Arrival

I arrived at the baboon sanctuary by the light of the moon, which was good because there were no other lights unless you count the one-eyed truck’s headlight what I was traveling in. The darkness devoured the horizon and everything else. But it was beautiful—oh, the stars! I could see the freakin’ Milk Way!

When we pulled up to the Mountain Lodge, I thought the barn-like structure was where the baboons stayed. A golden light beckoned, and I was excited to go see the baboons. I walked through the Lodge’s gate and stepped into a surreal scene: a handful of baby baboons were running around in diapers, customized with a hole cut into the butt-end in order to accommodate the babies’ kinked tails.

Looking around I found at least 15 people at a long table—all young enough to be the children I never wanted—quaffing beer between loud, animated talk. It looked downright festive. Elise, the volunteer coordinator, introduced me to the crowd. “Hi Kathy!” they said in unison. How nice, I thought.

It was then that I realized that this was not where the baboons lived. This was where I was going to live.

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