The Messenger

It is human to wake up every morning and expect the sun to rise but it is not human to expect an extraordinary visitation. Myself and three volunteers had been living in a wooden cabin at the foot of the Magaliesberg Mountain without any hint of other human activity in sight. One February morning, the sun ascended slowly parting pink hued clouds in its wake. With my morning coffee in one hand,I pulled the front door open then stared in awe at the early morning scene that greeted me. A Marshall Eagle with a wing span of about eight feet, landed a few metres ahead. This was a first. Having never witnessed this previously, the large size of the raptor accompanied with the surprise of the visit felt particularly significant in its mystery. My first thought was to protect the baby baboons; they were indoors and well protected. I proceeded with the day’s chores unable to shake the inexplicable feeling that I’d been warned about an impending danger.

Through the years of living closer to wilderness, I’d come to notice various strange co-incidences. For example, the day I released my first orphan baby baboon into a troop was marked by three baby eagle owls sitting in a tree above me in broad daylight. Their presence and nocturnal habits contributed to my decision to abandon my surrogate baby later on that particular day simply because of an instinctual knowing that accompanied the sighting.. After noticing similar unusual events in nature, I began to look out for them. And the more I did, the more I saw.

A couple of hours after the eagle’s visit, while volunteers Bridge and Pete guarded the baby baboons directly outside the cabin, I heard the unmistakeable scream of one of the babies, screaming for me her mother. It was Spud, my youngest pink faced infant. And her screams were that of an infant calling for help. Looking out the window, I faced what would come to be one of the most horrific memories I’d carry for the rest of my life. An adult male baboon with canines bared had Spud in his hands, shaking her body with the kind of force and aggression needed for an adult opponent; there was no mistaking his intention. I grabbed the gun, ran outside while wa-hooing and shooting in the air. He’d ran off with her. After a long search her tiny torn apart body was found.

Male baboons leave their troops about five times during their lives to move into new troops. When a new male takes over, he will often kill the infants of the previous leader. This is called infanticide.