Angkor Wat Jungle, Cambodia — The sun broke gently over the treetops, painting the forest in warm hues of gold. Birds chirped their soft morning songs, and deep within the ancient ruins, something far more tender was unfolding.
She was just three days old.
So tiny. So vulnerable.
Her fur still slightly damp from birth. Her eyes still adjusting to light. She lay close to her mother’s chest, breathing fast, clinging to the soft warmth that was the only world she had ever known.
But she had no name.
The troop had welcomed many new babies this season, each eventually given a name by the local caretakers or volunteers. But for some reason, this little one hadn’t yet been noticed. Maybe it was the quiet way she entered the world… No dramatic cries, no pushing through a crowd. She had simply appeared—gentle, still, waiting.
We first spotted her nestled in her mother’s arms near the edge of a shallow pond not far from the outer Angkor Wat ruins. Her mother—young, perhaps too young—was doing her best. You could see the effort in every cautious step she took, every quick turn of her head. She wasn’t sure if she was doing it right… but she loved her baby with all her heart.
And still… no name.
As the day warmed, the baby monkey stirred, her fingers stretching as if reaching for something she couldn’t quite see. She made a soft sound—barely more than a whisper—but it stopped us in our tracks. A sound of need. A sound of life.
We crouched quietly nearby, watching. No interference. Just bearing witness.
The mother licked her baby’s tiny face, cleaned the dried leaf that had clung to her ear, and wrapped her body around the little one like a shield from the wild. But her eyes told another story: Exhaustion. Worry. Hope.
A group of young monkeys bounded past. A few stopped and stared. Some sniffed curiously. But most ignored the new mother and her child. One elder female watched from a distance. She didn’t approach. Instead, she tilted her head in quiet recognition—as if remembering her own newborn days.
We whispered between ourselves, the team of caretakers and watchers who monitor the troop:
“She’s only three days old…”
“But still no name…”
“Should we name her?”
Naming a baby is more than tradition—it’s identity. It’s love. It’s belonging. It says, You are seen. You are part of us. You matter.
And this baby matters.
Maybe her name should reflect her quiet strength. Or her wide, searching eyes. Maybe something Cambodian, to honor the land she was born on. Or something soft and sweet—like the way she curled her tail around her mother’s wrist while sleeping.
Some suggested Lina—a name that means “gentle” in Khmer. Others said Hope—because even in the wild, even in the struggle, this baby brought hope.
The truth is: she doesn’t care about a name. Not yet. All she wants is warmth. Milk. Safety. Her mother.
But we care. Because we saw her. We see her. And seeing her means giving her a name that carries her story forward.
So we’re turning to you—our global monkey family, our compassionate hearts across the U.S.—what should we name her?
Please, watch the video below. Look into her eyes. Feel what we felt. And if you have a name that feels right, share it. This little one is waiting.
Just 3 days old…
But already full of life.
Already loved.
Already home.
Now all she needs… is a name.