Pineapple Panic

Latin America Special Issue



Words by

Radha Gamble, age 9

Pictures by

Madeleine Smith, age 12

Translation by

Adrieli Martins

Narration by

Thais Molina

You can read this story in

Brazilian Portuguese

by clicking the button below.

Read translated version

My baby, Zoe, clings to my stomach. I swing from vine to vine, tree to tree, looking for something to eat. Perhaps a few berries or ants? I climb on to a low-hanging branch. I curl upside down and hang by my beautiful ginger tail.

Peering down at the massive river below, I inspect the current. I see three tourists on a canoe up ahead, their eyes goggling at the lush environment. Suddenly, my mouth starts watering and saliva drools down my chin. I think little Zoe’s mouth is watering as well. A man is holding a big juicy pineapple cut into dagger-like pieces.

I take my chance and leap on to the edge of the boat. Zoe is anxious, but I assure her it is going to be all right. Without thinking, I shove Zoe in front of a woman’s face and glare at the pineapple with my marble-like, hazelnut eyes.

I think I see the woman shift her hands slightly towards the delicious pineapple, but then she stops to stroke Zoe. I drop my baby, grab a few slices of fruit, snatch Zoe back and leap on to the dirt. It all happens quite rapidly.

I swing from vine to vine, tree to tree, all the way home. As I munch a big, juicy slice of ripe pineapple, I wonder if other animals in Brazil go to so much trouble for fruit. Maybe it’s just us monkeys. Oh, well… it’s totally worth it.