In the dense green heart of Angkor Wat, the morning started like any other. Birds chirped above the canopy, the air hung thick with mist, and monkeys darted through the trees like whispers of the jungle. But one monkey stood out that day—MOKA, the young explorer with an energy that just wouldn’t quit.
She wasn’t a baby anymore, but MOKA still carried that fearless spark of youth. She was curious, clever, and always the first to dive headfirst into something she probably shouldn’t. That morning, it was a puddle. A deep, sticky, rain-fed puddle in the heart of the forest. And MOKA didn’t just step in it—she lived in it for a while.
By the time she climbed out, she looked nothing like the MOKA we knew. Her fur—normally sleek and sun-kissed—was matted with mud. Bits of leaf clung to her arms. Her face was smeared with a dark streak that made her look like she’d walked through a chocolate storm.
But when she looked up at me with those bright, alert eyes, she didn’t seem ashamed. She was proud. Look what I found! her face seemed to say. Look what fun I had!
I couldn’t help but laugh. And then I filled the wash bucket.
You see, around here, we care for these monkeys like family. Not because we have to—but because we want to. They trust us. They seek us out when they’re hungry, when they’re scared, and sometimes… when they’re just too messy to handle on their own.
MOKA perched quietly on the stone ledge beside the water, chirping low and watching as I dipped the cloth in. She didn’t flinch when I started with her arms. She knew this ritual. She trusted these hands.
I took my time, wiping the muck from her cheeks, smoothing her fur with warm water, whispering, “You silly girl… what did you get into this time?”
Her head tilted, eyes half-closed as if to say: Whatever it was, it was worth it.
The bath became a moment of calm. As water dripped from her elbows and down her back, the forest seemed to quiet. For those few minutes, it was just us—me, MOKA, and the understanding between species that love doesn’t need words.
And that’s what struck me the most that day. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t fighting or whining. She was letting me care for her, the way one might care for a younger sibling, or a child who came home too muddy to go inside.
By the time we were done, her fur was clean and fluffy again. Her tail curled gently. She stood and shook herself off in that playful monkey way that always brings a smile. Then, without waiting, she climbed into my lap, rested her chin on my leg, and sat there—for nearly five minutes—just… being close.
MOKA’s not a baby anymore. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need comfort. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need love.
In a world where survival can be harsh and wild, a simple act like giving a bath becomes something deeper. It’s not just about cleaning mud. It’s about reaffirming trust, showing kindness, and giving a creature the dignity she deserves.
So next time you see a monkey like MOKA, covered in dirt with a glint in her eye, remember—behind that muddy coat is a heart that still knows how to give and receive love.
And for those of us lucky enough to be part of that moment, it’s a gift we never forget.