Gerald "Gerry" Malcolm Durrell was born in India in 1925. His elder siblings are Lawrence Durrell, Leslie Durrell, and Margaret Durrell. His family settled on Corfu when Gerald was a boy and he spent his time studying its wildlife. He relates these experiences in the trilogy beginning with My Family And Other Animals, and continuing with Birds, Beasts, And Relatives and The Garden Of The Gods. In his books he writes with wry humour and great perception about both the humans and the animals he meets.
On leaving Corfu he returned to England to work on the staff of Whipsnade Park as a student keeper. His adventures there are told with characteristic energy in Beasts In My Belfry. A few years later, Gerald began organising his own animal-collecting expeditions. The first, to the Cameroons, was followed by expeditions to Paraguay, Argentina and Sierra Leone. He recounts these experiences in a number of books, including The Drunken Forest. Gerald also visited many countries while shooting various television series, including An Amateur Naturalist. In 1958 Gerald Durrell realised a lifelong dream when he set up the Jersey Zoological Park, followed a few years later by the Jersey Wildlife Preservation Trust.
'You no go shout me like dat, ma friend. You no savvay dat I be Bafut Beagle?鈥� Follow the adventures of Gerald Durrell as his Bafut Beagles collect rare African animals.
Google Bafut now, a real African place, then travel back over half a century and discover a life far away from our civilized cities.
Its not what you know, but who you know... 鈥楾here is only one person you have to worry about in Bafut, and that鈥檚 the Fon,鈥� he said; 鈥榞et him on your side and the people will help you all they can.鈥�
鈥業s he the chief?鈥�
鈥楬e鈥檚 the sort of Nero of this region,鈥� said the D.O., marking a large circle on the map with his finger, 鈥榓nd what he says goes. He鈥檚 the most delightful old rogue, and the quickest and surest way to his heart is to prove to him that you can carry your liquor. He鈥檚 got a wonderful great villa there, which he built in case he had any European visitors, and I鈥檓 sure if you wrote to him he would let you stay there. It鈥檚 worth a visit, is Bafut, even if you don鈥檛 stay.鈥�
鈥榃ell, I鈥檒l drop him a note and see what he says.鈥�
鈥楽ee that your communication is 鈥� er 鈥� well lubricated,鈥� said the D.O.
鈥業鈥檒l go down to the store and get a bottle of lubrication at once,鈥� I assured him. So that afternoon, a messenger went off to the mountains, carrying with him my note and a bottle of gin.
Witchcraft with camera... After a time I decided to try to take some photographs of the pagan tribesmen, so I set up the camera and started to focus it. Immediately, pandemonium broke loose; the tribesmen with one accord dropped their goods and chattels and fled for the nearest shelter, screaming wildly. Rather bewildered by this, for the average African is generally only too pleased to have his photograph taken, I turned to a Hausa standing close by and asked him what was the matter. The explanation was interesting: apparently the pagans knew what a camera was, and knew that it produced pictures of the people it was pointed at. But they were firmly convinced that with each photograph taken the photographer gained a small portion of his subject鈥檚 soul, and if he took many photographs he would gain complete control over the person in question. This is a good example of witchcraft being brought up to date..
I did manage to get a few shots of them, by the simple method of standing sideways on, looking in the opposite direction, and taking the photographs from under my arm.
The dancing monkey... ...she then showed me what could be done by a really experienced dancing monkey, and she twirled and leapt and bounced until I felt quite dizzy. I had been attracted to her from the first, but this wild dervish dance was irresistible, and I felt that I simply had to buy her. I paid her owner twice what she was worth and carried her off triumphantly. I bought her a bunch of bananas at one of the stalls, and she was so overcome by my generosity that she repaid me by wetting all down the front of my shirt. I rounded up the staff and the driver, all breathing corn beer, and we climbed into the lorry and continued our journey. The monkey sat on my knee, stuffing her mouth with bananas and uttering little cries of excitement and pleasure as she watched the scenery out of the window.
