It was just past sunrise when the morning mist danced over the sacred pools of Angkor Wat. I was on my usual quiet trek through the forest, hoping to photograph a few of the more elusive macaques before the temple crowds arrived. I had no idea I was about to witness something unforgettable.
Among the dense vines and moss-covered stones, I spotted Mina, one of the older, more reserved female monkeys in the troop. She was unusually still, her back hunched slightly under the low branches of a fig tree. Something about her posture made me pause.
Then I saw the trembling.
Her belly shifted and contractedâslow, steady pulses. She was in labor.
I crouched down quietly, far enough not to intrude but close enough to observe. The forest seemed to hold its breath with me. The other monkeys lingered nearby but gave her respectful space. Even the noisy cicadas quieted, as though the entire jungle knew something sacred was happening.
For over an hour, Mina labored in silence. Occasionally she would shift or groan softly, adjusting her body against the damp earth. Her eyes darted occasionally to the other monkeys, but mostly, she stared into the leaves above, as if drawing strength from the trees that had watched over her for years.
Then, with a quiet but deep moan, it happened.
A tiny, slippery form emerged into the world. The baby flopped onto the earthâstill, pink, helpless.
My heart stopped.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Mina looked down, eyes wide with exhaustion and disbelief. Then, slowly, she reached for the baby and pulled it to her chest. With soft grunts, she began cleaning the infant with her tongue, carefully licking away the birth membrane.
The baby squirmed.
Then it let out a tiny squealâits first sound in this world.
I couldnât stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. There was something about this fragile life being born right there, in the shadow of one of the most sacred sites on Earth, that struck deep. It wasnât just a monkey giving birth. It was a reminder of the simple, powerful beauty of life.
The troop slowly began to approach. Mina held the baby tighter, protective. But they didnât threaten. One female, possibly a sister or cousin, came close and gently touched Minaâs shoulder. Another elder monkey sat a few feet away and watched quietly.
The baby, now cleaned and starting to grip with her tiny fingers, nestled into Minaâs chest fur. She was so small. Barely the size of a mango. Yet already, she had a name in my heart:
Alora.
It means âmy dreamâ in some languages, and thatâs what it felt like watching her enter the world. Like a dream I never knew I needed to see.
As the sun climbed higher, golden light broke through the canopy and illuminated them both. It felt like a blessing from the skies. Tourists would soon arrive, and the forest would again fill with footsteps and camera clicks. But in this moment, the jungle still belonged to Mina and Alora.
She adjusted her grip, lifting the baby slightly, and Alora let out a soft sigh.
That sigh felt like a thank-you.
To her mother. To the forest. To life.
I backed away slowly, not wanting to break the spell. I didnât need to capture it on film. I had already captured it in my soul.
And so, beneath the towering trees and ancient stones of Angkor Wat, a new story began. A baby monkey named Alora took her first breath.
And somewhere in that sacred forest, hope was born again.