Jane Goodall and the Tricky Chimp

I am reading Jane Goodall's magnificent book In the Shadow of Man, where she first shared with the world her experience of living among chimpanzees in the jungles of eastern Africa. The book is full of fascinating stories that show the chimps to be capable of much higher levels of thought than I ever imagined. One such story was about a clever youngster that Jane called Figan.

Jane had set up a feeding station in the forest where she would leave bananas, and hide nearby to observe the chimps' interactions. (I want that job.) More often than not, the adult males would hog all of the bananas, and the females and youngsters would leave empty-handed. So she started hiding the odd banana here and there up in trees so that the females and juveniles could find them while the adult males were feasting at the main feeding station.

Jane first discovered that a toddler chimp named Figan was a little rascal when she saw him spot a banana she had hidden in a tree, and then deliberately avoid sitting near it or looking at it. Evidently, chimps are very attuned to one another's eye movements, and if Figan had looked at the banana, he would have drawn the attention of one of the adults, who would have taken it. Instead, Figan patiently waited until they had left, and then he snatched it for himself.

But that fake-out was only the beginning of Figan's antics. One day, as Jane sat watching the chimps at the feeding station, Figan stood up and marched purposefully into the forest. The adult chimps got up and followed him -- as chimps evidently do, when one gets up and walks off -- leaving the bananas behind. A few minutes later, Figan returned, unencumbered by the adults, and had all the bananas to himself!

Jane said that this first occurrence may have been a lucky coincidence, but in the coming days, Figan repeated it again and again -- leading the adults away from the bananas, and coming back for a solitary feast. As skeptical as I am of attributing human motives to animal behavior, it's hard not to see this as a kind of trickery.

After Figan had used this ploy several times, one day he returned alone to the bananas only to discover that someone had beaten him to the punch. An adult male was guarding and eating the bananas, and Figan couldn't even get close. Figan screamed and beat the earth with his fists, jumped up and down, and in all other ways threw a classic temper tantrum.

This is fascinating to me because Figan was so much more upset by being deprived of bananas when his plan failed than he was when the adults were guarding the bananas to begin with. He could tolerate not getting any food during the group meal because it was normal - adults eat first. But when the same reality presented itself as his plot gone awry, it was unbearable. To me, this speaks to Figan's ability to make plans and project outcomes, and to compare the projected outcome with the actual outcome. (The best laid plans of mice and men, young Figan.)

I can't think of any other animal I've ever worked with who could manage anything close to that level of cognition. When Bagel wants our dinners, he telegraphs it loud and clear, with whines and stares. When we get up to go to the kitchen, he instantly moves in, reminding us to move our plates to higher ground. If he could feign disinterest, he would have a much better chance at a free buffet. Or, if like Figan, he could deliberately create a distraction -- suddenly barking at a closet door, for example -- we would probably take the bait and have a look inside, while he enjoyed our dinners. Alas, poor Bagel, you are as transparent as the water in your bowl, but I love you for it.