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British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys 

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Old 04-09-2013, 04:53 PM
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British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys

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Scott Stump TODAY contributor
7 hours ago

Video: In a new book, Marina Chapman is claiming that after being kidnapped and left in the Colombian jungle, she was kept alive by capuchin monkeys, surviving on their discarded fruit and nuts, forgetting her name, and living as a monkey for years. NBC’s Michelle Kosinski reports.

In her new book, a British grandmother is claiming that she had quite a wild side in her youth.

Marina Chapman’s book, “The Girl with No Name,” claims that she was raised by monkeys in the Colombian jungle for about five years of her childhood, adopting their behavior and eating the same food. Chapman claims that a group of capuchin monkeys became her surrogate family after she was kidnapped and abandoned in a Colombian jungle when she was 4 years old.

She says she survived by eating the monkeys’ discarded fruit and nuts, eventually forgetting her parents and even her own name. She also learned how to climb high in the trees, which she can still do today in her mid-60s.

“I learned from them,’’ she told Michelle Kosinski on TODAY Tuesday. “They became my family.’’

After living with the monkeys for several years, Chapman says she encountered hunters who tried to sell her into domestic slavery in the Colombian city of Cucuta. She then ran away and became a thieving street kid before being adopted by a loving family in Bogota as a teenager and giving herself the name Marina.

Her eye-opening tale has led to questions of whether it’s not just the imagination of a child.

“It's not imagination,’’ Chapman said. “I know. I know what I know, I'm very sure. You become resilient, and you survive.”

“There's no evidence she's lying,’’ Douglas Candland, a professor of psychology at Bucknell University specializing in feral children, told TODAY. “What happens over time is of course the more you tell the story, some aspects of it get sharper, and some get forgotten.”

Chapman went from living in the wild as a child to living the domestic life when she met her husband at a church in Bradford, England, in 1978, after traveling there with a family who employed her. The couple has two daughters, Vanessa and Joanna, who convinced her that her amazing tale needed to be shared in a book.

“(Her story) made sense,’’ Chapman's daughters told Kosinski. “When you are raised by her, you just find it normal.’’

The daughters considered giving their mother a lie detector test, but instead they went to Colombia to try to verify her story. They say they tracked down locations and found people whom they claim corroborated their mother's story outside the jungle.

“Mom seemed more excited about finding her monkey family,’’ Joanna Chapman told Kosinski. “She’s learned recently that monkeys can live up to 55 years, and she’s recently gone, ‘They might be alive, I might find the one.'”

Twice in recent years, children have been found in the wild in Africa who were believed to have been protected by monkeys. Chapman, a grandmother of three, still occasionally embraces her wild roots, according to her family.

“She’s just not a lady,’’ Joanna joked. “Every morning she wakes up and she's like ‘I have a house! I’ve got feet!’ You know, the simple things."



Excerpt from the book below:

'The Girl With No Name': Marina Chapman tells her incredible story of survival
21 hours ago

Abducted as 4-year old from her village in South America and abandoned in the jungle, little Marina was facing perilous odds. But after being adopted by a gr;oup of capuchin monkeys, Marina Chapman was able to survive. But her adventure was still just beginning. Read an excerpt of, “The Girl with No Name.”

All trace of sleep had gone now, and as I opened my eyes fully I realised I wasn’t just surrounded, I was being watched. All around me, at a distance of several paces, were monkeys. Motionless and afraid again, I tried to count them. Now I was nearly five, I could count up to ten, and it seemed there were lots more than that number ranged around me, and perhaps more behind me, out of sight, which scared me even more.

But as I watched them, and they watched me, I felt my fear ebb a little. They looked like a family. Though they were all different sizes, they looked related. Big ones and little ones. Old ones and young ones. All with the same chocolate-coloured fur and paler belly, and ranging from what looked like the size of a small dog to no bigger than the parrot who’d bitten me. I knew they were wild animals and, after my experience with that parrot, I couldn’t trust them, but some sense made me feel they wouldn’t hurt me.

