Gerald Durrell (18 page)

Another aspect
of the Cameroon mentality was demonstrated to me one day when a small boy
appeared carrying a tortoise. On examination it proved to have a large hole
bored in its shell, thus ruining it as a specimen, so I gave it back to the
child and told him I did not want it, and why. Half an hour later another child
appeared carrying the same tortoise. Thinking perhaps the first child’s tender
years had prevented him from understanding, I explained all over again. Shortly
afterwards a bigger child arrived carrying the same reptile. During the course
of the day different people, ranging from toddlers to old men, all appeared and
offered for sale the same wretched tortoise.

“Why,” I asked
the last man who brought it, “why all you different people bring the same same
beef eh? I done tell all dis different man dat I no go buy dis beef . . . look
. . . ’e get hole for his back, you no see? Why you bring um so many times?”

“Eh, sometime if
Masa no go buy from me he go buy from other man,” answered the tortoise’s
temporary owner.

“Listen, my
friend, you go tell your family that I no want dis beef, you hear? And if any
man bring this beef to me again, I go beat him until he get hole for larse same
same dis beef, understand?”

“Yes, sah,” he
said, smiling, “Masa no want.” And that was the last I saw of the tortoise.

Another peculiar
attitude of mind on the part of the beef bringers was the firm belief that, no
matter how mangled a specimen was, I could be persuaded to buy it, by the
simple process of telling me it was not hurt, and would, in all probability,
live for years. This applied particularly to birds. At first, the brigade of
small boys who tapped the forest creepers to obtain the white rubber-like
substance which was used as bird-lime were firmly convinced that all I wanted
was a bird. As long as it was still breathing, it mattered not that most of its
feathers were missing, or if it had broken a leg or two. It took some time, and
some pretty stiff arguments, to persuade them otherwise. The thing that really
convinced them was the episode of the Pygmy Rails.

One morning I
was examining the usual collection of wicker fish-traps crammed full of maimed
birds which the boys had brought, and delivering a lecture on careful treatment
of specimens. Just as I was unleashing my scorn and annoyance on this shuffling
collection of teen-age beef bringers and their dreadful collection of birds, a
small girl, perhaps six years old, wandered into the compound carrying a small
receptacle cleverly woven out of dry grass and leaves. She came to a halt in
front of me and, after surveying me silently and appraisingly for a moment,
held out her basket.

“Na whatee?” I
inquired.

“Na bird, Masa,”
she piped.

I took the
basket from her hands and peered into it, resigning myself to the fact that
here was yet another basket full of useless creatures. Inside crouched three
beautiful little birds, unhurt, and without a feather out of place. They had
slender legs, and long delicate toes which, in the hands of normal bird
trappers, would most certainly have been broken. No feathers had been pulled
out of the wings, a favourite method of preventing a specimen flying away. They
were in perfect condition. This, I felt, was too good an opportunity to miss.
Picking out one of the Pygmy Rails I showed it silently to the gaping boys.

“Look,” I said,
“here na picken woman who savvay catch bird pass you man picken. Look dis bird:
he no get wound, he no get rope for his legs. Dis kind of bird I go buy, he no
go die. If dis woman picken fit catch bird why you men picken no fit, eh? Now,
you go see how much I go give for dis bird.”

Turning to the
girl I asked her how much she wanted for her specimens.

“Two two
shillings, Masa,” she replied, meaning two shillings each.

“You hear?” I
asked the boys. “Dis picken say she want two two shilling for dis bird. Na fine
price dat: she get good bird, she done catch um softly softly, he no get wound,
and she no bring um with rope for ’e foot. Because she savvay catch beef pass
you all I go pay her five five shillings for dis very good beef.”

“Eh . . . aehh!”
groaned the boys in envy and astonishment. The girl, who had not understood
what was being said, was so amazed that I should pay her more than twice what
she had asked that she clutched the money to her chest and fled the compound as
fast as her fat little legs could carry her, in case I should change my mind.
The boys followed in a chattering gesticulating group. From that day onwards
the birds brought in were excellent, with one or two exceptions, and the boys
of the village waxed fat on the proceeds of their sales, and my cages started
to fill with some lovely specimens.

The boys had two
methods of catching birds and, although both were effective, the best was the
use of what was known as “lubber”. In the forest grew a certain vine, and on
being cut this yielded a copious flow of thick white sap. The boys would
collect this as it ran, as fast as blood, from the wounded vine, and when they
had collected about half a cupful they would place it over a slow fire, having
first mixed in the juice of a curious red fruit which tasted exactly like
lemon. After boiling for a couple of hours this brew would be set aside to cool,
and left overnight. In the morning it would be like a thick, resilient paste,
extraordinarily sticky. Then the trappers would get the long slender midribs
from a palm tree and coat them with this mixture. Going to certain small forest
pools at which they knew the birds would congregate, they would then stick
groups of these ribs in the sand in a fan shape. For some curious reason the
birds, on coming down to drink, would rather perch on these twigs than on the
sand. Landing on one the bird would find that its feet were held fast, and in
its fluttering to get free it would fall forwards or backwards on to the other
twigs, which would then stick all over its plumage, rendering it helpless.
After a few hours this bird-lime dried on the feathers, and the birds would
clean it off themselves by normal preening methods. It was by far the most
satisfactory method of catching birds I have seem, apart from netting them.

