From my little apartment at the end of Old Post Office Road, monkeys can be heard screaming at most times of the day, but until yesterday I didn’t know where their screams were coming from. As I walked home after led class, though, I saw it; a little park on the left, completely overrun with monkeys; I counted at least twelve. I took out my phone and began snapping pictures, like you do when you see a monkey park. One of them, sitting just outside the gate, remained still and seemingly undisturbed as I came up to him for a close-up (not too close). I thanked him and continued home, about half a block. Once inside my apartment, I left the door open for a nice breeze and set about reading my book.
Not half an hour later, this very same monkey whose portrait I had snapped walked unceremoniously through my open door, hopped up onto the refrigerator, and looked at me. Sort of pointedly, it seemed. After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, I got up and started telling him to get out. Felt kind of silly yelling at a monkey, “Get out! Get out of here!” because what, does he speak English? In any case, he seemed to get the point; he picked up a packet of face wash towelettes, and scampered out the door. So I think either he wanted some compensation for having his picture taken, or he wanted to prepare for his next close-up with a fresh clean face.