Well, howdy.
The internet spot here in Kakamega seems to have misplaced its USB ports. I am not entirely sure how this possible, but it means that this posting will be free of photos - you'll just have to use your imaginations.
Actually, you may have to imagine quite a bit, as there is actually very little news to report. No stunning breakthroughs in vocal communication research, no coups or civil unrest, just many days of patiently following monkeys around and occasionally explaining to perplexed villagers what I am doing and why I keep pointing this microphone up trees. I will admit it is difficult to convey to someone who spends much of their day gathering enough wood and water to get through to the next how western super-powers manage to maintain such status when they send people off on such peculiar errands.
I am beginning to suspect that blue monkeys (or at least the particular group I am studying) are especially bad parents. In the past week, two mothers have managed to misplace their infants. I had the odd experience of watching DJ lose hers. She put the infant down and then luxuriated in a 30 minute grooming bout with Ratchet (another female). The infant, thoroughly bored of this adult nonsense, wandered off. When DJ was finished, she yawned, stretched, and looked around to find no infant. She then spent the next 45 minutes running around frantically contact chirping (a loud, very specific call that I am pleased to have numerous recordings of now thanks to DJ and her wretched mothering skills) but to no avail. No infant and no pictures on milk cartoons. About 4 days later Derby, who was already a pretty dreadful mother (lots of biting and very little patience) appeared one morning with a pronounced limp and a conspicuously absent infant. Her limp has subsided but the infant has not been heard from. Apparently it is hard being a monkey. Especially a very small one.
There are, however, exceptions, which is good for the continued survival of the species. Daffy and Desdemona (I don't name these monkeys) are very attentive, nursing and carrying as expected and rarely forgetting their kids at the grocery store.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Meet the monkeys
I am sure most of you have been waiting on pins and needles for the next exciting installment of my life in the jungle. Unfortunately, my life in the jungle looks very similar this week as it did last, so I have few exciting tales to tell. In lieu of sordid tales of my life (which consists mostly of eating very starchy food and trying not to fall in holes), I will offer you a glimpse of my homies:
The blue monkey (Cercopithecus mitis) is a rather nondescript guenon who would only be considered blue by those with a rather vibrant imagination. They are, in fact, kind of gray and with not a lot of variation that might make individuals easier to identify as they go sailing 30 meters over one's head. The Kenyan staff seem to have no problem identifying these random gray blobs as they go careening past. They say "That one is Desdemona." I nod, knowingly, staring up at the nondescript gray blob sitting on a tree branch over head. I peer through my binoculars, hoping to find something that makes Desdemona look in anyway different from the other 40 odd critters ambling around. I quietly ask " How do we know it is Desdemona." This is answered with "She has a round nose." "Oh," I say, unconvinced. In fact, they don't have much of a nose at all, round or otherwise. "What else," I press. "Her right nipple is much larger than her left." At first I feel a bit awkward and inappropriate staring this intently at someone's nipples, especially as we have not been formally introduced. But sure enough, they're right. And now, weeks later, I can even tell she has a round nose (sort of).
The group I am watching is called GNorth (I don't know why). They are led by a strapping hunk of manliness called PH (apparently for the band Portishead, unpronouncable to the Kenyans and named by a former researcher some years ago). PH has a pretty easy life - he eats, sleeps, occasionally mates. Even less frequently he beats up on Mickey, an adolescent male who should have left the group some time ago but fails to get the hint (male blue monkeys usually leave the group at around 5 years old, leaving only females, juveniles, and the big boss male). Other than Mickey, PH has little trouble in his life (and I doubt that he would even consider Mickey more than a minor annoyance). There are occasional run-ins with another group to the north (the infamous F-Troop), but the females do most of the fighting. The male of that group, Kentucky, tends to sit on high and observe, with a rather detached expression and an unpleasant habit of scratching his genitals, while the females scream and yell and chase each other out of respective territories.
Right - maybe I can put some pictures up now.
The blue monkey (Cercopithecus mitis) is a rather nondescript guenon who would only be considered blue by those with a rather vibrant imagination. They are, in fact, kind of gray and with not a lot of variation that might make individuals easier to identify as they go sailing 30 meters over one's head. The Kenyan staff seem to have no problem identifying these random gray blobs as they go careening past. They say "That one is Desdemona." I nod, knowingly, staring up at the nondescript gray blob sitting on a tree branch over head. I peer through my binoculars, hoping to find something that makes Desdemona look in anyway different from the other 40 odd critters ambling around. I quietly ask " How do we know it is Desdemona." This is answered with "She has a round nose." "Oh," I say, unconvinced. In fact, they don't have much of a nose at all, round or otherwise. "What else," I press. "Her right nipple is much larger than her left." At first I feel a bit awkward and inappropriate staring this intently at someone's nipples, especially as we have not been formally introduced. But sure enough, they're right. And now, weeks later, I can even tell she has a round nose (sort of).
