Jos Zooilogical Garden

[Martin Hash]

Jos Zoo.jpg

Gwynne and I love zoos, especially quaint, parochial, out-of-the-mainstream parks where the animals seem to run the show. That is why when we saw the sign for a Zooilogical Garden in Jos, Nigeria, we just had to go even though no one wanted to go with us. The entry fee was the equivalent to sixty cents, and I could immediately tell by the immense amount of trash in the creek we crossed over at the gate that the experience would be memorable. The “zoo” was more macabre than pitiful. I have met people who would be appalled and outraged but we were fascinated.

The enclosures were composed of mud-bricks far into their life cycle, many with falling down walls, their steel mesh fences rusted away and patched with chicken wire, and well over half were empty. In the first complete sanctuary, a crocodile remained motionless at the bottom of a 10 foot pit amid refuse such as old soda bottles and black plastic bags. Someone had dropped a good-sized rock onto the croc’s back, presumably to get a reaction, but apparently the croc was accustomed to such baiting for the rock remained where it had hit.

A donkey, horse, and camel stood quietly together watching us for handouts. The ostriches sat right next to the fence, mouths open, large eyes following our every move - their feathers were matted and dull but otherwise the birds seemed healthy. The hyenas, whose faces were remarkably handsome for a creature with such a vicious reputation, had open sores covered with flies on their ears. The most heartbreaking captive was the stork, with bedraggled feathers and a swollen throat pouch. Alarmingly, a faded sign on the outside of the python pit said, “do not stone the snake,” and somebody had constructed a crude bamboo small defensive shield over the occupant’s daytime resting niche. The shield and surrounding area was piled high with thrown rocks. The snake, tightly coiled, was so big it barely fit under the meager safety. The most healthy animal was not even part of the exhibit: a native parrot roosting overhead in a tree, saying “hello” as each attendee passed under its perch.

As a loyal admirer of the show, “Chimp Eden,” I expected to feel sorry for the adult chimps in their lifelong confinement but, frankly, they seemed quite well adapted and psychologically resigned to their fate. We looked at them blankly while they looked at us with intelligence in their eyes. One old chip, gray-haired and knobby-kneed, reclined on a wood platform. He didn’t take much notice of us at first, just scratched himself, but eventually got up and sauntered to where we were standing and held his arm through the bars. Gwynne and I looked at each other, not knowing what to do when a small boy came up behind us selling peanuts. He urged them on me so I bought a bag, took out a peanut and held it up hopefully for the chimp to take. The chimp wasn’t interested – in fact, he seemed to be shaking his head “no.” I was unsure what to do, then the chimp curled his index finger in a come-hither fashion. Confused, I stepped closer but that wasn’t what he wanted – he instead pointed his finger at the bag of peanuts. Cautiously, I held up the bag of peanuts, thinking he wanted to take one from the bag himself… No, he wanted the bag, which he plucked out of my hand, pulled his arm through the bars and slowly walked back to his original perch where he stretched out with is legs crossed at the ankles and the bag of peanuts in front of him. He’d lost interest in me, methodically picking through the bag for the best peanuts, eating them deliberately, one-by-one. I suspect if there was a trained animal in that zoo, it was me. Unfortunately, two juvenile chimps held in a separate cage, appeared listless, bored, and generally without stimulation. Somebody had handed a plastic bag full of water to one of them, who casually sucked out the contents, interspersed with lip-smacking and bubble-blowing.

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On the other hand, the half dozen giant tortoises, all easily over a century old, seemed fit, well-fed, and more than able to excuse their thirty years of tenure in the park. I could imagine one of them, a real old-timer, telling its offspring, “yeah, I remember those 70 glorious years I spent in the Jos zoo before I met your great, great, great, great, great grandmother.”

A single lioness lay, tail twitching, halfway up on a terraced hillside. Her enclosure was so decrepit it was reduced to a travesty: the safety railing had long since been vandalized so that it no longer prevented spectators from putting their arms into pen. Thrill-seekers and attention-grabbers had left graffiti over much of the rock face inside the den. I hope the lion was well-fed?

A tiny store within the park sold cell phone cards to the loud accompaniment of American rap music - I thought at least the animals have something to listen to. A children’s playground was in the same disrepair as the rest of the park: no swings on the swing-set, other unidentifiable toys rusted beyond use or safety. Apparently, animals and humans alike received the same level of non-attention.

Accompanying the "zoological park” was a museum… I cannot explain why anyone would let their historical treasures be damaged and destroyed by a leaking tin roof? Rather than patch the holes, the curator simply placed many plastic bowls to catch the water – obviously going on for many years. A once beautiful garden had its paving stones undercut by rainwater runoff, its exhibits covered in splashed mud, and no attendees but us. All the lights were burned out in one of the rooms so that none of the displays were visible. The floor tiles under our feet were dangerously loose. The stamp and coin exhibit spaces were empty – stolen? However, a man did try to sell us postcards on the way out.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself – the experience was unique and thought-provoking. My wife’s thoughts were less prosaic, nor forgiving. As far as zoos go, the Jos zoo has got to be the most memorable I’ve ever been to.