The second
method employed was the use of a curious and rather ingenious trap. A springy
stick was curved like a bow, and tied. From the base of the stick, cleverly
balanced, was a small perch, and when it was in position it kept the bow bent
at the ready. On the end of this little perch was placed a bait, and over the
perch was draped a fine noose, which was attached to the main bow string. When
the bird settled on the twig to get the bait, its weight would knock the perch
down, which would release the bow, which, in turn, would pull the noose tight
around the bird’s legs. This, as I say, was a very effective method, but the
trouble was that if the strength of your bow was too great it would pull the
noose tight, and probably break both the bird’s legs. Also, if it did not do
this, the bird would be hanging there by its legs and, unless removed from the
trap quickly, would maim its own legs by fluttering. Of the two I found the
bird-lime the best, and after a time refused to buy birds that had been caught
by the other method. With bird-lime they seemed to catch everything: the
scarlet and black Malimbus, with their steel-blue, finch-like beaks: the Robin
Chats with their white eyebrow stripes and their wings marked with an azure
blue patch, like a jay; the Forest Robins, almost identical with the English
robin in size and colour, except that their backs were a deeper brown, their
breasts a richer, redder orange, and with a small white spot on their cheeks,
just near the corner of their beaks. The Blue.spotted Doves, neat grey and fawn
birds with their wings spotted with glittering feathers of green, and many
other kinds of dove and pigeon were caught, also the brilliant Pygmy
Kingfishers, and the Shining-blue Kingfisher, and an endless array of Weaver
birds.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

DRILLS, DANCES AND DRUMS

To supply all
the insectivorous birds with sufficient live food was a great problem, and I
overcame it in this way. I employed a gang of perhaps twenty young children,
armed them with bottles, and sent them out to hunt grasshoppers. They were paid
by the results, not for the time they spent. A penny for thirty insects was the
usual price. Another band of children was employed to go into the forest and
collect the curious termite nests shaped like gigantic mushrooms, that grew in
the gloomy places. These nests, constructed out of hard brown mud, were split open
on a canvas sheet, and from the honeycomb of tunnels and passages inside would
pour thousands of tiny termites and their fat white young. It was these soft
plump youngsters that the birds relished. These nests could be stored for about
twenty-four hours before the termites, under cover of darkness (for they shun
the light) would vacate them, so in the corner of the animal house there was
always a pile of fresh termite nests on hand for feeding, and all through the
day a stream of fat-bellied toddlers would arrive at the camp, carrying on
their heads these mushroom-like objects. A line of these children wending their
way through the forest towards the camp, the mushrooms perched on their woolly
heads, laughing and chattering in shrill little voices, had a peculiar,
gnome-like quality about them.

These termite
hunters often found different creatures while they were in the forest, and
these specimens were then brought in triumph when they appeared with the nests.
The commonest thing they came across were the chameleons, which they were quite
convinced were deadly poisonous, and they would carry them fearfully on the
extreme end of a long stick, screaming loudly if the reptile made any sort of
movement in their direction. The most common chameleon they found was the
Flap-necked species, a beast about eight inches long, generally a bright
leaf-green in colour. This species was full of fight, and when caught they
would turn from bright green to dirty grey, covered with evil brown blotches.
Opening their mouths wide they would sway from side to side, hissing loudly. If
picked up when they were like this they would turn without hesitation, and give
you quite a sharp bite, though not sufficient to draw blood. Hissing and
swaying, their bulging eyes revolving madly in an effort to see all ways at
once, these miniature prehistoric monsters would be borne into camp, clasping
the end of the stick desperately with their parrot-like feet.

It was the
termite hunters that brought me my first Horned chameleon, a creature so fantastic
that at first I could hardly believe my eyes. It was smaller than the
Flap-necked, and of a more slender build. It lacked the great helmet on its
head, ornamented with the bright blue beads of skin, that the Flap-necked could
boast, and its colours were quieter and more sedate. But its face was
incredible: from the nose there grew two horns, sharply pointed, slightly
curved, and about half an inch long. They looked exactly like the curving tusks
of a miniature elephant. On the top of its nose, slightly behind, and midway
between these two tusks, grew another. This was longer than the others, and
quite straight, rather the type of thing a unicorn was supposed to have. From
behind this barricade of tusks the prominent eyes would revolve with a fishy and
extraordinarily intelligent expression. The body colour of this creature was a
nice pearl-grey, heavily patterned with light-brown marks. When angry or
annoyed it would turn a deep, almost black, maroon colour, marbled with patches
of bright rust red, like big fingerprints. I presumed that these horns on its
nose were used for defence and perhaps for mating battles, so when I had some
time to spare I performed a series of experiments with this specimen. First I
picked him up and, though he tried to bite, he did not use his horns to butt my
hand with, as I had expected. Thinking that he was not sufficiently annoyed I
placed him on the ground and teased him with a twig. Although he changed
colour, hissed, and even snapped at the twig, he made no attempt to use his
horns. Some time after another Horned chameleon was brought in, and then I set
out to discover if the horns were reserved exclusively for battles with members
of the same species. I placed both chameleons on a long branch, facing each
other and about three feet apart. At first they both merely sat there and let
their natural colour ebb back after the shock of this sudden change. When their
normal colour was more or less restored, they proceeded to crawl towards one
another, and I waited eagerly for the battle. When they came face to face there
was no room for them to pass on the narrow branch, so one simply walked over
the other’s back in that completely impersonal way that reptiles have. Slightly
annoyed, I replaced them in their former positions, but once again they
proceeded to crawl over each other, each completely ignoring the other’s
presence. So there it was: I was no nearer to discovering the use of the horns
than I had been before. During all the time I kept these reptiles I never saw
them make a movement that could be interpreted as a use of the horns, either in
defence or in battle.