Saving the rare Sclater's monkey could mean new hope for Nigeria's remaining wildlife and natural habitat.

Lynne R. Baker, the author of this article is a longtime member of IPPL. Lynne was a CERCOPAN volunteer from
November 1996 to November 1997. Lynne is professionally trained as a journalist, with experience in the computer and
travel publishing sectors. However, she has spent many years volunteering for various animal-conservation projects and
fulfilled a dream of working in Africa the day she arrived in Nigeria.

Odiereke-Ubie is a Sclater's guenon living at Cercopan Rescue Center.  She belongs to one of the rarest monkey species in the world!  This endangered species hangs on in a small patch of forest in Southern Nigeria.

Kime enjoys the grooming attention of juvenile females Minkey and Nwowong

"I look for small monkey for dis place-o. Where Mr. Udoma stay? He get monkey now, eh?" I peered out the car window to ask an elderly man walking slowly toward our destination, a village called Ubeta. He stopped when he heard my voice.

Nearly blinded by the morning sun, the man turned to look at me and shaded his eyes with a rumpled hand. Funny, he must have thought, to see a white woman in these parts, but it wasn't the first time. He paused, as if to be sure he understood my poor attempt at pidgin English, the Nigerian slang version of English. I waited patiently, hoping for a detailed espousal on Mr. Udoma's whereabouts. But the man just shook his head and turned away.

Before I could get a sigh out, the driver, who was supposed to know Mr. Udoma's house, suddenly had memory recall: "It no be far. Just der." At the end of the man's long index finger sat a small zinc-covered home near the entrance of Ubeta, just seconds away.

I sighed anyway. The easy part was over.

If You Choose to Accept...

My mission was clear: Collect a young female monkey from a village in Rivers State. But it would not be simple. I was after a very rare animal. In fact, she is one of the rarest monkeys on earth. Her home: southeast Nigeria. Her species: Sclater's guenon Cercopithecus sclateri. Her conservation status: IUCN-ranked as endangered. Her global status: the most endangered guenon in Africa. Her future: every minute counts.

It was March 1997, and I had been a volunteer at CERCOPAN -- a forest monkey rehabilitation and conservation center in Calabar, southern Nigeria -- for about four months, with eight to go. I still had a lot to learn. A family emergency prevented CERCOPAN's director, Zena Tooze, from making the journey herself. My co-manager, Bob Baxter, stayed in Calabar to manage the day-to-day activities and watch over the project's current primate family.

A successful mission meant that CERCOPAN would welcome its first female Sclater's and, based on all available information, the second Sclater's monkey in captivity in the world. Like CERCOPAN's other 50-plus monkeys, this Sclater's was also orphaned by the ever-increasing bushmeat trade and would have to relearn certain behaviors and social rules.

Setting the Scene

This would be my first opportunity to discuss conservation with villagers and talk about why they should consider caring about saving monkeys and preserving rainforests.

I never expected my first attempt, or any attempt for that matter, to go  well. After all, in Nigeria -- the most populous nation in Africa (population: around 111 million) - environmental awareness is still very much in its infancy. Oil, in all its various forms, continues to rule, with Nigeria now the sixth largest producer of oil in the world, the second largest in Africa and the largest in sub-Saharan Africa.

I was headed to southeast Nigeria, particularly to Rivers State, home of the major city of Port Harcourt and the ecologically important Niger Delta region. Like most travel experiences, my impending journey came with its share of pros and cons.

On the upside, many of the expatriates working in Port Harcourt are strong supporters of CERCOPAN. So my accommodation and food there and transportation to and from Calabar were secured. Also, Zena had recently made the acquaintance of Chief Robinson O. Robinson, locally known as King Eze Ekpeye Logbo of Ekpeye Land.

Based in Port Harcourt, he rules some 90 rural towns and villages in Rivers State, and Ubeta is one of them. We could expect his assistance in locating the monkey's owners. Finally, the big city meant Chinese food and pizza, and the mere idea of such luxuries assured my presence.

Not so appealing about the area is its human population numbers: Southern Nigeria is the most populous area of the country, and population densities here can reach up to 1,000 people per square kilometer. This puts wildlife at a great disadvantage in the struggle for land. The region is also where numerous oil conglomerates reside, and the imbalance of wealth from expatriates working in the oil industry to local Nigerians is highly pronounced.

The area's Ogoniland gained international fame as a particularly volatile area when protests from environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa and supporters against Royal/Dutch Shell Oil's alleged abuse of the land and people made it into Western newspapers. Saro-Wiwa's popularity and cause were elevated into headline status when he was arrested with eight other activists on alleged murder charges. All nine were executed by the Nigerian government in November 1995.