The Bafut Beagles are named... I employed, as well as the four hunters the Fon had supplied, a pack of six thin and ungainly mongrels, who, their owners assured me, were the finest hunting dogs in West Africa. I called this untidy ensemble of men and dogs the Bafut Beagles. Although the hunters did not understand the meaning of this title they grew extremely proud of it, and I once heard a hunter, when arguing with a neighbor, proclaim in shrill and indignant tones, 鈥榊ou no go shout me like dat, ma friend. You no savvay dat I be Bafut Beagle?鈥�
Marriage... The Fon gave an order. A young girl of about fifteen left the dancers and approached the dais where we sat. She was plump and shining with oil, and clad in a minute loin-cloth which left few of her charms to the imagination. She sidled up to us, smiling shyly, and the Fon leant forward and seized her by the wrist. With a quick pull and a twist he catapulted her into my lap, where she sat convulsed with giggles.鈥楴a for you, dis woman,鈥� said the Fon, with a lordly wave of one enormous hand, 鈥榥a fine one. Na my daughter. You go marry her.鈥�
The unprincipled cook... Five shillings was a large sum to pay for a frog.
鈥業 no forget,鈥� said Jacob, slyly grinning up at me.
鈥楾hat I do not doubt,鈥� I said severely; 鈥榶ou鈥檙e a thoroughly unprincipled West African Shylock.鈥�
鈥榊es, sah,鈥� Jacob agreed unemotionally. It was impossible to crush him: if he did not understand you he simply played safe and agreed with all you said.
After being bitten by a poisonous snake Gerald eventually saw a doctor... 鈥榃hat have you been bitten by?鈥� he inquired.
鈥楬ow did you know I鈥檇 been bitten?鈥� I asked, rather startled by this rapid diagnosis.
鈥榊our pupils are tremendously distended,鈥� explained the doctor with professional relish. 鈥榃hat was it?鈥�
鈥楢 snake. I don鈥檛 know what kind, but it hurts like hell. I don鈥檛 suppose there was really much use in my coming in to you. There鈥檚 no serum to be had, is there?鈥�
鈥榃ell!鈥� he said in a pleased tone of voice. 鈥業sn鈥檛 that a strange thing? Last time I was on leave I got some serum. Thought it might come in useful. It鈥檚 been sitting in the fridge for the last six months.鈥�
鈥榃ell, thank heaven for that.鈥�
鈥楥ome into the house, my dear fellow. I shall be most interested to see if it works.鈥�
鈥楽o shall I,鈥� I admitted.
As we all know Gerald recovered and went on collecting animals and writing even more amusing stories.
This is the first book by Gerald Durrell I read, and I immediately became a fan. He writes with humour and sympathy about animals, and his adventures are vintage reads. He also made me look at zoos and their role in conservation in a new light.
This is a difficult book to review. On it's surface, and I'm sure at the time it was written it was received this way, it presents itself as a charming account of an expedition to Cameroon to pick up live animals to bring back to England to study, replete with amusing anecdotes about the difficulties of collecting and caring for the animals, and humorous depictions of the people Durrell meets along the way...
Can you spot the problem? It's in the "humorous depictions of the people". This book is the most pure example of a privileged, imperialist perspective that I have ever read. Written by a man who has no qualms, questions, or concerns of any kind about the colonialist system that supports his entire life. It's possible his depiction of the local patois is simply a factual depiction of how the poor English speakers of the area, fluent in other languages, managed to communicate with the English in their midst, but it felt like he played it for maximum "comedic" affect.
I don't want to cite specific examples of racist attitudes, but about halfway through the book he throws out an offhand comment about how he was taking an action not "merely" to demonstrate his inherent racial superiority, but for other more manipulative reasons, and it rather gave the whole game away. Making the subtext text, as they say.
This book made me deeply uncomfortable, and I found myself sometimes wishing I had first encountered Durrell through his more famous , which takes place on the Greek island of Corfu and might thereby have been free of his condescending and dehumanizing view of the Africans he dealt with. In the end, I'm glad I didn't, because avoiding the fact that he had these attitudes doesn't make them go away.
His attitude towards women is hardly superior, as there is an elaborate "comic" scene that presents him finding domestic violence completely acceptable, and reminiscent of proper English society, which disappoints him because he was hoping for something more superstitious as the root cause. There is also his absurd joy in humiliating British women he meets by exposing them to the more earthy behaviors of the monkeys he's captured.
I'm glad I read this book. It's too easy to read books like and assume that Orwell's own complicated views of the colonial system were typical, but I suspect it was attitudes like Durrell's that were far more common. Experiencing that attitude in all it's condescending, myopic glory has been a learning experience, if nothing else. He's a fish in water, and it all seems perfectly natural and appropriate to him.
Glad I read it, but I don't think I'll be picking up any more books by Durrell.
