The Girl With No Name: The Incredible True Story of a Child Raised by Monkeys by Marina Chapman, Lynne Barrett-Lee
Authors: Marina Chapman, Lynne Barrett-Lee
Tags: Biography, Non-Fiction
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things that I could eat. I began the long trudge back to my own territory still hungry.
And hungry to see more. I would be back.
11
Once I knew where the human camp was, I couldn’t keep away.
It was like a drug to me. So much so that, day after day, I would make the long journey, the route etched on my consciousness, and spend hours just sitting silently close by, taking it all in. No small child hankering after a special toy could have been more entranced than I was by what I’d found. And no student, however diligent, could have soaked up more information.
Food was a big preoccupation in those early days. After the excitement of finding – and stealing from – the tribe’s barbecues, it had been a big disappointment to open that spider parcel and feel unable to eat what was inside it. But something kept calling me back, which I suspect might have been the hunch that other things would be cooked on those campfires that I
would
like to eat. And I was not to be disappointed.
Over the coming weeks and months, I was rewarded by a wide range of jungle food. I tried ant’s bottoms, which were crunchy and delicious, and some huge shiny brown bugs that I couldn’t identify, and which were not. They looked appealing on the outside, swollen and glossy with a pointed end, but inside they were raw and disgusting. I tried a tasty skinless meat that was reminiscent of sausage – looking back, it was a little like gamey chicken or maybe pheasant, but of course then all I knew was that I liked it. Sometimes the meat I tried had lots of tiny little bones in, and it occurs to me now that it was probably lumps of snake. I also ate fish and later on did try spiders, and when much later I found these tribes would routinely kill and eat monkeys, I had to concede – with great sadness and feelings of betrayal – that I probably ate monkey meat as well.
But at the time, I didn’t know. I was hungry, and their food filled my tummy like nothing I could forage for ever would.
Not that I needed to forage much now. There was always fruit in abundance at the human camp. Why climb to get it myself when it was there for the taking? Helping myself now became a way of life.
I also, I now know, discovered alcohol! I have no idea what it was made from, or any idea of how they made it – all I know is that one day, on my way back to the monkey tunnels and my own territory, I came upon a container with a long narrow neck that was probably made from clay and which was covered in woven banana leaves. I tentatively sniffed it. The smell was pungent and made the inside of my nose prickle but at the same time was strangely appealing. Being very parched, I took a couple of big, thirst-quenching gulps. But as soon as I did I got a bit of a shock. Although the smell was enticing, when the liquid hit my throat, it was strong and incredibly bitter. It was also a taste that, after drinking nothing but water for so long, came as something of a surprise.
But it was as nothing to the shock of what would happen to me soon after. It was as if I’d suddenly forgotten how to work my arms and legs. I stumbled about a bit, enjoying the strange yet pleasant sensation that everything around was moving just as much as I was. So nice was the feeling that I even took a couple more swigs, which rendered me giggly and almost incapable.
It was a first and last experiment with underage drinking for me, as I felt strange and unsettled for the rest of that evening and far from bright eyed and bushy tailed the next day.
*
But it wasn’t just food and drink that called me back to the Indians’ camp. I continued to feel the strong sense of yearning I’d first experienced when I saw the new mother. I wanted to know everything about this human family and was keen to absorb all the minutiae of their everyday lives.
They wore little in the way of clothing – why would they, in the jungle heat? The men simply wore loincloths, as did the women. In fact, the only woman I
And hungry to see more. I would be back.
11
Once I knew where the human camp was, I couldn’t keep away.
It was like a drug to me. So much so that, day after day, I would make the long journey, the route etched on my consciousness, and spend hours just sitting silently close by, taking it all in. No small child hankering after a special toy could have been more entranced than I was by what I’d found. And no student, however diligent, could have soaked up more information.
Food was a big preoccupation in those early days. After the excitement of finding – and stealing from – the tribe’s barbecues, it had been a big disappointment to open that spider parcel and feel unable to eat what was inside it. But something kept calling me back, which I suspect might have been the hunch that other things would be cooked on those campfires that I
would
like to eat. And I was not to be disappointed.
Over the coming weeks and months, I was rewarded by a wide range of jungle food. I tried ant’s bottoms, which were crunchy and delicious, and some huge shiny brown bugs that I couldn’t identify, and which were not. They looked appealing on the outside, swollen and glossy with a pointed end, but inside they were raw and disgusting. I tried a tasty skinless meat that was reminiscent of sausage – looking back, it was a little like gamey chicken or maybe pheasant, but of course then all I knew was that I liked it. Sometimes the meat I tried had lots of tiny little bones in, and it occurs to me now that it was probably lumps of snake. I also ate fish and later on did try spiders, and when much later I found these tribes would routinely kill and eat monkeys, I had to concede – with great sadness and feelings of betrayal – that I probably ate monkey meat as well.
But at the time, I didn’t know. I was hungry, and their food filled my tummy like nothing I could forage for ever would.
Not that I needed to forage much now. There was always fruit in abundance at the human camp. Why climb to get it myself when it was there for the taking? Helping myself now became a way of life.
I also, I now know, discovered alcohol! I have no idea what it was made from, or any idea of how they made it – all I know is that one day, on my way back to the monkey tunnels and my own territory, I came upon a container with a long narrow neck that was probably made from clay and which was covered in woven banana leaves. I tentatively sniffed it. The smell was pungent and made the inside of my nose prickle but at the same time was strangely appealing. Being very parched, I took a couple of big, thirst-quenching gulps. But as soon as I did I got a bit of a shock. Although the smell was enticing, when the liquid hit my throat, it was strong and incredibly bitter. It was also a taste that, after drinking nothing but water for so long, came as something of a surprise.
But it was as nothing to the shock of what would happen to me soon after. It was as if I’d suddenly forgotten how to work my arms and legs. I stumbled about a bit, enjoying the strange yet pleasant sensation that everything around was moving just as much as I was. So nice was the feeling that I even took a couple more swigs, which rendered me giggly and almost incapable.
It was a first and last experiment with underage drinking for me, as I felt strange and unsettled for the rest of that evening and far from bright eyed and bushy tailed the next day.
*
But it wasn’t just food and drink that called me back to the Indians’ camp. I continued to feel the strong sense of yearning I’d first experienced when I saw the new mother. I wanted to know everything about this human family and was keen to absorb all the minutiae of their everyday lives.
They wore little in the way of clothing – why would they, in the jungle heat? The men simply wore loincloths, as did the women. In fact, the only woman I
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