These factors make southeast Nigeria particularly difficult for conservationists. But to CERCOPAN, the area has much value, and its remaining forests deserve priority conservation status in the country, as well as in West Africa. One reason is good enough: this is Sclater's territory.

Sclater's on the Brink

Once I arrived in Port Harcourt, I would venture a few hours north to Odiereke, a village near Ubeta, my final destination. I traveled once there with Chief Robinson and his wife and was their guest for a night.

Zena had stayed with the couple about one month earlier, and it was here she spotted the monkey I was after. A few weeks prior to that sighting, she successfully acquired the project's first Sclater's (1.5-year-old Frankia, a male) from a nearby village. She told me what to expect: "Eh, see white woman (unfortunately, markedly so in my case). Want monkey? Bring money." I realized I needed to hone up on my pidgin English, practice talking slowly and come up with a convincing spiel. There was a lot at stake, but I tried to stay focused: "One rare Sclater's. One rare Sclater's. One rare Sclater's...."

The plight of Sclater's guenons recently became better known thanks to a survey of the species. Working under a grant from the Wildlife Conservation Society and Primate Conservation Inc., CERCOPAN director Tooze has been analyzing the distribution and population status of the Sclater's in the Niger Delta region for about two years.

So far results show that Sclater's monkeys seem to be surviving in more places than previously thought, but only in small, isolated and unprotected swampy zones. Because most of the land around the species' current range has been farmed, these monkeys have been relegated to these pockets of swamp forest, which are considered unsuitable for farming.

"We once thought that these 'island forests' provided refuge for the remaining wild population of Sclater's," said Tooze. "Today, however, nowhere seems to be safe from development. For example, the European Union may fund a recent proposal to drain a large swamp forest area of Sclater's habitat in the Niger Delta to allow for oil-palm plantations."

The area of land designated for oil-palm development was substantially reduced as a result of lobbying by local concerned environmentalists; however, these kinds of threats are not going to disappear, and much work remains to be done in terms of awareness, both within and outside of Nigeria," according to Tooze.

Additionally, the high human population in the area means heavy hunting, which, in conjunction with ongoing habitat loss, is not sustainable by wild primate populations.

"Hunters kill the slowest moving monkey in a group; this is usually a mother carrying a baby. If the baby survives, it can end up as bushmeat or a pet or be sold as bushmeat or a pet. It usually dies from improper care," says Tooze.

I had yet to determine whether the monkey I was after had been sold, eaten or died. But Ike Udoma knew she was alive and well. And he was very curious about the white woman who'd come to see his monkey. After all, he had something she wanted.

Goat In My Car

The road from Port Harcourt north to where I was headed is considered one of the worst roads in Nigeria. Pot holes abound; missing sections appear from nowhere; and roadblocks ensure you never reach 30 miles per hour. What should take one hour takes more than three.

I didn't mind much. I was just grateful to be riding as part of Chief Robinson's caravan and not on public transport. The only thing I could have done without was a persistent and loud banging noise behind me. One large goat had been tied and placed, with various other bits of the chief's luggage, into the car's trunk.

The animal was to be the main item at a village feast the next evening. As a vegetarian of many years, I dreaded the idea. But the chief had helped Zena acquire CERCOPAN's first Sclater's, and he was already helping me with the second. If he wanted me to eat goat, I'd eat goat.

When the sun finally disappeared, so did the paved road. The trees lining the path weren't uniform. A small bit of remaining rainforest, mixed secondary forest and oil- palm farms sat awkwardly next to one another. Suddenly, the dirt road quickly turned into a dusty trail, and we viciously  rolled up the windows. After a few miles, we passed another dirt road. One of the men in my car glanced at me and proudly stated, "That is the way to Ubeta. That's my place, my village."

Candles in homes and shops lit the way to the chief's home. As we approached the illuminated palace, I grinned: generator. A grand and beautiful castle to the villagers, this home would be defined much differently according to Western standards.

At dinner, I sat outside with the chief and his wife and talked about conservation and primates. Even though hundreds of villagers would visit the next day, my hosts were attentive and intelligently discussed the idea of preservation and its effect on their village home and people.

I told them if I could acquire the monkey the following morning, I would travel back to Port Harcourt that day. They wished me luck and said it was too bad I'd miss the goat feast. "Yes," I replied. "Too bad."

