Nina the Gorilla
Nina
the gorilla was seven years old when I met her and her companions,
Kiki and one other male. When I began working with them,
I was doing a research project. My main job was to write
down what each gorilla did at a particular time.
Nina seemed to like me. When I stood outside the cage window, she ambled over to sit beside me. She looked over my shoulder as I wrote. She followed me around.
The research I did helped me understand the kinds of behavior that are acceptable in a gorilla troop. Gorillas behave differently toward one another, depending on whether the other animal is higher or lower in rank. The troop is led by the highest-ranking male, who is respected by the other gorillas. In the wild, he is responsible for the safety and well-being of the troop.
Leader
Kiki was leader of the gorilla troop that lived at the Woodland
Park Zoo in Seattle, Washington. Almost from the beginning,
he resented my presence.
When he noticed me, he stiffened his arms and legs to make himself taller. He lifted his head and pressed his lips tightly together. He then strutted back and forth, his hair standing up. All of these behaviors are signals of aggression in gorillas.
If this didn’t drive me away, he charged and hit the heavy glass that separated us. That is about as aggressive as a gorilla ever gets. This behavior is the same as that of a wild gorilla who is challenged by another male. Kiki seemed to think I was challenging his position, probably because I am a big man and because of the way Nina reacted to me.
I tried to ease the tension between us by saying, in gorilla body language, “I recognize your dominance over me.” I did this by avoiding eye contact, turning my face away when he looked at me, and trying to make myself smaller when he approached.
Gorilla
Language
Gorillas communicate using body posture, facial expressions,
and gestures. They can’t speak as we do, partly because
their lips, tongues, and vocal cords cannot make many of
the sounds of human speech.
They can make some sounds, about twenty, each of which has a different meaning. For example, a short grunt means, “I am content.” But most of their communication is not by sounds.
By
watching the gorillas closely and spending a lot of time
“talking” to them, I found we could communicate
on a simple level. I could give them the idea of what I
wanted them to do, such as take their vitamin pills or move
from one cage to another.
I learned to tell when they were feeling irritable, content, happy, sad, or playful. The gorillas learned that by gesturing they could ask to go outside or tell me they wanted a certain food.
It was a crude way to communicate, but it was all we needed.
Big
News
After working at the zoo for about six years, I moved to
another city but continued to visit. One day, I read in
the newspaper that Nina had given birth to her fourth baby.
This was exciting because gorilla births in zoos are fairly
rare.
I was anxious to see Nina and her baby, but it was several months before I got the chance. It had been nearly a year since I had visited the gorillas. I wondered if they would remember me after such a long time.
As I entered the viewing area, I saw the gorillas foraging for food in their large, brushy yard. Nina was eating about a hundred feet away. As I approached the glass that separated us, she glanced in my direction and immediately froze in mid-chew.
She tilted her head as if she wanted to confirm that I was really there. She then made the gesture that we had used as our greeting signal—a jerk of her head while pursing her lips, as though throwing a kiss.
She was showing me that she recognized me. I was surprised she still remembered me, but a bigger surprise was yet to come.
Nina’s
Baby
I returned her greeting, and she immediately began searching
through the tall grass nearby. She soon found what she was
looking for.
Reaching behind a log, she picked up a small bundle of black fur. Placing it on her back, where it clung tightly, she began walking toward me. She glanced up occasionally to make sure I was still there. She smacked her lips in excitement.
She
stopped next to me and sat down. Reaching behind her, she
removed her baby from her back and held it toward me. Then
she cradled it in her arms, patting it gently on the head.
She looked at me questioningly, and I clapped my hands in approval. The questioning look disappeared, and she seemed content. Through the glass I could hear a grunt of satisfaction.
She then began to play with the baby, holding up its hands and feet and pointing to its fingers and toes. It was as if she were proudly showing me that it had the right parts.
Now, each time I see any kind of ape portrayed as a monster, I remember Nina gently showing me her baby’s fingers and toes.
Nina and Zuri still live at Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle, Washington.
