The apa leaves shaded the UVA rays from bleaching my ebony coat. I lived high. Away from people and away from harm (for the most part). Luckily the Congo had unreachable height. I swung. From anguoma to rachis, hundreds of meters in the air. Mating with a higher social rank and aggressive Bonobo. Up there, the ladies set the status. I would follow her to the lowland evergreens for our grub. A young monkey would make us chatter. Yum! The echoes bellowed off the corkwood.

The bushmens black sticks made it hard to sleep. It was different than before, more apparent. The arbitrary chilling lights that shook our branches became unavoidable. The black sticks made my nose tingle and did not belong here. We belonged here. This was our home. Our fresh home. Not theirs. Two of the sticks began climbing. I did not know they could climb. As the rose, the thunder and sparks started to go off.