The Curious Incident of the Coconuts

Bakau, The Gambia. The palm swayed majestically in the breeze, as they do in these types of stories. Atop the ribbed branchless trunk sat an explosion of brilliant green fronds, like a tropical party favor. Dangling in bunches amidst the fronds were the fibrous husks that safeguarded our objective--the hard-shelled coconut seeds. As I squinted up through the sunlight it became obvious to me that coconut is not a food we were ever meant to partake. One needs to scale a tree with no footholds, wrestle the armored fruit from its thick stem, breach the impenetrable husk, then split the indestructible seed, all without spilling the precious liquid within. When picking out a coconut at the supermarket we surely don't appreciate the endeavor. While heavy industry has undoubtedly developed an army of insect robots to scale the trees and deliver the payload, sonic guns to blast the husk cleanly from the shell, pneumatic drills that double as drinking straws to carefully extract the milk, and acid baths that instantly dissolve the casing but leave the flesh perfectly intact, out here it's still done by hand. Without the benefit of those newfangled technologies it would be easier learning calculus blindfolded than trying to pluck a coconut from its perch. It is a Sisyphean effort fraught with immense physical risk, and it's meager reward - some edible white flesh surrounding a sweet milky core - is hardly worth the calorie expenditure it takes to achieve. This is exactly why we decided to try it ourselves.


The palm trees in the courtyard of our meager hotel seemed like a great place to start. Securing permission was the first order of business, a request that was granted with a laugh and, presumably, the setting up of hidden cameras. A quick search through our packs for potentially useful gear found us with two locking cam straps, a length of accessory cord, a Leatherman, and an irrational amount of optimism. And why shouldn't we have been optimistic? Gathering coconuts is de rigueur out here. Little kids routinely scale these trees while wielding machetes in their teeth. True, odds were good that I would slip and inadvertently perform a tonsillectomy on myself, but I had medical coverage. While considering this, two thoughts occurred to me: (1) I probably forgot to get the optional machete proviso on my insurance; and (2) we didn't have a machete. While I was busy working out the details in my head Xander had decided to take action. He slung the cam strap around the base of the tree and secured it around his back, intending to "walk" up the tree by using his body as a counterweight against the loop. Every couple of steps he would briefly unweight himself in order to raise the strap a few inches. Though slow and exhausting he could scale the entire height of the tree, then casually lean back in his rudimentary seat in order to cut down the coconuts. Simple as that.



He didn't fall until he got about five feet off the ground--a worthy, if painful attempt. Xander tittered in his usual way and decided never to try that again, at least when there was no prize money involved. Spying an angular fist-sized rock on the ground a new idea took form. If I tied the accessory cord securely around the rock we could hurl it like a bola, either knocking off a coconut with a direct strike or looping it over the stem and yanking hard to pull it down. This was an excellent idea, despite the fact the scene played out thusly:

Xander: "You want first throw"?

Me: "Nah, go ahead. Aim for that lower bunch."

Xander: (hurls rock)

Thwack! (rock hits hard frond stem)

Xander: "Uh-oh"

Whish! (rock ricochets towards our heads)

Me: "Look out!"

Thunk! (rock hits ground inches from our feet)

Rock: Damn, I missed them.

This scene was repeated until we both felt satisfied that we had seriously strained our arms and that the rock had evil intentions. This was tough work.
Xander finally landed a throw over one of the stems. Now we only needed to tug on the cord and the coconut would come tumbling down. No such luck. We pulled, heaved, and verbally protested but the coconut refused to separate from the stem. As we yanked, the cord dug deep into our hands, leaving deep stinging grooves in the flesh. We needed more leverage. Grabbing a nearby shovel, I wrapped the cord around the wooden handle. This was sure to work. With a solid grip we could apply a greater amount of pressure and not risk severing our hands, which we decided we wanted to keep for sentimental reasons. I gave a mighty heave but the accessory cord merely stretched. It forced me to wrap up the excess, like pulling in a kite. After a few more pulls I gave up and passed it over to Xander. We had stretched the cord to its limit. Xander leaned hard, putting all of his weight into it. I shuffled back, fully expecting the coconut to rocket off the tree at us, a fruity but potentially fatal projectile.
Except nothing happened. The coconuts remained steadfast, mocking our every move. One of the hotel employees, witness to this ludicrous scene, emerged from his hidden observation post and interrupted our effort. After babbling something in an incomprehensible French he disappeared around a corner but materialized with our salvation. We sheepishly accepted the ladder. Within moments we had ourselves a couple of coconuts, but our ordeal was far from over. Getting the coconuts from the tree is only half of the challenge. Now, without the benefit of explosives or detonators of any kind, we needed to split them open. I wanted to fully appreciate the experience, so I decided to use simply rocks and my hands to pry mine open. I can now confidently attest that if I were left in the wild with but my wits and a lone coconut tree, I would most assuredly die. Actually, I did manage to get it open. In the end, my hands cut and raw, my body sore and beaten, it only took about 72 minutes. That was just to take off the husk. Thoroughly worked, I allowed Xander to puncture the shell with his Leatherman so I could sup the sweet nectar. Despite how these stories normally end, it was definitely not the best coconut I ever had. Next time I'm going to spare myself the effort and just buy one from a smiling, machete-wielding kid.