As I look up to the mountain I can easily recognise the boundary between the national park and the municipal grounds. The latter is overgrown with alien vegetation, including pine trees, and spoilt with rubbish. "Baboons sleep in pine trees and because the municipality doesn't clear its grounds, these continue to grow right at the edge of town, again attracting the baboons. Baboons love pine kernels and break the seeds open with their teeth. When they find rubbish dumped under a tree, they often cut themselves above the eyes when they try to eat of a tin or cut their feet and legs on broken glass." Jenni now leads us higher up through beautiful mountain fynbos. The luminous yellow featherheads or Phylica lighten up the burnt scenery of black branches and ashy soil. I can't see what is left for the baboons to feed on. No wonder they raid the villages. Who wouldn't go for a convenient Mc Donalds meal when the fridge is empty? "Not so long ago the mountain was on fire and the baboons are waiting for the first fresh sprouts to appear," Jenni tells me. "After fire, pioneer species like geranium or Pelargonium sprout. The baboons prune them by eating the plant and in so doing make space for the next generation of fynbos. They also play an important role in seed dispersion as they forage and dig up all sort of bulbs and seeds."

We sit on a rock a few metres away from a young mother with her little one. Another female joins them and they engage in the important social interaction of grooming. We decide to copy them and Jenni start checking out James for fleas. I look around and delight in the beautiful mountain scenery. The blue sky, the warmth of the afternoon sun, the physical effort of the hike and the peaceful presence of the baboons all have a relaxing effect on me. Suddenly, I hear 'ploof'.  It's the sound of a baboon landing on the ground after having jumped off a tree. A big  male baboon walks towards me. He stands next to me for a little while and I guess he weighs about 25 kg and is just over one metre high. Jenni has noticed, but doesn't seem in the least concerned. I take a deep breath and decide to put my faith in her hands and hopefully not the baboon's teeth. After all, gaining confidence is the purpose of the walk, isn't it? Georgie (the project gave all the baboons a name) is not interested in me, nor in my children, and walks away. I can relax again. Previously I would have reached high levels of adrenaline and been hysterical, but somehow this experience has a soothing effect on me. In fact, I could easily spend the rest of the afternoon here with the troop. Earlier on, dogs from the village nearby had been chasing the baboons and the tranquil moments only last for short moments at a time. The baboons are on the go and off we go again following the troop to another look-out point. It's actually a great way to explore the area and I start asking myself who is our guide. Is it Jenni or the baboons?

"Baboons read body language very quickly." Jenni tells me. "Your reaction determines the outcome of the encounter." Jenni hops up the rocks, not without effort, but graciously. We follow Georgie and watch Tammy running on all 'threes'. "Tammy was shot in the leg four times and eventually lost his leg due to a shattered femur." The children and I are shocked. Surely this can't be a solution to the problem. "Hurting baboons solves nothing." Jenni stresses. "Some people make them suffer dreadful pain and sometimes cause disabilities like missing hands or limbs that turn the baboon into an even greater house raider, because getting food out of an inviting bin is easier than foraging the mountain with only one hand. The time spent capturing injured animals, caring for them while they recover and then releasing them back to their troops is all time and energy that could be spent on constructive actions," she concludes as she encourages us to sit on an overhanging rock. A female with her 3 month-old baby joins us. She feels very comfortable in our presence. While the baby suckles her mommy, Penelope, smacks her lips as a sign of love. Another youngster walks up to my son James and hugs him. His sister Enya wishes she was the chosen one, and to be honest, I wish I were too...

"Up there is one of our monitors." Jenni says as she points to the Southern ridge. "Leoni's been with the Baboon Monitor Project for five years now." The project started in 1999 and has a significant impact on the conflict between humans and baboons. It employs men from the nearby communities who have been working closely with the baboons and have gained a wealth of wildlife experience. The goal of the monitors is to keep the baboons away from the villages as much as possible, in which they succeed 85% of the time. Leoni, the monitor, runs down the mountain, agile and fast, notwithstanding the fact that he's been on duty since 7 am this morning. "In summer I start at 6 am and finish at 6 pm. We need to arrive before the baboons wake up and can only leave when they go to sleep. 365 days a year." he explains with a grin. I learn from Jenni how the monitors work under harsh conditions, from pouring rain, freezing cold and burning heat to gale force winds. They are paid through a government poverty relief programme and only earn a meagre R1600/month. 'Today the baboons were not naughty' he says. The biggest challenge of the job is when the baboons are in the village, especially on dustbin day, then it's a nightmare!" Over 70% of the bins are not baboon proofed and are often over-full. "The baboons make determined efforts to get into the villages to get to the waste, the monitors fight equally hard to keep them out." adds Jenni. The nicest part of Leoni's job, however, is to spend time in the mountain on beautiful day. "In the future I would like to take children into the mountain.They learn about the baboons in school, then see me as a monitor, and also want to go and see the baboons." he tells me. When I ask him how his wife feels about his job he laughs. "She was really cross when I brought ticks into the house when we had the baby." Each team comprises of 4 monitors who work in shifts: two days on, one day rest. There are currently 6 teams. I am shocked to hear that these men not only endure harsh working conditions to safeguard the villages from baboon raids, they also endure abuse from disgruntled residents who take out their anger on the monitors when it's a 'baboon day' or when baboons eat the fruit from their trees.  Isn't it time we all take responsibility for a situation that affects everyone involved?