In a forest where tall palms trail brown skirts of discarded leaves and hornbills break the atmosphere above the canopy with a rush of air like a giant shaking sheets of cardboard, we walked to find the monkeys with feet as light as possible and muscles tense with expectation. The air was heavy and pressed damply on our skin as the cicadas swelled to fever pitch and dead wood crumbled underfoot with muffled groans, and the slightest incline left us gasping, but determined to continue. Pigs ran alongside us for a while, keeping us company in our domesticity as we walked towards the wild.
The first monkey was black hair and pink skin retreating, taunting us with his unhurried, effortless stride as he melted back into the green. Then, as if to order and with a suddenness that stopped us in our tracks, we were outnumbered by curious faces, heads…
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Allison Hanes 