It was a quiet afternoon at Adorable Monkey Park. The sky was bright, the breeze was soft, and most of the troop had gathered near the big rock pond to nap, groom, and snack on fallen fruit. It should’ve been just another peaceful day.
But not for baby Mimi.
She was barely two months old — still wobbling when she walked, still needing her mother every hour. Her fur was soft and patchy, her hands small and clumsy. What Mimi needed most was love, care, and milk. But today… she got none.
Because her mother, Rozy, simply walked away.
At first, we thought it was temporary. Some monkey moms occasionally let their babies explore a few feet away. But this was different. Rozy didn’t just walk away — she climbed up, far into the high trees, never once looking back.
And Mimi?
She was crying.
Not just once. Not just lightly. She cried over and over — her voice thin and desperate. She took tiny steps in the direction her mom had gone, stumbling over roots, falling on her belly, crying louder each time she tripped.
“Mama! Mama!” it sounded like.
She reached out with both arms toward the trees, toward the direction Rozy had vanished. Her face was scrunched in panic, her little body trembling. The other monkeys looked at her. Some approached out of curiosity, but no one intervened.
And Rozy… still didn’t return.
I stood frozen for a few seconds. We’d seen neglect before, but this felt different. This was cold. Purposeful. Like Rozy didn’t want her baby.
Eventually, Rozy did come back down — but only because she spotted another female monkey eating papaya and wanted to steal a bite. She brushed right past Mimi, stepping over her like she wasn’t even there.
Mimi ran up to her — reaching, crying again. She tried to latch onto Rozy’s chest, searching for milk.
Rozy shoved her away.
Yes. With her hand, she pushed her baby off her body and walked around the other side of the tree. Mimi toppled backward onto the ground, stunned. She cried louder now, her voice cracking with exhaustion.
I’ve never seen something that hurt me so deeply.
Rozy sat a few feet away, eating, grooming herself, ignoring the wails of her baby. We watched as Mimi crawled again, this time slower, shakier, her cries now softer and broken.
She didn’t understand. She didn’t know why her mother didn’t want her.
Finally, one of the older females in the troop — not even related to Mimi — came and sat beside her. She didn’t nurse her, but she groomed her softly, letting her curl against her side. It was the only comfort Mimi received that day.
Rozy didn’t even glance at her.
We’ve since learned that Rozy, for reasons we don’t fully understand, has shown signs of maternal rejection since the day Mimi was born. Some monkey moms suffer stress, hormonal imbalances, or simply lack the instinct to nurture. But knowing the reason doesn’t make it any less painful to watch.
This was just part one of what we now call Mimi’s survival story.
A story of a baby who had to fight for love. A baby who cried and cried, not understanding why her mama didn’t answer. A baby who found comfort not from her own mother — but from strangers.
We kept a close eye on her that day. Our team moved in gently to offer support where we could — placing soft fruit nearby, monitoring her breathing and behavior. She eventually stopped crying and fell asleep beside the other female, her little arms clutching whatever warmth she could find.
Later that evening, Rozy finally allowed Mimi to cling to her. But only briefly. As soon as Mimi tried to nurse, Rozy twisted her body away again.
We’ve seen this happen multiple times now. That’s why we’re documenting it — not to blame, but to understand. And to help.
Because baby monkeys like Mimi are the ones who need us most.
They’re the ones who fall through the cracks. The ones whose hearts break long before their bodies ever get strong. The ones who don’t understand why love is denied to them.
We don’t know what Part 2 of Mimi’s story will look like. But we do know this — she’s not alone. Not anymore. Not with us watching. Not with you caring. Together, we will make sure her cries are heard, her story is told, and her heart — no matter how bruised — gets the love it deserves.