The Children Who Nearly Got Us Evicted From Paradise

I had imagined our family safari for years.

In my mind, it was going to be one of those holidays that brought a family closer together. We would watch elephants crossing the plains, spot lions in the grass, take beautiful photographs and sit together in the evenings discussing the day’s adventures.

My wife, Helen, would finally get the photographs she wanted for the family album. Our daughter, Sophie, would discover a love of nature. Our eight-year-old son, Ben, would learn that the world was much bigger and more exciting than the football pitch behind our house.

And I, Richard Collins, would return home having proved that I was the sort of father who could organise an unforgettable family adventure.

I had booked the accommodation, studied the itinerary, bought the sun hats and packed enough snacks to supply a small expedition.

What I had failed to consider was that I was travelling with an eight-year-old boy, a ten-year-old girl, and a wife who had a very low tolerance for unnecessary drama.

I also had no idea that baboons had a particular interest in women’s underwear.

The trouble began on our first morning.

We were staying at a beautiful safari lodge, surrounded by trees and open countryside. There was a swimming pool, a restaurant, lovely views and enough wildlife nearby to make every moment feel like an adventure.

We were supposed to leave early for a game drive.

At breakfast, Ben discovered that monkeys sometimes visited the lodge.

That was all it took.

“Dad, can we see a monkey?”

“Possibly,” I replied, checking the time. “But we need to finish breakfast and get ready.”

“Can I feed one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t feed wild animals.”

He considered this for a moment.

“What about a little biscuit?”

“No biscuits.”

“Half a biscuit?”

“Ben.”

“All right.”

I should have known that conversation was not finished.

We left for the game drive, and for a while everything went perfectly. We saw antelope, giraffes and elephants. Sophie took photographs from the vehicle, and Helen kept reminding us to look beyond the animals and appreciate the scenery.

Ben, however, was becoming restless.

“How long until we see a lion?”

“Be patient,” I told him.

“Are we nearly there?”

“There isn’t a lion station, Ben.”

“But you said we’d see lions.”

“I said we might see lions.”

He looked out across the plains.

“This is taking ages.”

I stared at him.

We had been on safari for less than an hour.

By the time we returned to the lodge, Ben had decided that the swimming pool was far more interesting than the entire African wilderness.

Sophie agreed.

“I think we should swim,” she announced.

“We have a schedule,” I reminded them. “We are here to experience Kenya.”

“We experienced Kenya,” Ben replied. “There were some elephants.”

Some elephants.

I looked at Helen, hoping for support.

She was already changing into her swimming costume.

That was how I found myself sitting beside the pool, watching my children enjoy the holiday I had paid a small fortune to organise, while the safari vehicle sat waiting for our afternoon excursion.

The following day, I tried a different strategy.

I explained that we had paid for the game drives, that wildlife sightings were special, and that we might not get another opportunity to see some of these animals.

Sophie nodded thoughtfully.

Ben asked whether the lodge had chips for lunch.

I nearly gave up.

But the children were about to become the least of my problems.

The monkeys were coming.

It happened after lunch, when we returned to our room to rest before the afternoon activity. Our lodge had a balcony overlooking a small garden, and the children were fascinated by the birds and monkeys that occasionally passed through the trees.

I had specifically told Ben not to feed them.

I had also told him not to leave food lying around.

I had even told him not to approach them.

I was beginning to feel rather proud of my parenting.

Then I saw him standing by the balcony door, holding a packet of biscuits.

“Ben,” I said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

That was the first warning sign.

“What is in your hand?”

He looked at the packet.

“Biscuits.”

“I can see that. Why do you have them?”

“I thought the monkeys might be hungry.”

“They can find their own food.”

“But Dad, look at that one’s face. He looks hungry.”

The monkey in question was sitting on the balcony railing, staring at us with the focused attention of a professional burglar.

“Put the biscuits away,” I ordered.

Ben reluctantly obeyed.

I thought the danger had passed.

That was my second mistake.

The next morning, Helen went to take a shower while I helped the children get ready for breakfast. We had left some laundry drying near the balcony, and the room was filled with the familiar chaos of a family preparing to leave.

Sophie could not find her other shoe.

Ben was looking for a toy car he had apparently brought all the way from home for reasons known only to himself.

I was trying to remember where I had put the room key.

Then Helen screamed.

Not a little scream.

A proper scream.

The sort of scream that makes a man immediately wonder whether he has accidentally booked accommodation beside a crocodile enclosure.

I rushed towards the bathroom.

“What happened?”

Helen stood in the doorway, clutching a towel around herself.

“Richard! There is a BABOON on our balcony!”

I looked outside.

There it was.

A large baboon was sitting comfortably on the railing, looking as though it had paid for the room and expected us to vacate it before checkout.

It was holding something in one hand.

I blinked.

Then I looked again.

It was a pair of Helen’s underwear.

I will never forget that moment.

The baboon examined the garment, sniffed it, and then looked directly at me.

I had spent years imagining myself as a brave father. I had pictured myself protecting my family from danger, leading them through the wilderness and making sensible decisions under pressure.

I had not imagined standing in a hotel room while a baboon made off with my wife’s underwear.

“Helen,” I said carefully, “I think we should remain calm.”

“CALM?”

The baboon jumped onto the balcony table.

Helen grabbed a pillow and threw it towards the open door.

The pillow missed the baboon and struck me squarely in the face.

The baboon leapt onto the railing.

Sophie appeared behind us.

“Oh! Look at that! It’s got Mummy’s pants!”

