Hong Kong gave us hope- pages 1-2

Aye-Aye’s weren’t native to Africa. They were native to one of the islands off the coast
of Africa. They were native to Madagascar, but I had seen several near my home in Tanzania. I
wondered if they jumped ship and somehow ended over here with the local cargo. I could hear
them at night, but had never seen them.
I was told never to wander out into the brush at night. I had listened when I was a young
child of five, but I refused to listen anymore. The night life, in general, was so different from
some of the creatures of the light. I had heard of Aye-Ayes, bush babies, hyenas and the like. I
had heard that some of the day creatures were more active at night. I would find out as soon as
my parent’s fell fast asleep.
I waited until the moon was so bright, it shined into my room like a night light that
refused to shut off. I gently tossed the covers off of my bed and tiptoed through the hut. My
older brother heard and caught me. He promised not to squeal if I took him with me. I obliged.
The door creaked as I slowly opened it. “Shh,” I told it and just like that the door stopped its
incessant chattering, the owl outside the house stopped hooting and the crickets crooned their last
melody for the night.
We lived in the deserts of Africa. The night life looked, smelled and tasted different.
That’s right, tasted different. I picked up a rock that lay near the side of the river. Salty. My
brother caught a firefly.
“Tastes like wild boar,” he said.
“Everything tastes like wild boar,” I replied. “That’s not normal you know?”
We were sneaking around outside. I don’t know why. I was afraid to scare the wildlife
off. My brother was afraid of waking the elders. Ironic for the guy who caught me sneaking out
in the first place.
Nestled on one of the tree branches was an Aye-Aye. I knew of them, but had never seen
one and it was right in my own backyard. Its long fingernails jutted into the prickled tree,
piercing the Boabab tree’s insides to find its nightly feast of peel bugs and worms. I called it the
“upside down tree,” because the branches looked like the roots, but many natives called it the
“monkey-bread tree,” because the dry fruit on its branches were edible. Maybe that’s why the
Aye-Aye sat on the Boabab tree instead. They loved eating fruit. It wasn’t sitting on the branches
of an Acacia tree. It, too, had edible seeds, but then again maybe its branches were too potent.
My mother burned the Acacia wood to make perfume for herself and the other local woman. She
sold it in her beauty parlor. It traded quite well.
I held my guts in pain for the tree. It couldn’t fight back but if it could, I knew it would. I
wanted to scare the Aye-Aye, but didn’t. I had never seen one and this might be my only
glimpse at it. I crept closer. It smelled like wet monkey and its eyes were vivid and huge like a
child who had just seen real food for the first time.
My brother and I didn’t stare at the Aye-Aye for too long. The lights on the neighbor’s
house had turned on. Mr. Yambi came outside with a large piece of wood in his hands. We ran in
the darkness of night. Huffing and panting all the way home. We opened the door which politely
did not creak and fell back into our beds thinking about the night we saw the world’s ugliest and
most endangered primate. I was growing up right before everyone’s eyes. Soon I would be five,
and parties were tradition.