Monkey Graveyard

[Martin Hash]

Boabeng-Fiema Monkey Cemetery.jpg

The Boabeng-Fiema Monkey Sanctuary in Ghana engages in a certain amount of artifice. Some people got wind of this early and choose instead not to go on the tour in order to save money and take a cigarette break. The story of a monkey graveyard, complete with monuments and eulogies, though endearing, is a complete load of horse-poo. If there’s anything I’ve learned in Africa, it’s that everything is made from salvaged materials, and paint is a totally foreign concept. The “monkey graveyard” might have fooled me in the States but there’s no way I’m going to believe in the uniformity and maintenance exhibited by those wooden crosses in the jungle. Not to mention that the handful of monkeys we met were easily handfed, which is not something I condemn, in fact I like it, but at a sanctioned reserve it would definitely not be allowed.

An ancillary part of our “tour” was a visit to a sacred monkey fetish – apparently one that could only be observed by people who paid more money. Only two members of our group were interested, which dimmed the “monkey priests” interest below the acceptable threshold of view ability, so to this day I have no knowledge as to the nature of a monkey fetish’s appearance.

Of course, there was a “gift” shop consisting of an assortment of bric-a-brac, none of which had anything remotely to do with monkeys. To top off the “tour,” our guide lost track of us and we had to make our way back to the truck. Those who had not accompanied us on our tour were kind enough not to gloat.

However, the experience was entertaining in a crude, artificial kind of way, and there was the “female urinal” – a first I’ve ever seen or even been aware of. It was a concrete box without a roof, one wall was painted dark green up to hip height, a slopped channel that ended in a hole about an inch in diameter ran along the floor under the painted wall. I assume it was intended for multiple women to use simultaneous. Frankly, the sight of it made the hair on the back of my neck freeze when I imagined my wife, Gwynne, straddled in front of that wall!