Authors: Lawrence Anthony
Babylon's Ark (6 page)
Often in strange places you wake wondering where the hell you are. Not in Baghdad. You knew every minute, indeed every second, exactly where you were: in a damned war zone.
Sweating, filthy, scratchy, mosquito-itchy, noisy ⦠it was wretched. Absolutely wretched.
I closed my eyes.
The initial thrill of adventure was by now harshly sullied by the reality of where I actually was. In the middle of a very real, very violent war. This was not part of the plan. Not at all.
God, I'd better not tell Françoise about this.
A
T EXACTLY 6:00 A.M. I shot out of bed as a terrifying commotion thundered through the Al-Rashid. It was as though a squadron of jumbo jets had flown straight into my hotel roomâthe bone-shuddering whine of scores of turbocharged engines at full throttle.
T EXACTLY 6:00 A.M. I shot out of bed as a terrifying commotion thundered through the Al-Rashid. It was as though a squadron of jumbo jets had flown straight into my hotel roomâthe bone-shuddering whine of scores of turbocharged engines at full throttle.
I rushed to the window. Outside, seven stories down, drivers of the Third ID were starting up their Abrams tanks for the early-morning patrol. I realized how harrowing it must have been for civilians to watch a formation of these awesomely powerful machines storm their city. Until you got used to it, the crescendo was as disorientating as a panic attack.
I later learned it took twenty-five liters of gas just to kick one of these jet-turbine-powered juggernauts into life. And every morning, the volcanic whining of tanks warming up would be my wake-up call. At the Al-Rashid, that's what passed for room service.
I washed with some of the precious bottled water we had brought from Kuwait. The Kuwaitis were also awake, and after a
meager canned breakfast we went downstairs to find an escort to the zoo. It was only a mile or so away, but no civilian car could travel unaccompanied in the immediate area surrounding the Al-Rashidâit would be bombed to smithereens in a blink.
meager canned breakfast we went downstairs to find an escort to the zoo. It was only a mile or so away, but no civilian car could travel unaccompanied in the immediate area surrounding the Al-Rashidâit would be bombed to smithereens in a blink.
While waiting I found a pile of guest questionnaires on the reception desk, quizzing patrons on whether they had enjoyed their stay at the hotel. I filled one in commenting on lack of room service, food, water, flushing toilets, and electricity. Under “Guest Comments” I complained there were armed men running all over the place shooting at everything in sight and recommended this be reported to the police as soon as possible.
Deadpan, I handed it in to Lieutenant Case saying that unless these matters were dealt with I would consider taking my business elsewhere.
Lieutenant Case guffawed, “apologized” for the inconvenience, and suggested I forward my complaints to a certain Mr. Saddam Hussein, proprietorâbut unfortunately he had left no forwarding address.
Case had assigned an armored troop carrier to chaperone us to the zoo, and the distant thud of a mortar bomb greeted us as we left the hotel, followed by the staccato of rifle fire. The Black Hawks circling above dipped their cockpits as they swung toward the firefight, somewhere in the east of the city. The soldiers didn't flinch; this was just the heartbeat of Baghdadâa flare-up here, another one there. They erupted all over the place like minivolcanoes. I marveled at the soldiers' nonchalance, little knowing that within days we would be exactly the same.
Once in the park, soldiers duct-taped the word
ZOO
across the hood of my hired Toyota. Lieutenant Szydlik radioed all checkpoints instructing that a red-bearded Anglo wearing a khaki baseball cap with the words
Thula Thula
stenciled on it and two Arabs with white and green Kuwaiti Zoo caps, in a new white Toyota with the word
ZOO
taped on it, were to be allowed access throughout the high-security zone. We were not, repeat not, to be fired upon. It
possibly was the strangest order the soldiers had been given since they took the city.
ZOO
across the hood of my hired Toyota. Lieutenant Szydlik radioed all checkpoints instructing that a red-bearded Anglo wearing a khaki baseball cap with the words
Thula Thula
stenciled on it and two Arabs with white and green Kuwaiti Zoo caps, in a new white Toyota with the word
ZOO
taped on it, were to be allowed access throughout the high-security zone. We were not, repeat not, to be fired upon. It
possibly was the strangest order the soldiers had been given since they took the city.
I was also instructed to drive extremely slowly, to stop at least fifty yards from every checkpoint, and to get out of the car with hands exposed and identify myself. I was told not to walk anywhere outside the zoo or hotel grounds. But most important, the Kuwaitis and I had to wear our baseball caps wherever we went. If we lost our headgear, it was possible we would be shot on sight.