The group I am watching is called GNorth (I don't know why). They are led by a strapping hunk of manliness called PH (apparently for the band Portishead, unpronouncable to the Kenyans and named by a former researcher some years ago). PH has a pretty easy life - he eats, sleeps, occasionally mates. Even less frequently he beats up on Mickey, an adolescent male who should have left the group some time ago but fails to get the hint (male blue monkeys usually leave the group at around 5 years old, leaving only females, juveniles, and the big boss male). Other than Mickey, PH has little trouble in his life (and I doubt that he would even consider Mickey more than a minor annoyance). There are occasional run-ins with another group to the north (the infamous F-Troop), but the females do most of the fighting. The male of that group, Kentucky, tends to sit on high and observe, with a rather detached expression and an unpleasant habit of scratching his genitals, while the females scream and yell and chase each other out of respective territories.
Right - maybe I can put some pictures up now.
Analyzing bioacoustics
Just so you don't think I'm just hangin out staring at primates, I am including a picture of a spectogram. This is a visual representation of a sound recording that allows us really cool science folks to analyze various characteristics (frequency, harmonics, duration, can you dance to it, etc.) of a call. So, I record the monkeys calls, write down as much contextual information as I can (for example: "PH smacks Mickey upside his little head. Mickey makes whiney trill sound. PH snickers to himself and makes sure all the chicks are watching."), and then go back and turn the recording into a spectogram. Then the real fun begins. Maybe, if you are really awful to me, I'll make you read my dissertation someday. I'll probably spare you, though.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Kakamega
Alright. So here it is. I am in Kenya. That's in Africa, on the east side, with the equator running right through the middle of it. That makes it hot. As in "It's hot as Africa in here" or "It's hot like equatorial Africa in here." Wherever you are when people are saying that, they are just exaggerating.
So, why am I here? Not a bad question. Something about monkeys. I will not bore you with the science of it all on this first post (I will, however, in future posts, as there is only so much "ahh, the beauty and grandeur of the African rain forest" you can stand).
I am not sure how this blog thing works, and the internet connection I am currently tethered to seems fragile at best. However, I will attempt to post some pictures and tell fanciful tales of my life here. Here (do you have your map out? Have you found Kenya? Good.), by the way, is Kakamega Forest. It is in western Kenya, only a few hundred kilometers from Lake Victoria. It is a remnant of the enormous central African rain forest that once spread across the continent.
This is technically my first field season of my PhD (for any of you not keeping up). I am researching the vocal communication of blue monkeys, meaning I spend a lot of time staring up into trees and pointing a microphone and some increasingly suspicious primates. They have an uncanny nack of shutting up entirely when I press record and then bursting into a torrent of song and dance as soon as I turn my back. Cheeky monkeys, as they say.
The forest is lovely, my accommodations are basic yet comfortable, and I take my malaria propholaxis religiously. Life is simple - I get up in the dark, stumble around a bit bumping into things, strap on the absurd panoply of gear I take with me into the forest each day, and stomp off. I then track monkeys, find monkeys, and record monkeys until sunset. Then I collapse and wonder why I didn't go into some sane profession like professional figure skater instead.
But the forest is lovely, the monkeys are patient, and things move along.
I will try to post some pictures now. If this collapses all service in western Kenya, you will at least know I tried.
However, all seems to be going reasonably well.
So, why am I here? Not a bad question. Something about monkeys. I will not bore you with the science of it all on this first post (I will, however, in future posts, as there is only so much "ahh, the beauty and grandeur of the African rain forest" you can stand).
I am not sure how this blog thing works, and the internet connection I am currently tethered to seems fragile at best. However, I will attempt to post some pictures and tell fanciful tales of my life here. Here (do you have your map out? Have you found Kenya? Good.), by the way, is Kakamega Forest. It is in western Kenya, only a few hundred kilometers from Lake Victoria. It is a remnant of the enormous central African rain forest that once spread across the continent.
This is technically my first field season of my PhD (for any of you not keeping up). I am researching the vocal communication of blue monkeys, meaning I spend a lot of time staring up into trees and pointing a microphone and some increasingly suspicious primates. They have an uncanny nack of shutting up entirely when I press record and then bursting into a torrent of song and dance as soon as I turn my back. Cheeky monkeys, as they say.
The forest is lovely, my accommodations are basic yet comfortable, and I take my malaria propholaxis religiously. Life is simple - I get up in the dark, stumble around a bit bumping into things, strap on the absurd panoply of gear I take with me into the forest each day, and stomp off. I then track monkeys, find monkeys, and record monkeys until sunset. Then I collapse and wonder why I didn't go into some sane profession like professional figure skater instead.
But the forest is lovely, the monkeys are patient, and things move along.
I will try to post some pictures now. If this collapses all service in western Kenya, you will at least know I tried.
However, all seems to be going reasonably well.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
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