Chimfunshi Chimpanzee Orphanage

Most of the chimps at Chimfunshi live in the Project Area, where they have free roam of up to 250 acres. But when rescued chimps first arrive, they need more care and time to transition into one of the large primate social groups in the Project. The Orphanage houses new chimps and other residents that need special care, medical attention, or isolation.

There are a dozen or so chimps at the Chimpanzee Orphanage, where founder Sheila Siddow lives with her daughter, Sylvia, her pet hippo, Billy, and several other rescued creatures.

The orphanage has a much smaller enclosed yard with cages for isolation. But at least once a day, the chimps get to go on a "bush walk" into an enclosed 17 acres, where they are encouraged to leap and swing and frolic high in the treetops, preparing for their eventual move to the main project area.

Chimpanzee Walk

Kate, Judith, and I were lucky enough to get to accompany five of the chimps on their morning "bush walk." First we donned fashionable blue jumpsuits designed to keep our "city clothes" clean. Then, after much verbal preparation, we crawled through an empty chimp cage into the 17-acre enclosure. "Sit on the ground here," Dominic instructed. Then he let five chimps out of their cages: Cindy, Carla, Sims, Dominic Jr., and Deedee. They didn't hesitate to come over and check us out, climbing on our shoulders and crawling into our laps.

Cindy had been rescued from a restaurant in the Ivory Coast after the owner was hospitalized for Malaria. She had been left for days without water or food, and her cage-mate had perished.

Carla was confiscated from a Congo village with two other chimps that had been caught by poachers.

The youngest two were actually born at Chimfunshi, but had to be removed from the Project Area very young. Little Dominic (named after his keeper) caught bronchitis and nearly died. Sylvia and her visiting sister slept upright for many nights rocking the sickly chimp on their chests. Little Deedee had to be removed as an infant because one of the dominant males was attacking her, and her mother was too young and afraid to defend her. "Deedee slept in my bed for months, falling asleep with my thumb in her mouth," Sylvia said.

"They like to be carried," Dominic said as he scooped up Sims, the largest, and started down the path into the forest. Carla, the most elusive of the chimps, preferred to walk, but the other three chimps leapt onto our shoulders or into our arms, eager for the morning's adventure.

Dominic was like a rough-and-tumble dad to the chimps, wrestling and teasing and swinging them. But so gentle and sweet with them, too. He'd worked at the orphanage for 15 years (since he was a teenager) and was nearly as devoted to his primate family as he was to his six kids.

Two hours went by so quickly. The chimps alternated between swinging in the trees, chowing down on leaves, and playing with us. Dominic Jr. was the mischievous one. He was especially fond of Kate's wild hair, so much so that he started eating it. Then he stole the lens cap dangling from the camera and tried to eat it.

Dominic Sr. showed us how to play with the chimps by swinging them by their arms and legs.

On the way back, we all took turns carrying Sims, who at nearly 80 pounds still acted like a cuddly baby.

The Monkey Bite

When we got back to the Orphanage grounds, Dominic introduced us to some of the other residents, including Jacko the vervit monkey. Jacko had been rescued a couple of months before and had become Sylvia's special pet. In fact, he and Billy the Hippo were in close running for the position of orphanage ruler. Just as there were metal blockades around all the buildings to keep the hippo from pushing through doors and walls, there were now special locks on all the doors to keep Jacko from wreaking havoc indoors. It didn't slow him down much, though. He was all over us from the start, searching our heads for bugs, playing with jewelry. He had a special fondness for Kate, and an unfounded distrust of Judith.

Sheila invited us to her home for cold drinks. As we sat on the covered porch, sipping Cokes and talking, Jacko leaped around, getting more and more active with each capful of Coke he coaxed from us. At one point, he grabbed the pen Sheila had used to autograph my copy of her book. When I took it back from him, he lashed out angrily at the nearest target, which was Judith. He sunk his teeth and claws into her arm and wouldn't let go. Sheila and I had to pry him from her.

Judith's arm was red and scraped, but it looked as though her skin had not been broken. For some reason, it didn't occur to any of us to ask if Little Jacko had had a tetanus shot. And Sheila didn't seem concerned. "You call that a bite?" she laughed. (Sheila has been known to set her own broken bones after a chimp mishap, so this, I suppose was nothing to her.) So Sheila put Jacko back in his cage, and Judith did her best to shake it off.

Stalling for Time

As much as we hated to go, Albert was waiting for us at the Chimpanzee Project, forty minutes away. We got into Judith's Land Cruiser and she turned the key. Click. "No need for alarm," she laughed. "It does this all the time. It just takes a few tries."

So she tried again. And again. And again. Until she was clicking the thing constantly for a good ten minutes.

Sheila shook her head. "You'll run it down." And she was right. I tried to maintain a jovial front while at the same time wondering just how many hours we were from a garage and how long it would take to order a new starter.

"Back in the car," Sheila suddenly commanded. Apparently all our activity had sparked Billy's curiosity, and the hippo was moving in on us. Sheila hurried to close the gate to the parking area just in time. Then she moved her own car near ours and I dug out the jumper cables that Mike had so handily pointed out to me before we left.

Even with the cables, it was another 10 minutes of trying before the engine finally roared to life, the three of us cheering along with it. Sheila slipped out of the gate and lured Billy away so we could leave. "Take the shortcut," she suggested. "The Kafue River is dry this time of year. You can drive right on the riverbed." And so we did. A dirt path on the flat, dry bed -- Zambia to our left, the Congo to the right, and giant termite hills all around. We could only hope that we didn't miss a turn and that the engine didn't stall.