E, ovo me ba拧 osvje啪ilo. zabavne zgode tijekom hvatanja 啪ivotinja za zoo vrtove, do啪ivljaji s njima u kampu, dru啪enje s Fonom od Bafuta i njegovim podanicima...totalno opu拧tanje
Joproj膩m tikpat for拧i. Papildus bonuss, lasot tagad: iesp膿ja izp膿t墨t karti, samekl膿jot gan E拧obi, gan Bafutu, un atrast internet膩, k膩 paties墨b膩 izskat墨j膩s Bafutas fons:
Another amazing book my the Mr Durrell who has become my favorite author now when it comes to animals :-)
This is the story of Durrell's animal collecting expedition to what was then the British Cameroons, in the late 1940's. The book is full of memorable characters, human and animal which is almost unbelievable to say the least because they are just so amazing!
Trust me, you will end up praying to be on this trip if it was possible by any means!
ENGLISH: This is the fourth time I've read this book, the third written by Durrell, which relates his second expedition collecting animals for zoos. After the success of his first try in Cameroun, he came back again with a different partner. Especially interesting are (for me) the capture of four hyrax of the rocks (Procavia capensis), the case of the typhlops in disguise, and how Durrell taught the Fon of Bafut to dance the conga.
Most interesting is Durrell's explanation about the different parasites acquire by baby monkeys living in the jungle, and how to extirpate them. This is a good lesson for ignorant animal defenders who insist that taking animals out of the wild for any reason is an outrage.
ESPA脩OL: Esta es la cuarta vez que leo este libro, el tercero que escribi贸 Durrell, que relata su segunda expedici贸n en busca de animales para zool贸gicos. Tras el 茅xito de su primer intento en Camer煤n, volvi贸 a ese pa铆s con un compa帽ero diferente. Me interesaron especialmente la captura de cuatro damanes de las rocas (Procavia capensis), el caso del disfraz de serpiente ciega, y c贸mo ense帽贸 Durrell al Fon de Bafut a bailar la conga.
Es muy interesante la explicaci贸n de Durrell sobre los par谩sitos que adquieren los monos beb茅s que viven en la jungla y c贸mo extirparlos. Es una buena lecci贸n para los animalistas ignorantes que insisten en que sacar animales de la "vida natural" por cualquier motivo es una barbaridad.
It's quite interesting reading this at the same time as I'm listening to the audiobook of "Blood River". Both are tales of Englishmen in Africa. Whereas Tim Butcher spends most of the time in real danger, refuses to stereotype, and uses his wits to determine which of the many people he meets are worthy of trust and respect, Gerald Durrell is writing in another age, and he just cruises around, effortlessly assuming his right to be called "Masa" and "Sah" by the flock of undifferentiated, caricatured natives whose words are transcribed phonetically and embellished for comic effect. There's nothing so crude as overt racism of course, and it would be pointless to judge him by the standards of today anyway, but the spirit of the age shines through every paragraph, and reading it in conjunction with the more modern work only makes it the more obvious. Anyway, don't let me put you off - it's very funny indeed!
More adventures in natural history, including the human kind. Durrell recounts his trip to what is now northern Cameroon to collect animals for British zoos. He describes the people and the animals around him with equal humor, compassion, scientific interest, and space on the page, all of it illustrated beautifully by Ralph Thompson.
A lovely and descriptive look at animal collecting in Africa in the 1950s. Gerald Durrell's affection for the people of Bafut is obvious. There are many funny moments, which will have you snorting coffee down your nose. Glorious.
I'd like to give this book a higher rating, because Durrell can be quite funny, but it takes place in what was then the northern part of British Cameroon and there's a tinge of patronizing racism that grates on the reader. The chapter spent making fun of the locals for their fear of a non-poisonous lizard is especially bad, doubly so as it's clear that Durrell is entirely dependent on their expertise for obtaining the animals he wishes to collect. In the next chapter, Durrell, despite his supposedly superior knowledge of animal life, makes a mistake in identifying a snake and is bitten: his life is quite possibly saved by one of the locals, his servant Jacob, though no acknowledgment of this is made and Durrell makes no apologies for having assumed that Jacob had run off in the face of a dangerous animal rather than going to fetch emergency first aid. Even the most anodyne-seeming incident reinforces this attitude of superiority, since the pidgin English the Africans speak automatically serves to put them on a rung below Durrell. As long as Durrell sticks to describing the animals he's fine, but the rest of it makes the book difficult to read.