I was feeling very confident, happy and empowered, when a massive plate of rice arrived in front of me. It was not alone: a slab of chicken and spicy sauce accompanied it. The chief's wife grinned at me and said, " Chop now."    After a long conversation about saving monkeys and forests, I found it somehow inappropriate to launch into the "Why I am Vegetarian" explanation. So I didn't launch. I ate.

The Big Day

I didn't sleep well that night. I tried to blame the chicken, even though I knew it was really just nerves. I was up and ready at 6:30 a.m., but an unrequested breakfast of mammoth proportion delayed me. So I ate yet again.

I usually love a good hike, but I was feeling somewhat massive at this point and was glad the chief offered to send a driver with me. The car ride took about 10 minutes, but it seemed two like hours. When the driver momentarily forgot the address, I found myself asking for directions -- with poor results. But the driver pulled through, and we were soon there.

Mr. Udoma knew I was coming. The chief had informed him, and he'd had a brief conversation with Zena when she passed through a couple of months earlier. This was bad or good -- I wasn't sure: Good, in that my visit was no surprise, and Mr. Udoma knew I was the chief's guest; bad, in that he had time to think about what he wanted for his monkey and how much Naira I might have.

No matter how I was dressed, I was still white, and I certainly had more Naira than he could ever hope to have. Mr. Udoma knew this; he wasn't stupid. I also couldn't pretend he was something other than what he was: a poor hunter and a farmer, with a family to feed and clothe, living in a heavily populated African nation.

A small, thin man, Mr. Udoma greeted me warmly as my driver made introductions.

I was asked to sit on one of two raffia-covered benches in front of the house, and soon I was surrounded by several other villagers, including Mr. Udoma's ancient father, who just stared at me with an unnerving steadiness.

In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, "Speak slowly," but I soon found myself spewing information at a breakneck pace. I came armed with pictures, especially ones of CERCOPAN's first Sclater's; CERCOPAN newsletters and information guides; the chief's support; and primate references, including The Pictorial Guide to Living Primates by Noel Rowe (800-296-6310). The crowd was delighted with this book, and Mr. Udoma paused when we came to the page on Sclater's monkeys.

I pointed out the highlighted word "Endangered" for all to see. Mr. Udoma must have recognized the images, as only a simple "Ahh" spilled from his mouth.

I then found it appropriate to ask him of his own monkey. Suddenly, as if running on remote control, a tiny figure appeared out from behind the house. Around her waist was a tiny bell. Accompanied by faint "jingles," the monkey stopped at the front door, grabbed at the remains of a mango,  trying to squeeze out any remaining juice. This was followed by a contact call, a bird-like trill, and then she was off, pouncing into the arms of Mrs. Udoma.

I was stunned for a moment, mesmerized by this bouncing, beautiful creature. Mr. Udoma spoke, waking me from my temporary trance: "I have been feeding Monkeys, caring for it. I have had to buy it food for some time now."

Indeed, the animal looked healthy enough, and as she curled up and fell asleep in Mrs. Udoma's arms, I realized she was probably one of the few village pets who receive decent treatment. "My See monkey very sick now. May die soon" argument was no longer an option.

It was going to come down to money, as such dealings almost always do. So a friendly debate began -- me trying to explain conservation and the importance of protecting endangered species; Mr. Udoma trying to explain that he's been feeding and caring for the monkey for months; it was his children's pet; and he couldn't just give it up.

After I reassured him over and over that we do not buy or sell any animals at CERCOPAN -- as this only perpetuates further illegal hunting -- he finally  started to realize I wasn't going to give in. Other village members joined in occasionally, and I found it very difficult to sit quietly when they talked in their local language. What are they saying?

The Verdict Is In

After nearly three hours, both sides had presented all the possible arguments. Mr. Udoma realized that not only did the law protect his monkey, but that donating the animal was also what the chief wanted. He may have heard my conservation message, and he may have even understood it, but I never expected to turn Mr. Udoma into a conservationist in a few hours.

I think he didn't want trouble for his family, and in the long run, the monkey wasn't worth it. So he agreed to donate the animal: "OK, you can take Monkey." Exasperated, I think I was just too tired to shed a tear, although the situation was prime for a serious cry.

Several villagers joined the Udoma family so I could photograph them with a "Save the Sclater's" poster, sponsored by the Nigerian Conservation Foundation. Mrs. Udoma still held the small monkey in her arms. It was obvious she was not happy with the situation, and I could not blame her.

As I prepared the travel box and bought some fruit for the monkey's journey, I caught bits and pieces of what others were saying. There seemed to be a small discussion occurring among the villagers, including the Udomas. Some were angry that Mr. Udoma gave up the animal "without making the white person pay", while others agreed with his decision.

