Following Fifi

by John Crocker

  So as I plunged back into my medical practice after returning from Gombe with Tommy, I thought about how lucky I was to have been one of Jane’s students. Because of Jane I understood that we all remain students throughout our lives. I thought about her drive and her confidence in communicating with people about our current race to save species and the natural world around us, and I felt grateful that over the years she instilled in me a strong commitment to help in preserving our planet. This sense of purpose has kept me writing this book, even when it seemed like an impossible task.

  As I continue to refine my own purpose in my community and family, I can still picture the image I formulated in a remote Tanzanian forest, a vision of our early ancestors making their way through the trees and undergrowth, foraging for food and raising their offspring. I picture how successful they were and the hardships they endured. When life seems difficult or the future of our beautiful earth appears to be compromised, my hope comes from my connection to this image. It also comes from knowing Jane.

  EPILOGUE

  In my sixty-first year, I made a brief escape from my busy life at work and at home to write the last chapter of this book. The week at my office had been especially stressful, with more patients than usual requiring urgent attention, but now I had twenty-four precious hours for my retreat to a cabin on Whidbey Island, two hours from Seattle.

  Before settling down to write, I dropped off my laptop at the cabin and drove a few miles to Ebey’s Landing, where a trail leads up to a bluff overlooking the Salish Sea. For the past thirty years I’d paid tribute to this unique nature reserve by hiking along the bluff trail, which separates rich farmland with views of the Olympic Mountains from a 150-foot drop-off to the water. Passing ships and a distant horizon would keep my eyes focused west, toward the sea, for most of the hike.

  I wanted to hear the echoing call of the great blue heron and the splashing of waves on the sandy beach below. I wanted to remember the Native Americans who lived on this land not long ago. On this unusually warm April evening, I felt invigorated to be on the trail breathing the salty mists. I scampered down the steep hillside to focus on the waves and the setting sun and appreciate the efforts that have kept this land protected. The Ebey’s Landing National Historical Reserve is a unique mix of federal, state, county, and private lands, all protected under a land trust. The concerted efforts of local and national groups prevailed in keeping this precious coastal habitat free from home construction so that trail users can continue to enjoy the land and its history.

  As I walked, my attention drifted to the wispy clouds forming near the horizon and the deepening colors of the sun setting over the Strait of Juan de Fuca, reminiscent of the blazing sunsets over Lake Tanganyika. As they so often did, my thoughts turned to the Gombe chimps, especially Fifi’s brother Figan, whose memory always tugged at my heart. In the wild, this proud male was three times stronger than any human his size, yet what good was Figan’s power in the face of human encroachment on his land? Figan was, like all chimps, helpless against human weaponry—no match for gun-wielding poachers roaming the forests. Figan did not leave a single footprint of his life at Gombe. He was the ultimate environmentalist. It seemed unfair that his species might have limited time left, in large part due to the actions of humans.

  A chimp’s brain cannot complicate things quite like a human brain can. Although only 4 percent of our DNA differs from chimp DNA, it is that 4 percent that makes us human. Complex problem-solving and language capabilities of the human brain arise from that same small difference in DNA. It’s that same 4 percent that pushes me, for example, to better understand our interconnectedness with chimps and our capacity as humans to respond more effectively to the challenges of our complicated world. If the chimps have been able to adapt and survive in their wild communities for so long, then surely we humans with our more complex brains should be able to forge a future that is sustainable for all of Earth’s species.

  Walking this trail so far from Africa and my youth, I remembered the first chimpanzee to steal my heart—Babu. Like Figan, Babu showed off his acrobatic skills for me, but unlike chimps in the wild, Babu often clung tightly to my chest for reassurance when he was frightened. I have always been haunted by the image of Babu before his rescue—an orphaned infant in a small crate in a West African market waiting to be sold as meat. In 1974, however, when I returned to California, I’d happily observed four-year-old Babu interacting with other chimps at the Stanford Outdoor Primate Facility. An older female chimp, Bashful, had “adopted” Babu and provided love and affection as though he were her own offspring. Watching Babu nurtured by his own kind was deeply reassuring.

  Circumstances had changed for Babu four years after entering the primate facility. Babu and other chimps at the facility contracted hepatitis B from a new chimp member and became carriers. Babu, a younger female named Topsy, and Mowgli, the chimp who had infected them, were soon transferred to the National Institutes of Health in Maryland to be used in research to develop a cure for the disease they all carried.

  Babu was then transferred to many different facilities, first in Texas, then New Mexico, then back to Texas, where he and Topsy had two offspring together, and finally Colorado. Though I was troubled to hear of Babu’s being used as a medical research subject, I took solace in the fact that his rescuers—the California couple from Woodside—contacted each facility Babu entered to assure his well-being. They even visited Babu in Texas. It was certainly not their choice for him to become a lab primate, but it was out of their control. After Babu’s transfer to Colorado, my marvelous first chimpanzee companion died from complications related to the research. Babu was twenty-nine years old.

