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When the Neighbours Have Fangs, a Troop and Absolutely No Manners

By Our Rooi-Els Correspondent  |  Wildlife & Community Desk

If you have ever wondered what it would be like to live next door to a gang of highly intelligent, perpetually hungry and completely shameless freeloaders, welcome to Rooi-Els. Nestled between the mountains and the shimmering waters of False Bay, just 5 km from Pringle Bay, this charming coastal village has a unique claim to fame: its most talked-about residents don’t pay rates, don’t attend community meetings and will absolutely steal your lunch without a shred of remorse.

We are, of course, talking about the baboons.

Meet the Troop: 28 Individuals, Zero Shame

The local baboon troop numbers 28 individuals ranging from wise old matriarchs, to mischievous juveniles who have clearly never been told the word “no.” Every morning, they descend from the mountains like a furry, yawning army on a breakfast mission. The mountains, you see, offer spectacular views but very little in the way of catering. The village, on the other hand, offers kitchens, open windows and the occasional distracted tourist clutching a bag of biltong.

Residents like Gavin and Lesley Lundie have made it their personal mission to monitor the troop, giving each baboon a name and tracking their movements with the dedication of wildlife scientists, which, technically, they are. (The scientific community calls them “citizen scientists.” Their neighbours call them “the people who actually know which baboon stole whose avocados last Tuesday.”)

The Great Handbag Heist of Rooi-Els

Every village has its legends. Rooi-Els has Cliff.

Cliff is a large, confident and apparently very nosy adult male baboon who, on one memorable occasion, strolled into the Lundie residence through an inadvertently open door. Finding no humans but one unguarded handbag, Cliff proceeded to open it, methodically remove each item and inspect every one with the air of a customs official at O.R. Tambo. Lipstick? Examined. Keys? Sniffed. Wallet? Opened. Finding nothing edible, he apparently shrugged, as much as a baboon can shrug, and departed without so much as a thank-you note.

“He didn’t take anything,” Lesley reportedly confirmed, with the tone of someone who has decided to see the silver lining in being burgled by a primate.

The “Attack” That Wasn’t (Mostly)

Let us address the elephant – or rather, the baboon, in the room. Are Rooi-Els residents in danger? Should visitors be fashioning helmets out of their picnic baskets? The short answer is: not really.

Baboons are not predators. They do not hunt humans for sport. What they do hunt, with laser-focused determination, is your sandwich. There have been incidents; a packet of nuts grabbed from an unwary hand, a loaf of bread swiped from a distracted tourist, etc, etc. But the key lesson learned by Rooi-Els residents is elegantly simple: if a baboon cannot see your food, he will not take it. Hide your bread under your shirt and you may stroll past the entire troop as peacefully as if you were walking past the post office. (Perhaps more peacefully, depending on the post office.)

Community members urge visitors: please retire the word “attack.” A baboon showing his teeth after you tried to wrestle your nuts back from him is not an attack. It is, if anything, a reasonable response to provocation.

The Art of Baboon-Proofing: A Rooi-Els Specialty

Over the years, Rooi-Els has quietly become a world leader in what might be called “harmonious primate coexistence engineering” ,or, as locals call it, “not leaving the kitchen window open.”

Baboon-proof bins, baboon-proof window fixtures and locked doors have transformed the daily dynamic. When the troop rolls into the village each morning, and they do, almost every single day, they spend their time doing something rather wonderful: foraging peacefully in the fynbos. Eating seeds. Investigating bulbs. Doing baboon things, in a baboon fashion, without causing chaos.

The contrast with neighbouring villages is striking. Rooi-Els has significantly fewer baboon-human incidents than nearby Pringle Bay, despite the troop at times being double the size. The lesson? Secure the bins. Lock the windows. And for goodness’ sake, do not leave your handbag on the kitchen counter.

A Village That Chose a Different Path

While other communities along the peninsula have resorted to paintball guns, electric fences and heated community meetings that somehow manage to be more aggressive than the baboons themselves, Rooi-Els took a gentler road. Their approach is almost embarrassingly straightforward: don’t feed them, manage your waste, protect the animals, educate newcomers and here’s the radical part, actually enjoy having them around.

It is, by all accounts, working. The baboons are thriving. The residents are (mostly) at peace. And the village, situated in a Conservancy within a Biosphere Reserve, has become a small but genuine model for human-wildlife coexistence.

It is not always easy, mind you. There are days when a troop of 28 large primates empties your kitchen and rearranges your lounge with the enthusiasm of a toddler’s birthday party. There are mornings when Cliff’s successors test the limits of your goodwill. But there are also afternoons when you watch the troop foraging quietly in the golden fynbos light, infants clinging to their mothers’ backs and you think: we live somewhere extraordinary.

So next time you visit Rooi-Els and a large, confident baboon eyes your picnic with unmistakable intent — take a breath, tuck the biscuits under your jacket and remember: you are a guest in his backyard. He was here first and if his handbag inspection skills are anything to go by, he has impeccable taste.

The Helderburger thanks the Rooi-Els Conservancy and its residents for their ongoing commitment to living wild and living well.