If even one onlooker saw the donation as a good or acceptable thing, then CERCOPAN had made progress. And the possibility of opening a dialogue in Ubeta about monkeys and conservation was serious progress.

Mrs. Udoma kindly washed the monkey, soaking her in water, and placed her in a small wire cage. The monkey looked confused, wide-eyed and nervous. I thought: "Don't worry. In just a few days, you'll get to meet Frankia. You'll really like him."

Grinning, I said my good-byes to the family and villagers, promising to send them a jumbo size of the photograph (which reached them a few months later with a formal thank-you letter from CERCOPAN), and placed the frightened monkey in the car.

Back at the palace, I told the story to the chief and his wife. They were pleased. I was sure to tell them that if it hadn't been for their support, I don't think the mission would have gone nearly as well. Mrs. Robinson then asked me to do one thing for her: name the monkey after the Robinson's village home.

"Consider it done." And that is how Odiereke-Ubie got her name.

Back in Calabar, Ubie (as we call her) fattened up nicely and quickly adjusted to life with Frankia. She easily passed all her medical tests and has proven to be one of the healthiest and best-looking monkeys at CERCOPAN. We often joke about her being the poster child for wildlife conservation in Nigeria.

When she first came to CERCOPAN, Ubie would fall asleep in my arms. She knew me well, but not for long. We try to wean the animals as soon as possible of human contact, and Ubie managed this more easily than I'd like to admit. After a few months of Frankia's attention, I was a big, bad monster.

But that's the goal, and as a result, Ubie is a top candidate for release.

The Climb Up

In September I headed out again to a village north of Port Harcourt, on the trail of another small Sclater's. I was once again armed with all the necessary pictures and references. But this was Abua, and it was not Chief Robinson's domain. So I could not count on his assistance.

After three 4-hour journeys to Abua from Port Harcourt, I finally convinced the family that owned the monkey to donate him to the project. The two daughters were willing, and the mother finally came around after I obtained an official letter from the Rivers State Department of Forestry. The letter designated me as the official guardian of the animal, which by law is protected and is not allowed to be kept as a pet.

Just as I was preparing to take photographs and hand out T-shirts and posters, Kate, one of the daughters, approached me, looking distressed. It seems that one of her brothers suddenly decided that he was the actual owner of the monkey and could not allow its release.

He sat in a chair in a well-trafficked area of Abua, tied the monkey to a string and tied the string to his arm and the chair. After trying to discuss  briefly with him, others began to gather. When I heard a voice from the  growing crowd bellow: "Go to the bush and get your own monkey," I realized this mission would have to wait.

My time in Rivers State had already been extended too long, and I needed to return to Calabar. So I left -- sans small monkey from Abua. The anguish I felt after this trip was as powerful as the joy I felt bringing Ubie home from Ubeta.

My only consolation was that I had come across another Sclater's -- an  adult female -- via CERCOPAN's connections with the Port Harcourt Zoo. She was donated to the project, and I would be bringing her back to Calabar.

But I kept thinking about the small boy. Would he still be there in a month? Would they kill him, afraid of possible repercussions? Would he die of some illness?

As of February we still did not know.

Before I left Nigeria at the end of October, I did not have the opportunity to return to Abua. One subsequent attempt by my director was plagued by car trouble and lack of time and money. CERCOPAN currently has three Sclater's, with two captive infants on the way from Rivers State. We also know of two more in villages. Obtaining all of these for the captive-breeding program at CERCOPAN is critical, but logistically, pursuing Sclater's monkeys takes more time and funding.

Not only are Sclater's found greater distances from Calabar and Cross River State, Rivers State Forestry is not equipped to assist with such endeavors.     Unlike Cross River State officials, the Rivers State Forestry Department does not have any vehicles and has never confiscated an animal. The official letter I acquired for the monkey in Abua was the first of its kind for Rivers State Forestry. Even then, I had to submit a draft letter, which was reproduced word-for-word and then signed by the department director.

This is just one small example of the challenges that must be overcome to successfully operate a conservation project in Nigeria. In a country so plagued by problems and scandals, the loss of such a beautiful, rare and endemic species as the Sclater's would be a permanent, obscene flaw on an already tainted reputation.

Saving this species may come down to rallying support for it as a Nigerian symbol and treasure. Will the Sclater's monkey ever make Nigerians half as proud as the country's national soccer team? Not likely, but we have to try anyway.
 

Meet Shanti, one of IPPL's Sanctuary Gibbons 

IPPL Alert Page
IPPL News
IPPL News Archive

IPPL Home Page