Dr. Husham, who had got into the park by clambering over a burnt-out truck jammed in a bomb-blasted gate at the northern entrance on Zaitun Street, was waiting for us. With him were four staff members whom he had managed to contact. I could see they were famished and immediately gave them some dollar bills as advance wages. Abdullah Latif also handed them souvenir Kuwait City zoo T-shirts and caps. He meant well, but given that most Iraqis would not be seen dead wearing Kuwaiti gear, I was not sure how that went down.
I then called everyone together; the five Iraqis and two Kuwaitis. It was time to formulate a plan of action.
I had thought long and hard about what I was going to say. I would base my strategy on two central concepts that formed the core of every project I had tackled, whether in business or the bush: once committed to something, make it go right at all costs; and always complete any cycles of action that you start.
In other words, whatever happens, finish the task you startâeasier said than done with fighting and looting rampant all around. But even so, here in a city at war, I already had five peopleâHusham and his four helpersâprepared to risk their lives just to come to work. This was something precious to build on, and I knew that in order to foster fragile morale I had to keep them productively occupied.
Speaking slowly in basic English, I pointed to the animal cages around us. Every one of these creatures, I said, depended on us. Every single one. It was up to us whether they lived or died.
The American soldiers had said they would help us if they could, but the bottom line was the zoo lived or died under us. We were the last chance. And we were going to make damn sure these magnificent survivors, helpless victims of a brutal war of which they had no comprehension, were going to live.
We lived in a world, I continued, where the environment and animals were viciously abused and soon we are going to pay a terrible price for our neglect. Here in Iraq, we would make a stand that would send a message to fellow humans: that you don't do this to other creatures. More prosaically, I also reminded them that without animals there was no zoo and thus no jobs when the war was over.
I then called upon each of them to speak about their experiences, as a type of catharsis.
A man called Ayed was the first to come forward. “Nobody care about zoo or animals, or people working here, nobody help, everybody fighting, but we try. My wife also she help; she wash your clothes.”
I hadn't even thought of that and appreciated the offer, as there was no water at the Al-Rashid.
Husham was next, speaking quickly and animatedly to the others in Arabic and then saying to me. “We thank you; we will be here; we will try.”
Then the other Iraqis spoke. They knew each animal well and told of their anguish at what had happened to their zoo, emotionally recalling the names of the creatures they had cared for that had been slaughtered or were missing. It was a type of requiem for the lost animals. Dr. Husham translated their words into rough English, his broken syntax adding a quaint, poetic poignancy.
“Giraffes goneâAli Baba eat, sure,” said one, shaking his head at the utter futility of the slaughter.
“Bomb, lions come out. Soldiers kill too quick, shoot â¦
brrrrrrt,
” said another, imitating a machine gun with his hands.
brrrrrrt,
” said another, imitating a machine gun with his hands.
“Why all birds gone? Why Iraqi people do this?” asked another, grappling with the enormity of the trashed cages around him.
After that came the anger. Some of them cursed Saddam Hussein, others the coalition forces. They needed their jobs; their families were as hungry as the animals and their future looked bleak.
Each man repeated the same theme, albeit in different words: It was their zoo and it must be saved. No question about it.
How were we going to do that? I asked.
There was silence. The clarity of our predicament was suddenly and brutally distilled.
I answered my own question. “We will do what we can, right now, using whatever we've got right here in the zoo. And we will make it go right, whatever happens.”
The men nodded.
The next question was would they be safe coming to work? Would the Americans and fedayeen busy shooting each other on the streets let them through?
There was nothing we could do about Saddam's thugs, but I pledged to get whatever passage and protection I could from the Americans. My staff, like all civilians, was not allowed even to approach checkpoints and had to come the long way around, through the bomb-blasted gate on the northern perimeter of the park. However, I had no doubt men such as Lieutenant Szydlik would assist us.
Ticking with my fingers, I tabled our priorities.
First we would get what water we could to the cages, as we had done yesterday. That was essential. Water was life.
Next we would feed the animals with what was left of the buffalo meat from Kuwait.
