The Naughty Monkeys of Skukuza
The early morning sun peeked over the acacia trees, sending golden light dancing through the bushveld of Kruger National Park. The air smelled of damp grass, wildflowers, and faraway campfire smoke.
Shovu, the big, kind-hearted elephant, strolled slowly along a dusty path. His great ears flapped lazily as he enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He was a magnificent sight — tall and strong, with gentle brown eyes that had seen many seasons. The birds often perched on his back, singing songs as he walked. Everyone in the south of Kruger knew Shovu — the elephant who always helped others.
That morning, as he neared Skukuza Camp, he heard something unusual. It wasn’t the chirp of a bird or the rumble of a jeep. It was the sound of giggles — high, cheeky little giggles coming from the trees.
Shovu paused, curling his trunk to sniff the air. He smelled something sweet. Fruit! And mischief.
Lifting his trunk, he peered through the branches. There, swinging and tumbling among the leaves, were three monkeys. They were vervet monkeys, small and silver-grey, with faces as quick and clever as their paws.
But what were they doing?
One monkey was juggling bright yellow bananas. Another was stuffing mangoes into his mouth so fast that juice dribbled down his chin. The smallest monkey sat quietly, munching a half-eaten papaya, eyes darting nervously.
“Look what I found!” cried the biggest one proudly. “Fruit from the humans’ camp! They just leave it out. Silly humans!”
“Bananas for breakfast! Bananas for lunch! Bananas forever!” squeaked the second, tossing a peel over his shoulder.
Shovu watched quietly for a moment, shaking his great head. He stepped closer, his huge feet making soft thuds on the earth.
The monkeys froze.
Shovu’s deep, rumbly voice filled the air. “Little ones,” he said kindly, “why are you taking fruit that does not belong to you?”
The monkeys looked at one another. The biggest tried to sound brave. “Well… it’s just a bit of fruit. No one will notice, right?”
Shovu blinked slowly. “Perhaps not today,” he said, “but if everyone takes what isn’t theirs, soon there will be nothing left. The people worked hard to grow that fruit. How would you feel if someone took the berries you gathered before you could eat them?”
The smallest monkey’s ears drooped. “I’d be sad,” he whispered.
Shovu nodded. “Stealing always starts small,” he said gently, “but it hurts others, even if we don’t see it.”
The monkeys shuffled uncomfortably. They hadn’t thought about that before.
After a quiet moment, Shovu reached his trunk into the grass and lifted a golden marula fruit, freshly fallen from a nearby tree. He rolled it toward them. “You don’t need to steal,” he said. “The bush is full of gifts — marulas, figs, pods, and roots. Nature provides for those who look with patience.”
The smallest monkey brightened. “Can we really eat these?”
“Of course,” Shovu said with a smile. “They are for everyone who lives kindly.”
The monkeys gathered around the marula fruits, tasting them. They were delicious — sweet, juicy, and just right.
The biggest monkey looked embarrassed. He picked up one of the stolen bananas and placed it carefully back in the basket by the camp fence. “Sorry, Shovu,” he said quietly. “We won’t steal again.”
Shovu’s trunk curled happily. “That is all I ask,” he said. “Good friends share. Good hearts respect.”
As the sun climbed higher, the monkeys chattered with laughter — this time honest, happy laughter — as they climbed through the trees searching for wild fruit instead.
And Shovu, pleased with his morning’s work, lifted his trunk and trumpeted a deep, friendly note that echoed through the valley.
He turned back toward the open plains, his shadow long and gentle behind him.
Another day in the wild, another lesson shared — for that’s what Shovu loved most.
Lesson; Stealing is wrong; honesty brings happiness.