Rescuing Ladybugs. Jennifer Skiff
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understood the pain Twinkle was capable of delivering, but I couldn’t help but tempt fate. I put my index finger through a hole in the wire and scratched the top of his head. To my surprise, he leaned into the scratch like a dog.
Tempted to release the geese, I didn’t, fearful that this unauthorized act would interfere with the negotiations I hoped to have with the hotel’s manager. Instead, I fed them the equivalent of a loaf of bread.
As I neared the monkey enclosure, the tiny creatures with big eyes reached their arms through the metal bars, hands open, begging for a morsel of food. I walked around the cage quickly, handing each one a piece of watermelon, cantaloupe, or banana. They snatched the fruit with one hand, while holding on to the wire with another, and ate hurriedly.
I still hadn’t formulated a strategy for my meeting with Mr. Tabah, the hotel’s manager. I didn’t know what I was going to ask him to do. The previous night, I’d asked Guy for advice; he speaks fluent Indonesian and has lived on Bali for a good part of his life. Guy warned: “Indonesians will tell tourists one thing and do another. They know that you will leave. If that menagerie is bringing them money, they will not shut it down.”
Mr. Tabah, a tall, thin man with a high forehead and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, greeted me with a handshake in the hotel’s foyer at 2:30.
“I understand you are concerned about the monkeys,” he said. “How may I assist you?”
“Yes. I’m concerned for the monkeys, the geese, and the porcupine,” I replied.
“Why don’t we walk to them and talk along the way,” he suggested, motioning toward the door.
As we walked, I made a point to summarize my credentials: I had decades of experience working directly with animals in shelters and sanctuaries, among other things, and perhaps most of all, I had 150,000 animal-loving social media followers. Mr. Tabah seemed to understand that these followers represented a powerful force.
“Mr. Tabah, you have a very beautiful, special hotel,” I said.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“But I’m very disappointed to see such poor treatment of animals. It has ruined my vacation, not made it better. People come here to see animals in their natural habitat, enjoying life — not caged.”
“I understand what you’re saying.” He nodded.
“You do?”
“Yes. You are not the first person who has complained,” he said. “Many have complained and noted their displeasure when reviewing the hotel. But this is a complicated situation. This zoo was started by the man who started the hotel, and he’s been very proud of it. It has been a difficult subject to discuss with him.”
Mr. Tabah stopped between the porcupine and monkey enclosures. “We do our best to take care of these animals.”
“With respect, Mr. Tabah, there is no food or water in these cages, the monkeys are chained even inside the cage, and the porcupine doesn’t have a log to sit on or shade to protect him. He’s probably blind because of the sun exposure. And these geese — why are they even in here?”
“The geese are here because hotel guests complained of the noise they made at night as they walked the grounds. The porcupine, Twinkle, was part of the original zoo. We had another porcupine, his friend, that died. The monkey cage started with a few, and then people gave us their pet monkeys. They fight if they’re unchained.” He paused. “Miss Skiff, I am interested in what you have to say. What is it that you suggest we do?”
In that split second, as I looked into the eyes of the geese, who were watching intently and seemingly listening to our conversation, I decided to go for broke.
“Let’s release these monkeys back into the jungle. I’d like to build a proper enclosure for Twinkle, and I suggest you either find a good home for the geese or release them during the day if they are only causing problems at night. You won’t have to worry about feeding them because they will forage. In fact — why don’t we give that a try now?” I asked.
Mr. Tabah turned to a man who was gardening nearby and spoke to him in Indonesian. The man walked to the cage and unlatched the gate. The geese pushed open the door and sprinted across the lawn to the edge of the pond. Then, for what seemed like five minutes, they drank, scooping water with their bills and tossing it down their throats by lifting their heads into the air.
“Thank you,” I said, touching my hand to my heart. “This makes me happy.”
“I agree with you,” Mr. Tabah said, turning toward the monkeys. “I understand people don’t want to see this. But I don’t think we can release all the monkeys.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It is not something I am able to discuss with you,” he replied, looking serious.
I understood that I needed to be careful and respectful. I didn’t know the politics of the hotel’s zoo, but I could see he was genuinely considering my request. “I understand. How many do you think you would consider releasing?” I asked.
He wrung his hands, looking beyond the monkeys, lost in thought.
“I will have to get permission from our office in Jakarta. I would like to work with you. We will have to wait and see. If we are able to release monkeys, are you available to do this on the day after tomorrow?” he asked.
“I sure am,” I smiled.
In the lobby, as we parted, he asked me to call him Agus, and I bowed with my eyes closed and hands clasped, symbolizing my gratitude. “Terima kasih,” I said in Indonesian: “Thank you.”
I found Jon, Guy, and Nat on the terrace having cocktails.
Guy winced when he heard about my exchange.
“I’m sorry to disappoint, darling Jen, but they’ll never do it. I’ve lived here for thirty years. They want to please you, but there’s nothing in it for them.” He paused and took a long drag from his cigarette. “Are you terribly disappointed?”
“I have hope, Guy,” I said. “I hope you’re wrong!”
As I watched the sunset, my eyes canvassed the islands. The sea’s color was changing with the light, shifting from turquoise to an indigo blue. Despite the calm water and comforting colors, I remained anxious about what lay ahead.
That night I called Dr. Barbara Royal.
A good friend, Barb had a thriving veterinary practice in Chicago and was one of the few vets I knew who worked with exotic wildlife. I needed her advice. I explained the situation — I might soon be re-releasing monkeys into the jungle after years of captivity, monkeys destined to die otherwise — so how could I ensure their survival?
Barb asked if they could be taken to a rehabilitation center to prepare them for a release. When I explained this wasn’t possible — this remote island had no wildlife centers — she instructed me to feed up the monkeys. Then, on the day of their release, I should leave them near a source of fresh water and fruit and nut trees, along with a three-day supply of fruit.
The next day, after a massive monkey feeding, Jon convinced me to join a morning boat excursion to visit parts of the island not accessible by land. We left the quiet seaside village of Labuan Bajo on a twenty-eight-foot runabout and were immediately transported to another world. Emerald green hills jutted from turquoise water, and white beaches lit the way.
We hugged the coast for two hours, never seeing other people. The coastline was pure, untouched by development, and yet, beneath us, I was surprised to see that much of the coral was bleached white. We learned that it had been destroyed by dynamite fishing, an illegal practice where dynamite is thrown into the center of a school of fish. The dead or stunned fish float to the surface of the water and are easily collected. Just like development destroys habitat, dynamite was killing life-sustaining ecosystems.
On the way back, we detoured to a tiny, white island that appeared