Then we would inspect the animals to determine which ones needed emergency medical attention. I stressed the word
emergency,
as the entire wrecked zoo's inmates needed urgent care. I had brought a limited supply of medicines and antibiotics with me from the Kuwait City zooâbut unfortunately no sedativesâand said I would try to get disinfectant and other basic pharmaceuticals from the Americans.
emergency,
as the entire wrecked zoo's inmates needed urgent care. I had brought a limited supply of medicines and antibiotics with me from the Kuwait City zooâbut unfortunately no sedativesâand said I would try to get disinfectant and other basic pharmaceuticals from the Americans.
Hygiene would be the next priority; we would have to scrub the filthy cages until they were livable.
Last, I repeated what I had said to Husham the day before. Any staff members who came back to work would be paid. As I said that I waved a crumpled dollar bill.
“Dollars make them more brave,” said Husham, and they all burst out laughing.
I had been waiting for something positive to end the meeting on and decided this was it.
“Let's get started,” I said.
That humble gathering of very ordinary men held in the shell of a wrecked office was possibly the most crucialâand emotiveâmeeting in the zoo's history. Amid the chaos and carnage, without even a chair to sit on, the tiny group of men huddled around me as I outlined in the sand my vastly overoptimistic plan of action.
Somehow, without me even knowing, my simple wordsâ
food, water, care, nurture
; the essence of Mother Earthâtouched a chord. We were going to save the zoo, whether we dropped dead in the attempt or not. I could see it in their eyes. Their determination was tangible. Dr. Husham in particular was moved almost to tears.
food, water, care, nurture
; the essence of Mother Earthâtouched a chord. We were going to save the zoo, whether we dropped dead in the attempt or not. I could see it in their eyes. Their determination was tangible. Dr. Husham in particular was moved almost to tears.
This was to be our stand. This was more than just a zoo in a war zone. It was about making an intrinsically ethical and moral statement, saying: Enough is enough. You just can't say to hell with the consequences to the animal kingdom. It's all very well getting rid of a monster like Saddam, but that doesn't mean we can forget what we are doing to the rest of our planet. It doesn't excuse a zoo getting trashed just because nobody had the foresight to put a basic survival plan in place for hundreds of animals utterly dependent on humans.
As the men grabbed whatever receptacles they could to ferry water, I walked around the shattered grounds, stopping at every inhabited cage. It was an individual ritual I would go on to repeat daily, calling to each animalâbe it a lion, tiger, or timid badgerâand as it warily came to the bars I would speak softly, words of encouragement and comfort.
First to come to me was Saedia, the blind brown bear. At last out of her terror-stricken fetal hug, she tentatively approached the bars.
Her eyes were milky opaque, but I sensed somehow she could picture me.
Her eyes were milky opaque, but I sensed somehow she could picture me.
“It's going to be all right, girl,” I said softly. “You're going to be safe now. We've got nice food for you. We've got water for you to drink. When it gets too hot, we're going to give you a nice long, cool shower. There're going to be no more bombs here. It's going to be all right.”
She cocked her head. I believed she had acknowledged me. At least I wantedâneededâto believe that. I knew from past experience that it was vital to get an acknowledgment, be it as modest as a furtive look or a small body movement.
I moved on to the next cage, then the next, speaking quietly until I got some form of recognition, no matter how insignificant, from each animal.
While this may seem odd to some, anyone working with wild animals knows positive communication is possible and a physical presence, using body language and words, pays absolute dividends. It's uncanny how even the most feral creatures respond to persistent care and communication. This doesn't mean you get into a cage with them; it's no warm and fuzzy Disney movie. It means genuine rapport respecting the fundamental tenets of the natural world. I had no doubt the shell-shocked animals sensed what was going on and that things would now get better. It was this message I wanted to project to them simply by being there ⦠acknowledging them ⦠letting them smell me. If the zookeepers remained upbeat, that optimism would rub off onto the animals. Those who scoff have no idea of the settling effect on wild animals of a positive, caring frame of mind.
Obviously I had no illusions that this rapport was going to happen quickly. The animals were in terrible condition, listless, starving, and stressed beyond belief, and their sole fixation was food and drink. They, understandably, could barely react to any stimuli other than those basic cravings.
But I knew my persistence would pay off. And from that day on, no matter what happened, I took time to speak words of compassion to them, soothing them and watching for acknowledgment.
The vets by now had done their rounds and came to give me a situation report. The lions would be okay if we could get enough water trickling in. However, the bombed wall of the den needed instant repairs. The giant cats had already escaped on two occasions, and once they got their strength back there was no doubt they would again break out to forage. Three had already paid for that with their lives.
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