The morning is spent listening to their screeching calls. The chimps are telling the larger community that the fruit is good here. Most of the chimps are acclimated to human beings sixty feet below craning their necks to look up at them. However, one, a newcomer attracted by the advertisements for fresh fruit—she is a mother carrying a year and a half old
baby—becomes unhinged at the sight of us. She stops and stares. She reshapes her face, protuding her extensive lips like a trumpet bell. Then comes the call, a low-pitched woo'ing sound that begins low and rises, picking up speed as it goes. Soon her vocal tract has taken charge of her nervous system. Her larynx is calling all the shots. She screams; she jumps; she hoots; she skitters along the branch like a balloon losing air. At the fork where the limb joins the main trunk, she slumps back onto the limb, exhausted.We both are.
Click here to listen to the mother chimpanzee's warning cry.
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