"In The Bafut Beagles he [the author] describes a collecting expedition to the Cameroons, where, with the assistance of a pack of African enthusiasts and mongrel dogs, he captured almost everything from flying mice to booming squirrels. "The unconscious humour of a supercilious toad or a hypocritical chimpanzee is only surpassed by the electric charm of the convivial Fon of Bafut himself." ~~back cover
Another gallop through grasslands and forest of the Cameroons, by day and by night, with often hilarious results. The African people are depicted as quite simple and servile, but the author was doing this collecting in the 1940s, and the native people probably seemed so to him, given the European attitude to other cultures at that time. In fairness, he treats the natives with affection and courtesy. As always, entertaining accounts of the collected animals antics, fascinating glimpses of the time and effort involved in capturing and then caring for creatures with unknown habits, and the difficulties of transporting them back to England by ship.
I'm not sure if this was the first book that Gerald Durrell wrote (he refers here to an earlier expedition, but may not have written about it) but it was certainly the first I came across, and it won me over at once. Durrell is not only an excellent raconteur, but he also has an unexpectedly poetic vein of description; this is the "Zoo Quest" era, before most of his readers would ever have expected to see West Africa, and he manages to evoke the landscape in lyric terms. "The mountain grassland spread away from us in all directions, its multitude of colours shivering and changing with the wind. The hill-crests were pale gold changing to white, while the valleys were pale greeny-blue, darker in places where a pompous cumulus cloud swept over, trailing a purple shadow in its wake. Directly ahead of us lay a long range of delicately sculptured hills whose base was almost hidden in a litter of great boulders and small trees. The hills were so smooth and beautifully formed, and clad in grass which showed such a bewildering variety of greens, golds, purples, and whites, that they looked like a great rambling wave rearing up to break over the puny barrier of rocks and shrubs below. The peace and silence of these heights was remarkable; nearly all sounds were created by the wind, and it was busy moving here and there, making each object produce its own song. It combed the grass and brought forth a soft lisping rustle; it squeezed and wriggled between the cracks and joints of the rocks above us and made owl-like moans and hoots of mirth; it pushed and wrestled with the tough little trees, making them creak and groan, and making their leaves flutter and purr like kittens. Yet all these small sounds seemed to enhance rather than destroy the silence of the grassland."
(From a technical point of view, I'm also impressed by the way he manages to present almost all the dialogue in the book in pidgin and make it readily comprehensible to the reader without resorting to footnotes; by the end, we're perfectly capable of interpreting "I fit climb stick big pass dat one" (I can climb taller trees than that), despite nothing ever having been overtly explained.)
And of course it's a vibrantly lost world in terms of both human and animal populations; I'm reminded of Nelson Mandela's descriptions of his up-country childhood. The more conservative older women wear leather loincloths and nothing else ("the bright sarong was a modern idea") and smoke pipes; the local notables wear splendidly coloured robes; the supreme ruler, the Fon, occasionally hankers for simplicity and goes out hunting barefoot in a scrap of cloth. ("Then perhaps the urge had come to him to feel the soft red earth under his bare feet and the wind on his naked body, so that he would steal off to his hut, put on the clothes of a hunter, and stride away over the hills, twirling his spear and humming, pausing on the hilltops to admire the beautiful country over which he ruled.") Despite being on the surface a collection of humorous anecdotes about the author's misadventures in Africa, the book has a lot of very fine and serious writing indeed. It's charming, but it's also deeply evocative.
This is the second of Durrell's books I have read. I am not sure if it the second in the series of his memoirs though. This one was written in 1954, so I presume it is about a trip to Cameroon that occured a few years before that? He never actually says exactly when. But it's the story of a several-months long trip in the Cameroons that he took to collect lots of animals. Most of his trip was spent in the higher lands, an area called the Bafut, where he was the guest of the local leader, the Fon of Bafut, who was quite a colourful character who enjoyed his drink. The locals speak pidgeon English, and all the dialogue is written in that, which is quite fun to read.
Durrell is a really good writer, and it feels like taking a proper trip into Africa, meeting the locals, learning something of the local wildlife and seeing a bit of scenery. It's good for armchair travel.
It almost felt a wee bit dated to me in regards to this animal collecting and conservation. He collects a lot of animals (or he collects beef, as they say in the pidgeon English), several of any one variety, with the help of some local hunters, who he names the Bafut Beagles. But he never really explains why. Ok, I guess they're for a zoo or something, but it feels like collecting for the sake of collecting, stuff conservation and the study of animals in their natural habit; we want them in the cages. There was one animal, this flying mouse thing, that he gets over 20 individuals of, and by the time he gets back to the UK, they're all dead.