  Babu’s journey spanned continents, embraced human and chimp caretakers, and contributed to hepatitis B research in a study that ultimately caused his death. When I received news of his final years, I shed tears just as I did during my last visit with him in 1973 when he was two and a half years old. I can still picture him leaping into my arms and hugging me longer than usual on our final get-together before I left for Africa.

  At our human hands, Babu had experienced both the joy of rescue and connection and the suffering of capture and medical experimentation. Our bond with these primate cousins is complicated and finally evolving. For many years, we’ve used chimpanzees solely for our own purposes—whether as human replacements in the space race or as lab subjects in our medical research, but in the past decade, we’ve discovered that with modern technology, there are many ways to do medical research without using chimpanzees.

  In the United States, there’s some good news: in June 2013, the National Institutes of Health announced that it would release approximately 360 chimps that had been locked in cages and used for biomedical experiments for up to thirty years. They were no longer considered crucial for research. Most had been kidnapped from the wild as infants, just like Babu, and brought here to spend the rest of their lives in a laboratory. Fifty were still held for medical purposes, making the United States the only developed country still using chimps for research—until June 2015, when even these chimps began their preparation for release into sanctuaries.

  Now a chimp that has lived his life in a small metal cage as the subject of scientific studies can finally be released to an outdoor sanctuary like Chimp Haven in Louisiana. There are many poignant videos on YouTube that show these chimps and their first taste of freedom (search “laboratory chimps released”). Hesitantly, they venture out of their cages into these sanctuaries surrounded by trees, sky, and other chimps for the very first time. It’s astounding to see their curious—but also fearful—facial expressions while cautiously entering the outdoors and being able to embrace one another for comfort. My heart holds a special place for many of the chimps that still remained caged for research as of the writing of this book as they await a spot in suitable sanctuaries. There was no need for them to continue to suffer in captivity for medical experiments. I hope one day to hear that they too have been given f
reedom, surrounded by their own kind and those tireless and compassionate human caretakers who work in chimpanzee sanctuaries.

  My walk along the Whidbey Island bluff trail also took me back to my trekking days with Hamisi Matama as we followed the chimps together. I heard from Tony that Hamisi was once again working as a field assistant/researcher at Gombe and was known as the “wise man of the forest” because of his knowledge of the species names and medicinal properties of local plants. According to Tony, Hamisi also knew “many tales of former times now all but forgotten by young people busy with schooling and more interested in cell phones, laptops, and football.” Of interest to me was another fact I learned from Tony: Hamisi’s traditional name was Mlongwe. He didn’t use this name while I was at Gombe, but people at the camp now knew him by it.

  Hamisi was continuing his work at Gombe as a chimp researcher and medicinal plant educator as I entered my thirty-second year in the same clinic in Seattle, still excited to connect with those who sought my help. I still enjoy the challenge of diagnosing and designing treatment plans. The passion that keeps me going through the twelve-hour days is the adventure of stepping into the interesting lives of my patients and developing trust and mutual respect in our journey together. To be a part of a patient’s life has always seemed an extraordinary privilege. It’s very similar to my feelings about the Gombe chimps—I feel gratitude for having been allowed to observe them and be immersed in their lives. My experience with the chimps enlarged my understanding of the world and of our species. I believe it made me a better doctor and a better father. I know it made me a better human being.

  I am content to be alive now with modern conveniences, such as hot water and a bathtub to relax me at the end of a hard day, but I often find myself wanting more of a connection to nature, more time to build stronger connections with friends and family, and to feel just physically tired instead of emotionally exhausted at the end of the day.

  As I look ahead, I often think about a sojourn in Africa, Asia, or Central America, perhaps for months or even years. My wife could teach and I could continue to practice medicine. Our boys—now young men—could visit us from time to time and explore another new culture. Wherever I live, I want to feel a strong sense of purpose. Because of my time with the chimps, I hope that will include helping preserve ecologically rich places such as Gombe or the rainforests of Brazil or Madagascar. I also want to be able to hear stories of other people’s lives and share some of my own past adventures.

  I will be forever grateful to Jane, to the chimps of Gombe, and to Hamisi for giving me the experience of living in a wild forest, an experience that helped me build my hopes and dreams and gain self-confidence. Wendy and I dream that human primates will learn to live in harmony with nature as the chimps do. And we dream that our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will enjoy the profound pleasures of encountering a primate cousin—a distant family member who still has so much to teach us about being human.

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  Rescued chimp Babu riding on the shoulders of Stanford student Lynne Johnson Davison on outing near the University. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  View across the lush valleys of Gombe Stream National Park with Lake Tanganyika to the west. Home now to approximately one hundred chimpanzees. Photo by Grant Heidrich, 1973.