That feeling didn’t last. After a short time, one of the monkeys left the circle and began to approach me. He was one of the biggest, with a coat that was greyer than the others, and there was something about the way he loped towards me so boldly that made me think he was the one who ran the family. Afraid again now, because I didn’t know what he might decide to do to me, I shrank back into a ball, trying to make myself as tiny as possible, tucking my head tight to my chest and hugging my arms around my knees.

I was just about to squeeze my eyes shut when I saw him reach out a wrinkly brown hand and, to my surprise, with one firm push, knock me over onto my side. I quivered on the soil, tensed for the second blow that was surely coming. But it didn’t, and after some seconds I dared open one eye again, only to find that the monkey had lost interest. He’d now returned to the circle, squatted back on his hind legs and resumed watching me, along with all the others.

It wasn’t long, however, before a second monkey - another of the bigger ones - began walking towards me. It approached slowly on all fours but without a trace of uncertainty. This time I instinctively scrabbled to my feet, but as soon as the monkey got to me it reached out, grabbed one of my legs and yanked it from under me, causing me to fall back on the soil again with a thump. I curled into a ball again but felt the animal begin to dig around in my hair and move its leathery fingers over my face. Now I was frightened and wriggling, trying to free myself from its questing fingers, but, like the other monkey, it seemed to have decided I was a plaything; once again, I was firmly pushed over.

This action seemed to give the other, smaller monkeys confidence. Having decided I posed no danger to them, they all seemed to want to inspect me. They had been chattering to one another - using sounds that almost seemed like they were goading each other and laughing - and in no time at all some had come to check me over. Once upon me they began to prod and push me, grabbing at my filthy dress and digging around in my hair.

‘Stop it!’ I pleaded, sobbing. ‘Get off me! Go away!!’ But they took no notice and I had to wait, cowering and whimpering, until they’d finished their inspection. I could feel myself relax just a little, however, because if they’d wanted to hurt me then surely they would have done so by now. They hadn’t and now they seemed to lose interest altogether, returning to whatever it was that they had been doing in the dense undergrowth from which I presumed they’d come.

Having nowhere to go, and still fearful of running, in case they chased me, I sat in the clearing and watched them. They climbed the surrounding trees, they played and dug around in one another ’s coats, they picked up things and popped them in their mouths. Nuts and berries? Grubs and insects? Small lizards? It was difficult to see at a distance. And, I quickly noticed, they copied one another. A big one would do something and a smaller one would copy it. As I watched this, something my mother often said popped into my head, "monkey see, monkey do."

I sat and watched them for a long time. I was mesmerised and felt somehow reluctant to leave them. There was something about the way they seemed to enjoy one another ’s company that made them feel like a family. While close to them, I felt like I wasn’t alone any more.

They were so pretty too, with their milk-chocolate fur and camel-coloured bellies, their tufty grey ears and their dark, bushy tails. I was especially enthralled by their hands, which intrigued and bewildered me because, though they weren’t human, they looked just like mine. They were the same colour and size as my own, with four fingers, a thumb and hard fingernails.

And they were constantly active, leaping high and low, chattering and chasing one another round the trees and shrubs. They seemed to love playing and, in the case of what looked like the young ones, play-fighting and squabbling as well. They were watched over by the bigger monkeys, who would shriek and pull faces as if they were telling them off when things got too rough. This was just what the grown-ups in my world would do, and somehow this sense of order and family made me feel better.

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Old 04-09-2013, 05:19 PM
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Re: British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys

The Columbian Jungle!? No sorry. Even 55 years ago you arent safely trotting around a jungle with predatory animals, poisonous species of snakes, bugs, frogs, etc... tribesmen.... And whatever equivalent they have to the drug lords, cartel, etc that are there now.

She must have been abused and used this monkey bit as her escape - sad really.

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Old 04-09-2013, 10:01 PM
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Re: British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys

I think I will read this book. Sounds interesting.

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Old 04-10-2013, 03:23 PM
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Re: British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys

hard to believe but you never know. lol when she climbs those trees at her current age

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Old 04-10-2013, 07:36 PM
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Re: British Grandmother Claims She Was Raised by Monkeys

With so many bad parents in the world, perhaps, if she was raised by monkeys, she is better off

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