The Boy Who Talked to Tapirs

The sun in Johor doesn’t just shine; it wraps around you like a warm, damp towel. For twelve-year-old Ah Boy, that towel usually smelled like a mix of fermented fruit, wet mud, and elephant dung. And honestly? He didn’t mind it one bit.

While his schoolmates were busy playing mobile games or hanging out at the air-conditioned malls, Ah Boy was at the Southern Heritage Zoo. It wasn’t the biggest zoo in the world, but it was his world.

“Oi, Ah Boy! Don’t just stand there dreaming about nasi lemak! The tapirs won’t wash themselves!”

That was Uncle Musa. He was a man who looked like a sun-dried raisin but had the strength of a sun bear. He had been a zookeeper for thirty years and claimed he could speak “Animal-ish.”

“Coming, Uncle!” Ah Boy shouted, grabbing a stiff brush and a bucket.

The Gentle Giant

Ah Boy’s favorite resident was ‘Batik,’ a Malayan tapir with a coat that looked like someone had run out of black ink halfway through painting him. Batik was shy, gentle, and had a nose that wiggled at everything.

“Steady, Batik,” Ah Boy whispered, splashing some water on the animal’s thick hide. “Just a bit of scrub-scrub, then you get the nice jackfruit, okay?”

Batik let out a soft whistle. In Ah Boy’s head, that meant, ‘Hurry up, kid, the sun is getting hot.’

As Ah Boy worked, Uncle Musa watched from the side, leaning on a rake. “You know, Ah Boy, being a zookeeper isn’t just about cleaning poop and giving snacks. It’s about being a guardian. People see these animals behind fences and think they are safe. But out there?” He pointed toward the distant blue haze of the rainforest. “Out there, their homes are shrinking. We are the bridge between them and the people.”

Ah Boy paused, his brush dripping. “But Uncle, I’m just a kid. How can I be a bridge? I can barely pass my Math test.”

Uncle Musa laughed, a sound like gravel crunching. “Small steps, mamat. You take care of Batik today, maybe you teach a visitor not to throw plastic into the enclosure tomorrow. That is how it starts.”

The “Monkey Business” Incident

Around noon, the zoo started getting crowded. A group of rowdy teenagers was standing near the macaque enclosure. They were laughing and dangling a bag of peanuts just out of reach of a frustrated monkey.

Ah Boy felt a surge of heat in his chest that wasn’t from the sun. He remembered what Uncle Musa said about being a guardian.

“Excuse me,” Ah Boy said, walking up to them. His heart was thumping like a drum. “Please don’t do that. It makes them stressed, and the salty food is bad for their kidneys.”

One of the older boys looked down at Ah Boy’s muddy boots and oversized zoo vest. “Relax, dik. It’s just a monkey. They like it.”

“They don’t,” Ah Boy said, his voice steadier than he expected. “They aren’t toys. If you want to see them happy, watch them play with the enrichment logs we gave them. If they get sick, we can’t just buy a new one.”

The teenagers looked at each other, a bit embarrassed by the small boy’s seriousness. They tucked the peanuts away and moved on. From a distance, Ah Boy saw Uncle Musa give him a small, silent thumbs-up.

The Storm and the Lesson

Later that afternoon, the sky turned the color of a bruised plum. In Johor, when it rains, it pours. The wind whipped through the rain trees, and the air turned cold instantly.

“Ah Boy! Help me secure the bird sanctuary!” Uncle Musa yelled over the sudden thunder.

They raced through the rain, mud splashing up Ah Boy’s shins. They had to move a group of injured owls into the indoor veterinary wing. The wind was howling, and the owls were terrified, clicking their beaks and flapping wildly.

Ah Boy reached into a crate to calm a small Scops Owl. The bird nipped his finger, drawing blood.

“Ouch! Why did you do that? I’m trying to help!” Ah Boy cried out.

“He’s scared, Ah Boy!” Uncle Musa shouted as they pushed the heavy door shut against the gale. “Nature isn’t always ‘cute.’ It’s wild. It’s scared. And sometimes, even when you try your best, it fights back. Our job is to stay calm when they can’t.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet of the vet clinic, drying off and listening to the rain hammer the tin roof. Ah Boy looked at the small bandage on his finger. He realized that loving animals wasn’t just about the “cuddly” moments. it was about respecting their wildness, even the parts that bit or scratched.

Finding His Place

As the sun began to set, casting a golden-orange glow over the wet walkways, the zoo prepared to close. The air smelled of damp earth and jasmine.

Ah Boy went back to Batik’s enclosure one last time. The tapir was munching on some fresh leaves, looking perfectly content. Ah Boy leaned against the wooden railing.

For a long time, Ah Boy had felt like he didn’t fit in anywhere. He wasn’t the smartest at school, wasn’t the best at sports, and didn’t have the coolest gadgets. But here, amidst the heavy scent of the jungle and the rhythmic sounds of the animals, he felt important. He wasn’t just ‘Ah Boy the student’ or ‘Ah Boy the quiet kid.’

He was Ah Boy, the apprentice. The guardian of the bridge.

“See you next Saturday, Batik,” he whispered.

Batik wiggled his nose. ‘Don’t forget the jackfruit,’ the tapir seemed to say.

Ah Boy smiled, adjusted his muddy vest, and headed for the gate. He still had a long way to go, and many more buckets of poop to scrub, but for the first time in his life, he knew exactly where he was supposed to be.