ASHRAF HENDRICKS

A day of babbling in Simon's Town. The sailors' pub in the harbour village is empty, street vendors are waiting for the tourists to return. Uphill, towards the waterfall, are the naval barracks. There, on the roof, sit a dozen female baboons peacefully grooming themselves. They are waiting for the first dog in the area to bark at them - or for the patrolling game wardens with their pellet guns.

Luana Pasanisi comes walking over, texting busily. She could see the baboons from her balcony and has been slightly worried for a few days. Normally, the animals would now be looking for food at the waterfall. “The troop has been in disarray since their alpha male Bolo was killed. His brother – very dominant – has now taken charge.”

Such a transition of power is quite grim, with an infanticide (all the offspring of the predecessor are killed) and a subsequent period of authoritarian behavior by the new leader. The animals are stressed. “It is very difficult to predict their movements now,” says Pasanisi. She scans the street. “In recent weeks, they have regularly been sleeping on the jetties in the harbor.”

Animal welfare protests did not help

Pasanisi works with the baboons of Simon’s Town from sunrise to sunset. She helps them cross the road safely with a red flag, like a monkey crosswalk, and is in constant contact with other volunteers, residents, game wardens and local authorities – just to make sure nothing goes wrong.

An hour and a half drive from here, in the coastal town of Bettysbaai, Scarface was killed earlier today. He had been a nuisance to residents for some time, which means: he could open sliding doors, break windows and turn entire kitchens upside down. Protests from animal welfare groups were to no avail. The authorities had Scarface put to sleep.

He is the umpteenth this year, after Bolo, the former leader of the pack in Simon's Town (injection), Philemon (injection), Buddy (electrocuted by a low-hanging cable), Tabitha (shot with an air gun and bled to death), Kevin (electrocuted and preyed on by dogs). Died on the front between man and animal.

An endangered species

About five hundred Cape baboons live on the Cape Peninsula. They are an endangered species. The baboons enter the towns and villages for food, left in waste bins and behind open doors and windows. Fruit is particularly popular. Baboons can smell fruit trees and bowls from miles away.

Wildlife manager CapeNature authorises municipalities to manage their own baboon populations, in line with a national nature regulation. The municipalities are therefore allowed to capture, relocate and euthanise the animals.

Jenni Trethowan of animal welfare organisation Baboon Matters keeps a close eye on the movements of all the baboon troops in and around Cape Town. She sees the animals increasingly moving into towns and cities. “They have become accustomed to finding quick rewarding food in rubbish and there is a lot of construction going on.” And with urbanisation comes rubbish. “At the landfill in Caledon (about a two-hour drive away, KvV) the baboons come looking for food as soon as the rubbish trucks have left.”

If a baboon has enough penalty points, he risks being put to sleep

Volunteer Luana Pasanisi points. There, in the garden of a spacious villa, lies the edge of the forest. “That was the original habitat of the troop.” Pasanisi came to live here twenty years ago, when the baboon troop in Simon Town was still small and rarely seen. A completely different world. “There were sharks swimming there and at night, when it was very quiet, you could hear the whales breathing. They came here to nurse their young. It was like living in a National Geographic documentary.” Sharks no longer swim here, the whales now ignore Simon Town.

The new residents in particular (“they want to grow old undisturbed on a pristine piece of land”) seem to be bothered by the baboons. Pasanisi is certainly familiar with the problems, her own roof recently had to be repaired. But, she explains, every report to the authorities is a record, and if a baboon has enough penalty points, it risks being put to sleep. She speaks of criminalization and tries to convince her neighbors of this; not always successfully. “These people are so privileged. They would rather see a baboon die than properly store their plastic waste. I don’t get it, if you really want to live in a sterile place, go live in Europe.”

A simple solution, according to Pasanisi, is the baboon-proof waste bin. Years ago, the municipality placed a number of them in Simon Town, at her insistence, but they were never replaced. So Pasanisi placed two caged baskets herself: one in her street and one in the center of Simon Town.

Human Responsibility

Pasanisi earns money (her work for the baboons is voluntary) by selling baboon-proof greenhouses, together with her brother. He is very ill, so the sales are on hold for the time being. “What makes the work even more exhausting is the realization that no one cares.” What does she do it all for? “Look how idyllic it is here. It still exists. It is the responsibility of us humans to keep the ecology as diverse as possible. I don’t want to witness the demise of an entire species.”

But her achievements, and those of many others, are still a drop in the ocean. Cape Town's baboon population is shrinking.

From a Victorian veranda, a resident – ​​Dita Newman (66, tough lady with a cigarette) – looks fondly at the flea-eating monkeys on the barracks. “They’re so funny.” In the thirty years that Newman has lived here, she has never had any problems. Well, they steal something now and then, and the little ones sometimes want to play with the dog, who is very old and then starts barking terribly – but problems, no way. Newman agrees with what Pasanisi said earlier. “It’s mainly the new residents, who want to keep their plots spotless.” What’s next? “There is no feasible solution. Eventually, they will all be killed.”