  Winkle cradling infant Wilkie, who tries to reach out to touch seven-year-old Atlas. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Jane and me in the Gombe forest observing chimpanzees together during my students days. Photo by Aadje Geertsema, 1973.

  Prof hangs on to a branch as he plays close to Passion, who is seen in the background grooming her daughter Pom. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Freud with play face grabs Gremlin as Fifi (left) and Melissa rest. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Alpha male Figan appearing on guard and powerful while eating prized bananas. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Gremlin, as an adult, nibbles on termites clinging to a hand-crafted twig that had been inserted and then withdrawn from a hole in a termite mound. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute / by Jane Goodall.

  Miff with infant Michaelmas, in perfect position for nursing, staying warm and being protected, following a downpour. Photo by John Crocker, 1974.

  Adult male chimp patrolling from vantage point high above the valley. Photo by Curt Busse, 1974.

  Our group of students and researchers. Back row from left: Curt Busse, Caroline Tutin, Grant Heidrich, Anthony Collins, Julie Johnson, Emilie Bergman Riss, and Jane. Front from left: Jim Moore, Lisa Nowell, and me. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 1974.

  Field assistant Esilom Mpongo and me talking about life before setting out to follow chimps. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 1973.

  A gathering of chimps socializing in a tree and surveying the valley. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Field assistant Hamisi Mkono guiding me through the valleys after we lost our chimps and began heading back to camp. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 1974.

  Hamisi Mkono and I climb a small tree high above the valley as we imitate our subjects. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 1974.

  Fifi with Frodo. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute / by Jane Goodall, 1976.

  Young chimp swinging through the trees at Gombe. Photo by Grant Heidrich, 1974.

  The Rift Mountains, part of the eastern border of the Great Rift Valley, separate human villages from the chimp communities. The chimps do not ascend to this barren territory but remain in the fertile valleys below, which slope down to Lake Tanganyika. As students, several of us slept out under the stars on the bare hill in the center of the photo. Photo by Grant Heidrich, 1973.

  Melissa holding twins Gyre and Gimble. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute, by Jane Goodall, 1978.

  Me spending a perilous night in an abandoned chimp nest built by adolescent Goblin. Photo by Anthony Collins, 1973.

  Young baboon examining leaves in a tree at Gombe. Photo by Grant Heidrich, 1974.

  Grant Heidrich relaxing on the beach at Gombe as one of his baboon subjects sits close by. Photo courtesy of Grant Heinrich, 1974.

  A paddler in a wooden boat at sunset brings produce back to his village from the town of Kigoma. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  Hamisi Matama’s family compound near Bubongo village. Photo by John Crocker, 1973.

  In my office in Seattle preparing to see my next patient. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 2007.

  Son Patrick using rebounder to display in mid-air, hoping to land on our bed. Photo by John Crocker, 2007.

  Reunion with Hamisi on the beach at Gombe after thirty-six years. Photo by Thomas Crocker, 2009.

  Tommy and me reflecting at Jane’s Peak. Photo by Abdul Ntandu, 2009.

  Photo Hamisi saved of us from 1973, given to me in 2009 at our reunion. Photo courtesy of John Crocker, 1973.

  The first chimps Tommy and I suddenly saw on the trail, grooming, on my return trip to Gombe. Photo by John Crocker, 2009.

  Young chimp taking milk apple from mother’s mouth. Photo by John Crocker, 2009.

  Chimp mother with infant, being reassured through touch by adult male. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute / by Hugo van Lawick, 1965.

  Male chimp with water bucket doing a display. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute.

  Freud in his golden years at age thirty-nine, relaxing before building his nightly nest in the trees above him. Photo copyright © The Jane Goodall Institute / by Bill Wallauer, 2009.

  Tommy and Abdul on the way to Bubongo Village. Photo by John Crocker, 2009.

  Mother and child, taken in Bubongo Village on our visit with Hamisi. Photo by John Crocker, 2009.

  Hamisi with Figan, Tommy, me and extended family in Bubongo Village. Photo by Abdul Ntandu, 2009.

  A group of Tanzanian women and children on the road to Bubongo Village. Photo by Thomas Crocker, 2009.

  Wind-powered transportation along the lake: hand-crafted sailboat returning from Kigoma. Photo by
John Crocker, 2009.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A huge thanks to Jane Goodall for mentoring me throughout my adult life and writing the foreword to this book.

  My parents Patty and Jack carefully saved the volumes of letters I wrote to them from Africa, which became the bases for part 1 of this book.

  Alyssa O’Brien, Stanford lecturer and writer (The Quilt of My Life) inspired me in the early stages of writing Following Fifi at Stanford’s first “The Write Retreat” for alumni.

  Michelle Tessler was my trusted and successful literary agent who found Claiborne Hancock, head of Pegasus, to take on Following Fifi with enthusiasm and grace.

  Laura Garwood was exceptional in her polishing and editing of the manuscript.