“GO BACK INSIDE!” Helen shouted.

Ben appeared beside her.

“Dad, can we give it a biscuit?”

“BEN, NO!”

The baboon, apparently deciding that our family was far too noisy, bounded onto the neighbouring balcony and disappeared behind a curtain.

We stood there in silence.

Then Sophie began laughing.

Ben followed.

Even I started laughing, although I knew better than to do it while Helen was still standing in the doorway.

Helen, meanwhile, looked as though she was deciding whether to divorce me, the children, or the entire continent.

Never underestimate an eight-year-old with a packet of biscuits.

“I cannot believe this,” she said. “We have travelled all the way to Africa, and a baboon has stolen my underwear.”

I tried to reassure her.

“Perhaps it thought they were nesting material.”

She turned towards me.

I immediately wished I had kept my mouth shut.

“Richard, if you say one more word, you will be sleeping outside with the baboons.”

I accepted this ruling without appeal.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find the camp manager standing in the corridor.

He was a polite gentleman who looked as though he had been summoned to deal with a serious security incident.

“Good morning, sir,” he said. “We have received a report of some disturbance from your room.”

I glanced at Helen.

She folded her arms.

The manager continued.

“We understand a baboon has been on your balcony.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid so.”

He looked past me at the children, who were still struggling not to laugh.

“Did anyone feed the animal?”

There was a silence.

A very long silence.

I slowly turned towards Ben.

Ben looked at me.

Then he looked at the floor.

The manager followed my gaze.

“Sir?”

I took a deep breath.

“My son may have attempted to offer the monkeys some biscuits yesterday.”

The manager closed his eyes briefly.

“I see.”

Helen made a noise that sounded like a kettle beginning to boil.

The manager explained that wild baboons could become persistent when people fed them or left food accessible. He reminded us to keep balcony doors closed, avoid feeding wildlife and contact staff if the animals became a nuisance.

He was professional, patient and extremely polite.

Which somehow made the whole thing more embarrassing.

“I assure you,” I said, “we will take every precaution.”

He nodded.

“Thank you, sir. We simply want everyone to enjoy their stay safely.”

Then he added, with a faint smile, “And perhaps keep your laundry indoors.”

I wanted the floor to swallow me.

The children, of course, thought this was the funniest thing anyone had ever said.

By lunchtime, the story had travelled through the lodge. I could tell because whenever I walked past a member of staff, they greeted me with a smile that was just a little too knowing.

I became the father whose son fed monkeys biscuits and whose wife’s underwear had been stolen by a baboon.

It was not the legacy I had hoped to create.

And we still had another game drive to attempt.

That afternoon, I announced that we were all going, whether the children liked it or not.

“We are here for a safari,” I said firmly. “We are going to see wildlife, learn about the animals and appreciate the natural world.”

Ben raised his hand.

“What if we see the baboon?”

“We will admire it from a safe distance.”

“What if it has Mummy’s pants?”

Helen closed her eyes.

I stared at the ceiling.

“Ben, I am begging you to stop talking.”

To his credit, the game drive turned out to be wonderful. We spotted elephants, giraffes and a variety of birds. Sophie became interested in photographing the animals, and Ben finally began asking questions that did not involve biscuits or underwear.

Our guide explained how to observe wildlife respectfully and why it was important not to feed animals. The children listened, and I began to feel that perhaps the holiday was finally turning around.

Then we returned to the lodge.

As we walked towards our room, we spotted a baboon sitting on a nearby wall.

Ben stopped.

The baboon stopped.

They stared at each other.

“Dad,” Ben whispered, “I think that’s the one.”

I took his hand.

“We are going inside.”

“But—”

“Inside, Ben.”

We closed the balcony doors, secured our belongings and kept the laundry safely indoors.

That evening, we sat together at dinner, and for the first time all day, I felt relaxed. The children were telling stories about the animals they had seen, Helen was laughing again, and I began to think that the worst was behind us.

Then the camp manager passed our table.

“Good evening, Mr Collins. I trust everything has been peaceful this afternoon?”

I smiled.

“Absolutely. No incidents whatsoever.”

He nodded approvingly.

“Excellent. And how are the children?”

“Wonderful.”

He smiled at Ben.

“And no more biscuits for the monkeys?”

Ben looked at his plate.

“No, sir.”

The manager continued on his way.

Helen leaned towards me.

“Richard?”

“Yes, darling?”

“When we get home, I am booking the next family holiday.”

“Wonderful.”

“And you are organising absolutely nothing.”

I considered objecting.

Then I remembered the swimming pool, the missing shoe, the biscuits, the baboon and the pillow that had struck me in the face.

“That sounds fair,” I said.

She smiled sweetly.

“Good.”

Our safari was not the peaceful family adventure I had imagined. We missed a few activities, argued over shoes, spent too much time beside the swimming pool and became personally acquainted with one extremely cheeky baboon.

But we also watched elephants in the wild, discovered the beauty of the Kenyan landscape and laughed together until our stomachs hurt.

And when we returned home, the children told everyone about the wonderful animals they had seen.

They also told everyone about the baboon.

Naturally, the baboon story became the most popular.

Even now, whenever someone asks me whether I would recommend a family safari in Kenya, I say yes without hesitation.

It is an extraordinary experience.

Just remember three things.

First, never underestimate an eight-year-old with a packet of biscuits.

Second, always keep your balcony doors closed.

And third, if the camp manager asks whether you know why there is a baboon sitting on your balcony with your wife’s underwear, do not look at your son.

He will give himself away.

And you will never hear the end of it.