The night before I came to the reserve, I was up at 2:30am, looking at the clock in a cockroach-laden hotel thinking to myself: what if I didn’t like the lemurs? I didn’t expect to be empowered. And I definitely wasn’t certain if primatology was for me after all. What was I going to do if this didn’t work out? Aside from being out at least a good chunk of money that could’ve been spent on a large student loan.
But I do, I am, and I have never been so certain of anything in my life. Much like how I stumbled into primatology by taking an introductory anthropology course to satisfy a general education requirement, I fell face first into my new favorite species. When I came, I wasn’t sure about lemurs all that much; my prior education had been composed of mostly new world monkeys and a brief research stint with some rhesus macaques.
At first, I thought the mongoose lemurs were incredible. My first experience with them was in the form of the female leaping onto my shoulders and crawling about as if I were a walking island for her convenience. Over time, it’s not that I didn’t love them–I do, but my heart was more violently gripped by another species, the ones I was the least sure of–the ring-tailed lemurs.
Their personalities were so pronounced; there was the dominant mother, Ansell who wasn’t afraid to cuff her subordinate males, Sam and Adam. Sam, who was initially described as “pathetic,” quickly rose to one of my favorites. Whenever I’d watch Sam, I’d always catch his eyes watching me–perhaps I’m anthropomorphizing, but one of the girls suggested he was the most cognizant of the lemurs, and I’d have to agree. Whenever I’d be following him as my focal, he wouldn’t venture too far forward without stopping and waiting for me to catch off before darting forward a little bit or foraging. Then, there was Molson, one of the sweetest lemurs I’d ever seen in the other forest. Initially, Stella, the lady-like lemur (who always had her legs crossed while eating and her tail covering her ladybits) bored me.
And then a rattlesnake made itself present in front of me and my colleague. While I was following Stella, curious as to why she was walking so slowly and grunting repeatedly before standing on her hind legs, the infamous rattle was heard and obeyed. We quickly backed off–but not Stella. No, Stella was not having a snake in HER forest that day. Instead, she stood up to the snake with her hands out and growled right back at the hissing as Molson looked on at her.
Moments like that with the lemurs made me come to love them and even more upset to be having to leave them. I have three days left and I intend to make the best of it. I have plenty of pictures to remind myself of all of them–even the pesky red ruffed lemurs who were not afraid to crawl right up to me and sniff my feet. Nor the Sanford’s lemurs who had completely ignored the rattlesnake, but lost it at the sight of a raccoon.
I’ve heard many a time about how you can recognize yourself through an ape’s eyes and all of the tropes along with it, but for me, I’ve never felt more connected to my primate self than working with these lemurs and getting to know prosimians. I’m not knocking the appeal of apes or any other primate, but truly–this experience with lemurs has been the most personally rewarding primatology experience I’ve had this far and reinvigorated my passion for primatology tenfold.
I’m not sure what the future holds for me in terms of graduate school, but I think I would like to one day work with lemurs again. When I leave, I know I’ll be empowered thanks to my time here with the lemurs–I can identify a lemur by sight, even some of the red ruffeds without the collar. I can handle being out in a field for hours at a time and I can do this. And for that, I have lemurs to thank.
Veloma, my lemur friends–but not for good.