It was Christmas 1973. I was 13.
My brother was headed home for the holidays, bringing with him a real live monkey, sedated, in a box disguised as a present, complete with a ribbon. He had purchased the monkey in August of that year, on a safari in Kenya and they had spent a few months together in his room on the campus of Cornell University in Ithaca, NY, before arriving in Jamaica on Christmas Day.
As I remember it, he’d chosen the day itself to travel, thinking that customs staff would be at a minimum and there would be less interest in opening up a beautifully wrapped present for a little sister. Dogs and cats coming into Jamaica have always had to be quarantined for weeks—a monkey would never have been allowed.
Sayo’s journey to New York was legal and his stay on the college campus was sanctioned. Thinking about this in 2021, it strikes me as quite incredible.
I remember their arrival like it was yesterday. We had prepared for our new resident. We built two wire cages—a large one with a zinc roof, the size of a small room, in our front yard, and a smaller one around 4’ by 6’ for when he slept indoors, in my room to be precise. At night I would put a blanket over the cage to encourage him to sleep.
My brother named him Sayo, short for Sayonara, “Goodbye forever”or “Goodbye, I don't know when I'll see you again” in Japanese. Sayo was never to see his homeland again. He was approximately four months old. While I write this, I’ve been acutely aware that my grandson is also four months old.
He was a Blue Sykes monkey. Despite his name he wasn’t truly blue, but rather a speckled gray, which I think, because of his name, made us see blue at times. His body was about 2 feet long with a tail about the same length.
He routinely escaped his accommodations. Who could blame him? Someone would shout, “De monkey looooose!” or “De monkey get weh!”and, in a panic, we would all go in search of him. If he chose one of the tall, branchless coconut trees, our gardener, Charles, would climb the 50 or 60 feet without ropes or pegs, to try to retrieve him. This was always a sight to see—the skill it involved! If he’d scampered up one of the shorter mango trees, I would join in the attempt to entice him down with bananas or other fruit. If, however, the trees were bearing fruit, there was nothing to do but wait for him to finish eating and hope that he would allow himself to be caught.
Sayo traveled around sprawled across my shoulders. I loved the attention we got, like the double takes at a traffic light from the car beside us. He liked to inspect and groom the hair on my head and pry open my mouth if he saw me chewing, in search of any goodies he might find. As he got older he began humping anything he could find—on top of my head or friends’ or on one of the dogs if they let him. It was hard not to feel sorry for him.
I remember taking him to my mother’s school and charging an entry of 10c for children to see his tricks, well, his one trick - he did somersaults, over and over and over again. Some of the students wanted their money back.
Maximum lifespan in the wild is 20 years for these monkeys, 30 years in captivity - Sayo lived no more than two years with us. A curious passerby wanting to see him up close, fed him a green plantain which my mother was convinced brought about his demise. I think he died of loneliness and homesickness.
Thinking back to this time, knowing what I know now about removing animals from their natural environment, and feeling as I do about caged animals, it’s not a particularly happy memory, even though I enjoyed having such a unique pet. At thirteen I’m sure it added to my popularity meter. Now it just feels cruel.
Curious George, Arthur and Monkeys Jumping On The Bed
Before I became a children’s librarian I was quite unaware of the concerns expressed by some, that picture books with anthropomorphic images of monkeys may play a role in perpetuating a stereotype and a social dynamic.
Anthropomorphic monkeys—that is monkeys with human characteristics—in children’s books and rhymes have been a topic of professional discussion for teachers and librarians for years, with good reason. “Monkey comparisons have been used as a slur or insult against people around the world, but the comparison to people of African descent is the most enduring”: In sports, in the media and advertising, in government, in classrooms and play spaces.
I was never much of a fan of Curious George or Caps for Sale or Five Monkeys Jumping on the Bed (whose original lyrics can be traced back to “Five little [n-words] jumping on the bed”, but I didn’t really think about the broader implications, and to be honest, even when I did, I was ambivalent—did it really matter if a parent and child together enjoyed the silly rhyme or read that one favorite but questionable picture book?
“If children's books socialize young people and teach them cultural values, what role do they play in extending the false equation between people of African descent and monkeys?”
As an educator who loves children, I not only want to “do no harm” to those who may be teased or bullied by such name calling, I want to participate in nurturing a more inclusive and human society where everyone is valued, so I decided that with so many wonderful and positive books, songs and rhymes, there was no need to risk perpetuating negative stereotypes or hurting anyone’s feelings.
Besides, primates are fascinating and children deserve to learn about them. For example: Are monkeys and apes the same species? The answer is No! The quickest way to tell the difference between a monkey and an ape is that almost all monkeys have tails; apes do not. ///