in the wild aren’t weaned until four or five years of age, so the period of contact with the mother is prolonged, allowing intricate learning to occur as well as guaranteed nutrition. The lengthy mother-infant intimacy period is much like that of our own species, and shows how important early bonding is to any infant’s development. The constant natural physical contact benefited Fifi as well. It clearly calmed and energized both of them and continually reinforced their mother-son bond in a way that was completely integrated into their life together. After a thunderous display by Figan near the waterfall, for example, Freud scampered into Fifi’s arms as she reached for him. The two clung to each other until Figan’s aggressive behavior ended. Freud knew where he could find safety, and the two were tethered by this bond in the unpredictable forest. Fifi needed no designated “quality time” with Freud—all their time together was seamlessly connected.
In an excerpt from a field report I wrote at the end of my stay, I described some of the unique characteristics that set Fifi and Freud apart from the other mothers and infants at Gombe:
One of the most dynamic and self-assured teams at Gombe, Fifi and Freud interact with each other in play more than any of the other mother-infant pairs. Fifi is very attentive to Freud, even though this may involve just a glance in his direction when she is stretched out on her back resting and Freud is engaged in social playing several meters away. While she feeds, there are long periods of time in which Fifi pays little or no attention to Freud, but a significant amount of the remaining time is spent in very positive interactions such as play tickling, wrestling, grooming, or watching Freud’s social play.
Though Freud appears at times to be completely unconcerned about Fifi’s whereabouts when he’s involved in play sessions, he’s usually very attentive and responsive to her movements. There seems to be very little tension between them. They’ve worked out a remarkable communication system by which Fifi uses play to initiate travel. She will approach Freud, play bite him or just slap at him in play, then begin travel. Freud responds quite well to the signal and is redirected to follow her.
One characteristic feature of Freud is his ability to engage in vigorous locomotor play and pirouette during travel. When Fifi would get several meters ahead, Freud would quickly scamper after her, sometimes pirouetting so energetically that he would fly off the trail and end up in a bush. He would then run to catch up with his mother.
Perhaps it was fun for Fifi to have such an acrobatic son.
Fifi and Freud made their way up the valley. In late afternoon, I watched as Fifi slowed suddenly to listen to the pant-hoot of her brother Figan across the valley. She clearly recognized his voice, and seemed to recognize the context as well.
“Maybe Figan found some ripening fruit,” Hamisi said, trying to interpret their communication.
Fifi crossed the valley with Freud on her back until she found Figan, who was feasting on milk apples.
“You were right!” I said to Hamisi with surprise. Though I knew that subtly different pant-hoots had different meanings, I couldn’t yet tell them apart like Hamisi and the chimpanzees could. During Fifi’s formative years, she’d had ample opportunity to learn the group’s signals. This was another reason the chimps’ close relationship with their mothers was so important. The mothers guided their young in learning these all-important skills. Just as is the case for humans, strong, instinctive communication skills are critical for chimpanzee development, survival, and social success.
Evolutionary Perspective
Nova and Skosha must have heard the call too, because the mother-infant pair showed up to join the gathering group of about fifteen chimps. Things were quite peaceful as they filled their stomachs with milk apples and socialized. Socializing is as important to chimps as it is to humans. It’s a chance to release energy, bond, and communicate—in short, to play and have fun. Watching the way the chimps socialized among themselves—young chimps and mothers, along with other members of their community—reminded me of large family gatherings like cookouts or playing in the park. This aspect of chimp life is crucial to the overall well-being of both the individual chimps and the group as a whole.
Nova and two-year-old Skosha were soon climbing high up in a leafy parinari tree. I stopped watching them for a moment to focus on brushing a group of lethargic biting flies off my arm; when I looked up, I saw Skosha swinging from its branches, performing her usual acrobatics. Then, a black furry ball—Skosha—suddenly dropped seventy feet and landed in the thick brush below. I sat there, stunned, thinking she would not have survived the fall.
Nova rapidly descended to where Skosha lay very still and began to inspect every part of her body. She diligently licked her daughter’s wounds,
groomed her, and then sat very close until Skosha was able to move on her own. It took a couple of hours, but Nova never moved from Skosha’s side. Eventually, Skosha was back to swinging high in the trees, her mother staying close by.
There was something very primal about Nova’s response to her infant’s fall. She demonstrated how her focused attention after trauma comforted and reassured Skosha, as she checked for serious wounds. I later witnessed skilled human parents respond in similar fashion after illness or trauma to their children. On the other hand, I’ve seen overprotective parents worry so much that their children became anxious too.
As a father, I could feel anxious about trauma or illness in my children, but I didn’t want to convey my worry to them. I wanted them to have confidence that nature would heal their condition, and if not, that help would be found. I appreciated my mother, who had always remained calm in the face of our broken arms and other childhood injuries. I cringe when I see parents too worked up over simple colds or muscle strains in their children; I cringe too when they show little or no attention. The chimps demonstrate a balance: they attend calmly and thoroughly and then move on.
The group continued to feed on milk apples and communicate through vocalizations, grooming each other, nursing, sitting side by side, and staking out the right trees for their evening’s nest building. Fifi’s attention was solely on Freud as they played, and she remained in close proximity. Nova continued her vigilant care of Skosha, and Melissa gently groomed Gremlin following a big play bout with Freud. Several adult males sat quietly nearby, grooming with adult females or resting alone.
