In the warm afternoon light, a tiny baby monkey sat trembling on a cloth beside a rescue station. His name was Nilo, and he was no more than a few days old — small, thin, and completely covered in dust and dirt. His fur was sticky with dried mud, and leaves clung to his tiny body.
But what stood out most was his cry.
It was loud. Sharp. Desperate.
Nilo screamed with every bit of strength in his little lungs. His eyes were squeezed shut, his tiny fists balled up as he cried out over and over again. His belly growled with hunger, but he was too upset to drink. He shook his head, rejected the bottle, and cried harder.
He didn’t understand where his mother was. He didn’t know why he felt cold, or why the world was so big and unfamiliar. All he knew was that something was missing — something soft, warm, and safe.
The caregiver stayed patient, gently holding him close. She cleaned him slowly with warm water and a soft cloth. Each wipe seemed to calm him just a little. Bit by bit, the mud disappeared. His face, his fingers, his little feet — they began to shine under the dirt.
Finally, after the bath, wrapped in a warm towel, Nilo stopped screaming. His cries turned into soft whimpers. Then, as the bottle returned, he opened his mouth and drank — slowly at first, then hungrily.
Tears still clung to his eyes, but now they were mixed with relief.
He had been scared, filthy, and starving.
But now, in gentle arms, belly full and body clean, he began to drift into a peaceful sleep.
