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Ecuador
 Photo: Morley Read
Ecuador
 Photo: Morley Read

Ecuador: Monkeying Around In The Jungle
By Amanda Davis

I wake up to the sound of one of the monkeys jumping down onto the tin roof that covers my screened-in room.  After a night of rainfall I open my eyes to the sunlight casting itself on me lying on my moldy bed.  Emily, my roommate, is already up.  With a deep sigh I spring to my feet.  I know it’s going to be hot, but I need to protect myself from the bugs.  I put on my long-sleeved red shirt, stained jeans, and my rain boots that I almost forgot to shake out.  You never know what might crawl inside them when you are living in the jungle.

I am living in the Ecuadorian rain forest.  Eight hours by bus from Quito, then a short canoe ride after that.  Located at the edge of the Amazon is Selva Viva, and inside Selva Viva is an animal refuge called Amazoonico.  I am living without electricity; I can only take cold showers; I look like I have a severe case of the chicken pox thanks to the bug bites, and there is no way out.  Well, except by a canoe.

It is 7:00 am and time to start my ten-hour work day.  I make my first hike of the day up the ninety-five gruesome steps to the bodega from the volunteer house.  Olivia, the manager of the refuge, is already there chopping up fruit.  I enter the building carefully so that none of the monkeys can sneak through the door after me.  The bodega is a gastronomic heaven to them: walls full of hanging horitos and plantains, a counter piled high with papaya, and stacks of yucca and corn on the floor.  There are buckets that need to be filled with food.  Each group of animals has a specific diet, and monkeys can be particular about their bananas; some like green ones and others only the yellow ones.  I begin by locating the sharpest knife I can find with a decent handle and begin chopping fruit.  Slowly the other volunteers trickle in.

I decide to take care of the woolly monkeys today.  They are South America’s largest and furriest primate.  But before I feed the monkeys, I must clean their feeding area.  There are half eaten plantains and feces everywhere, but nothing a broom and a bucket can’t handle.  Afterwards I head back over to the bodega to retrieve the bucket of food I had prepared earlier.  I step out the door of the bodega and the word “comida” bellows out of my mouth.  Olga, Capari, Herman, Milma, Lulu, Medicu, Uspa, Ushi, comida!  The monkeys begin to hone in on me, swinging from trees around me till we converge upon the feeding table.  Aside from the food, it is an important part of the day for another reason because I need to make sure all the monkeys are healthy and injury-free.  It took a good month before I was able to recognize the individual monkeys, but eventually I learned their personalities and the subtle physical differences.

All of the woolly monkeys have a different story, but the common theme is people's failed attempts to keep them as pets.  Our goal is to try to fully reintroduce them into the jungle.  They live freely in the refuge now, but they are still very dependent on human care.  These woolly monkeys are also very young, and some still need to be given milk every day. 

Being “Uspa mom” is the best part of taking care of the woolly monkeys.  Uspa is a baby that needs to be given milk three times a day and is feed separately so that none of the other monkeys steal her food.  I mix a dry milk formula with water in a small bowl to prepare for the feeding. Uspa gets her milk at the same time every day, and anticipates it by waiting near the tree outside the bodega.  As soon as she spots me, she climbs up my body and wraps her tail around my waist for support.  She uses her hands to hold onto the bowl and slurps it down like a kid finishing their cereal at breakfast.  The milk clings to the fur on her face like a mustache as she grabs the branch on the nearest tree to swing off of me.

I can hear people laughing and talking in the distance.  A tour group is coming up the stairs.  This is how Amazoonico receives money for the refuge—by giving tours of the center.  It is a catch-22 for Amazoonico.  They don’t want the monkeys to get too used to humans, but they need the money to keep the place running. I am constantly telling the tourists not to touch the monkeys, especially since some of them do bite.  I have seen enough people walk away from this place with monkey bites because they were not able to leave them alone.  The group of people coming up the stairs now are English speakers, meaning I will give the first tour of the day. I start my speech with: “Amazoonico is not a zoo; it is a rescue center for animals of the Ecuadorian rainforest.  This is just a small part of the project.  We have multiple release projects inside the forest we call Selva Viva.”  Then I take them around to all the different animals, including ocelots, birds, turtles, capybaras, peccaries, and the multiple species of primates.  On average I lead four tours a day that last about an hour a piece.  

             

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