One of the best bits of human - wildlife interaction was when the Fon takes off all his robes of office, and trots off as a hunter into the wilds with Durrell to show him a new animal. They're called galagos, and look like these comical little big-eyed creatues, the drawings of which remind me almost of bush babies. And they're very small, jump around in branches and get up to mischief. They don't even attempt to catch any on this trip, just sit and watch the animals. And the Fon tells him that he often comes to watch these animals - "'Dat beef!' he chuckled, 'I like um too much. All time 'e make funny for me, an' I go laugh'". (p109). Surely enjoying watching these animals in their natural habitat should be the most important thing, as the Fon is doing?
Mind, this perhaps happened in the late 40s, and attitudes change. Besides, I am no expert on conservation.
Otro libro de Durrell que me ha encantado. Los libros en los que captura animales, aunque fascinantes, son menos agradables de leer que sus otros libros porque algunos animales mueren inevitablemente en el viaje y no llegan a un refugio o zoo. Me ha sorprendido lo tolerante que es el libro para estar escrito en los a帽os 40, Durrell no habla de los africanos como primitivos sino que vive con ellos y participa de sus costumbres. S铆 que hay diferencia entre el hombre blanco y el negro: los africanos le llevan su equipaje y realizan las tareas m谩s peligrosas pero Durrell tampoco es que se quede sentado en casa sin hacer nada. No teme adentrarse en la selva, coger a los animales con sus propias manos y nunca pone en riesgo la vida de sus cazadores. Se nota que no es un libro del siglo XXI pero es muy avanzado en este sentido para su 茅poca y eso me ha gustado. El fon de Bafut es un personaje divertid铆simo y es conmovedor el compa帽erismo e involucraci贸n de los habitantes de Bafut a la hora de ayudar a Durrell.
The Bafut Beagles is Durrell's first journey to Africa in order to catch animals for zoos and it sets the template for all of Durrell's travelogues: descriptions of exotic animals and anecdotes about the characters that he encounters.
Keep in mind that I read these books when I was 14 years old (I'm now 37) and so details such as racism or class superiority went by me. But now looking back, the descriptions of the African's use of pdgin english and bumbling antics of the tribesmen do sound dated, however this is not to say that the book is a downright obscene - Durrell does mention positive aspects of the Cameroonian culture as well. For an animal lover this is a must read and if you are interested in a 1940's view of Africa from an Englishman then I suggest you take a look at it as well.
Wow, wow, wow. I was at airport in between my flights and i need something to pass my time. So i just go to store and pick a random book up and guess what, It was The Bafut Beagles. I causally go through first few pages and start to feel that this is not the usual book we read. It has something extra and something new. The natural comedy that generate from individual from this book, commentary by My Durrell about certain incidence, Bafut people and most of all an exciting world of wild life. I am just stunned. Super cool :)
I read this book 50 years ago and it remains one of Durrell's classic animal collector's tales. It is full of characters, both human like the tall, elegant Fon of Bafut and animals like the elusive hairy toad. Our affable British guide drinks gin with the Fon and teaches his people the conga line. The high grasslands are well described and, as always, mischievous animals cause havoc. Durrell laughs with his hunters and at himself. Treat yourself to a jolly time with this book.
One of the funniest books I've ever read. Durrell travels to the small country of Camaroon and interacts with a jungle community, complete with its own king. The pidgin English is hilarious without ever being demeaning, and the tribes people knock themselves out helping Durrell and his crew gather rare species. Not to be missed.
I think this one just got dated. I might have enjoyed it more if I were more interested in animals, but since I am not, I just felt this was a not too funny recollection of dubious stories. The datedness is most obvious in the way Durrel portrays Africans, it's just not a fun read anymore, cringily racist, super condescending, quite misogynystic.
Finished reading Gerald Durrell's delightful book, The Bagut Beagles. Full of humorous anecdotes , the ups and downs of hunting for various animals in the wilds of Cameroons with the help of the natives and the mesmerizing descriptions of the habits, and eccentricities of the captured animals, based on his meticulous observations.
More of Durrell's rememberences of collecting animals in Africa. Hilarious, touching, fascinating, and yet disturbing as we stand on the brink of species extinction. A wonderful human interest book.
This is a view of what the area around Bafut was like back when it was British. I knew it much later, but it was an interesting read and very recognizable. The use of pidgin brought back memories, but there are many more French words used now.