Open Writing

The place where I live is a ‘secure village’ walled and protected by a manned gate-house, situated in what was formerly an outlying suburb of north-eastern Johannesburg, about 15 miles from the Johannesburg International (Jan Smuts) airport.

Behind the village, looking north, on our right hand side is the small, ill-equipped, short-staffed Edenvale Hospital; across the main road on our left are the renowned Virology Laboratories, once part of the famous South African Institute for Medical Research, and at our back is the Sizwe isolation hospital, used almost entirely for black patients.

At the time this isolation hospital was established, late in the 1890’s, this area was completely undeveloped and was a long and tiring horse-carriage or ox-cart journey from the centre of Johannesburg. It was therefore considered ideally situated for the establishment of the fever hospital and the virology labs, as there were no houses close by, no habitations for miles, the air was clear and clean and it was too far from town for friends and relatives to visit easily.

Surrounded by a large tract of pristine highveld, with fields of grass that had never been cut, burnt or grazed, the soil was unsuitable for cultivation as there was little natural water except for sudden flash floods in summer. Too far from civilisation to warrant having any roads or communications, the site seemed ideal in every way.

Then, gradually, gum-trees were planted, great stands of them, to act as windbreaks and ‘stabilise’ the soil, (it was not known at the time, that these trees are “water-hungry” and drink up all the natural water, and leave the area a dust bowl) the huge Kelvin Power Station and the enormous African Explosives and Chemical Industries Dynamite Factory (Modderfontein) was erected on the surrounding hills, with the associated housing and workshops, and a major six-lane highway connecting Johannesburg with Pretoria ran straight down the middle. Gradually the suburbs crept closer and closer, until now, the area is dense suburban housing and everything that goes with it; schools, shops, busy roads carrying heavy traffic, bustling with activity day and night.

And yet, there remains this isolated pocket of pristine highveld grassland surrounding the Sizwe and Edenvale hospitals, completely untouched and unspoilt. Perhaps it is because, so the rumour has it, victims of the plague, anthrax and cholera were buried in the grounds of the fever hospital, and nobody wants to disturb the ground for fear of releasing the virulent infections. Certainly the area belongs to the Dept of Health, who, whilst they have no plans to do anything with it themselves, will not sell it for development by others.

Yet, in this tiny isolated pocket with no natural food of any kind, an extraordinary thing has happened. A small troop of vervet monkeys have survived. Yes, can you believe it, up here on the Witwatersrand Highveld, where these monkeys were never endemic, there is a band of wild marauding vervet monkeys. The supposition is that they must be escapees from the Virology labs; once captive monkeys intended to be used for the production of vaccines, or experimentation by the scientists, and who now, supposition has it, feed from the scraps in the refuse bins of the Sizwe hospital.

In the extensive grounds of the virology laboratory are rows of stables housing up to forty friendly horses. They are used to produce anti-snake venom for distribution country wide and overseas, and on quiet afternoons one can hear the sounds of poultry, sheep and horses, and sometimes towards Christmas, the gobbling of turkeys and the occasional shriek of a peacock in between the traffic roar.

Now the monkeys roam far and wide and are quite a nuisance; they are fearless and have been known to climb through open windows and steal fruit from bowls and food from kitchens, in the cottages and apartments in our village which lies in the ‘protected’ part of the large triangle already described. A year or so ago, it was a familiar sight to see them moving quickly through the treetops, snatching what they could en route and then - like a drift of smoke - disappearing with a flick of their grey tails into the dense grasses or to huddle together in a tall tree.

But I haven’t seen them for months, and wonder where they can have gone. Perhaps the “bunny huggers” and wildlife experts have captured them and relocated them to a friendlier environment where they can be safe and unmolested in a warmer climate with wild fruit, berries and clean water.

Maybe they have been taken back to the lush green sub-tropical orchards of Mpumalanga or are vying for survival with their cousins in the Kruger National Park; a harder existence, but perhaps better than trying to exist on the fringes of an unwelcoming society. An itinerant gardener living hand-to-mouth would just as soon pop you into his cooking pot as chase you away to perch uneasily on a branch, watching hungrily for a crust of bread or a banana to lie unnoticed and ready for snatching, so the alternative of an easy laid-back life in the Lowveld, is a good exchange.

So, it seems, the monkeys have gone forever, but their survival was an interesting facet of the ever-changing aspect of this fascinating city.