At the zoo, Dena Rashed realises free agents are no better off than caged inmates "Gomaa," the little devil shrieked. "Your papa's dead!" Incessantly, compulsively, she kept repeating the bad news in the same infuriating monotone; and the poor Grivet monkey to whom she addressed herself -- I doubt if he was aware he had been christened Gomaa -- just kept staring at her. Like other residents of the Giza Zoo, once the third greatest in the world, Gomaa -- for lack of a better reference -- must be used to such insane intrusions. Yet the literature on the topic indicates that such formulaic statements are used routinely by children to provoke the monkeys; no wonder Gomaa looked about to bite off her nose. Of course, from where he stood, he couldn't do so. Such statements make up a hallowed tradition of the zoo, which seems to maintain its traditions no matter what happens elsewhere in the world. Opened in 1891 -- who would have thought of setting up such a vast space with samples of the world's most exotic plants and animals but Egypt's most extravagant Khedive Ismail, founder also of the (burnt down) Opera House and the modern city centre -- the Giza Zoo has grown into the most affordably popular holiday outing not only for children but for all limited-income Egyptians, which might as well be all Egyptians: for Sham Al-Nessim (Easter), people take their fesikh and onions there; for the Lesser Bairem, their kahk. Rome burns and the zoo lives on... None of which would have come up now except for an incident that made the headlines: two specimens of a Moroccan species of camel had been slaughtered and smuggled out as meat. Some contended the motive was to obtain particular organs indispensable to certain rituals of black magic. The truth turned out to be far less colourful alas, with police investigations revealing that it was the resident butcher who did the deed and that he did it simply to sell the meat -- because he was broke. The incident raised questions about security at the zoo and, being the setting for movie glamour -- mostly black-and-white -- what this beloved "piece of Europe" has come to. Many are too savvy to subscribe to the notion of glamour. As a middle- to upper-class lady, say you're going to the zoo in polite company and one of two things will definitely come up: that what few animals remain there are terribly abused; or that the place is too smelly and unclean to be an option. Sayeda Abdel-Wahab, a mother of three, thinks differently: the zoo is the outlet par excellence; the girls love looking at the birds; and, well, "I work so it's hard to get any time with them and when I do the zoo is perfect though the number of animals has gone down. But my daughters love it and it's still a very safe place for them." Likewise Ahmed Moawad, 22, for whom the zoo is the ideal setting for discussing the future with his 17-year-old girlfriend: "the only problem is, service is non-existent and everything is expensive. But then so is everywhere else in this country. You never know," he adds in a sarcastic tone, "maybe there are plans to privatise the zoo too." Nor is the idea as far-fetched as all that. The security breach has reinforced existing calls for an overdue upgrade, especially since the International Federation of Zoos suspended Giza in 2003; up until then, it had ranked third, after London and San Diego. According to Nabil Sedqy, general supervisor of the Zoological Gardens, a department of the Agriculture Ministry, "after an inspection visit, the federation members pointed to 14 breaches of the convention that have to be rectified before the zoo can resume membership." Membership facilitates grants and animal exchange programmes, yet not much has been done in five years. Standing next to the ostrich as if for a photo, Mohamed Fathi, a teacher, sighted with his two children, seemed happy enough nonetheless. He will come back, he says, because he finds it relaxing. And the children want to see more wild animals. "The lion, the elephant," one child intoned, "the crocodile, the turtle -- I'm here to see them all." For most children, indeed, this is what the zoo is all about. The concern is that their numbers are going down, especially since the giraffe died two years ago. But Sedqy says the zoo has no less than 40 lions -- an impressive number by any standards. "We don't show all our animals to the public. People always assume that if they can't see it it's not there, but there are cages where the animals live in peace." Indeed an open lion show took place two months ago, and that should have been proof enough. "Say what you will, you won't be able to argue with the numbers: 2,049 mammals, 4,137 birds and 745 reptiles. Two new giraffes should arrive within months; they cost us $200,000." And there are other, more acceptably adult and convincing reasons to go to the zoo: it provides children with plenty of space in which to play, for one thing. According to Sedqy, during the first week of August -- low season because of the heat -- some 100,500 people went to the zoo; on the average Friday over 10,000 people spent the day there. And it isn't always a pretty sight. The Grivet monkey shares his irritation with Mohamed Rezq, the black bear guard, who has worked at the zoo for 19 years -- enough to see how attitudes have developed. "There are more visitors than there used to be and while behaviour on the whole is improving, the animals still suffer especially during feast days when children throw fireworks in their faces. It always makes me wonder why someone who's paid to see an animal should make that animal suffer -- hurting it or giving it a panic attack." Sedqy sees this as a general problem, "in the culture of people" and it is next to impossible to solve. He recounts an occasion on which a man insisted that his son should feed the monkey a whole orange despite intervention from the guard, and the child ended up with an injured hand. It is the guards who have to play prefect and it is they who end up taking the blame. Zoo employees have their own problems. The ticket collector at the Elephant House has been there for a year and a half with neither insurance, medical cover nor even a contract. "I get LE3.5 a day, so I basically work every day. There are many of us, too. One bad thing happens and you're out on the street." His colleague, who has been at the zoo for three years, earns LE8 a day and feels there is nothing to look forward to with 15-year- old employees who still work on a temporary basis: "It's like we have no rights." Visitors like Ahmed Khalaf, an accountant, can relate: "it's such a shame so many employees are reduced to depending on the 25-piastre tip they get for letting a child feed the animal." Nor is Sedqy unaware of the problem: "At the moment, we only have four guards, only one of whom is appointed. I want to have all the others appointed with insurance, and I want to employ more staff. Sadly that's as far as the ministry will go. And when problems can only be solved with a bigger budget, there's nothing you can do." Sedqy envisages a high-security team: "Imagine 85 feddans guarded by four people. How could you keep the place safe?" With the number of visitors on the rise, too, the zoo should have its own solid waste disposal programme. "But most importantly, everyone knows there are rare plants in the zoo and the gardeners we now have are not sufficiently qualified to look after them. The ministry has been required to send us specialists..." Even extra revenues from raising the ticket price from 25 piastres to LE1, last May, are nor channelled back into the zoo budget. A higher ticket price has thus benefited neither zoo nor zoo-goers. For two mothers with six children between them picnicking on a blanket, the greatest advantage of the zoo has been its cheapness. "Though we can still come after the price was raised, I know there are those who won't be able to come as often." And another LE1 to see the elephant: some people pay right away but others argue with the by now stressed-out ticket dispenser or they think it over, and then they pass. Others still have less of a problem with the money than with the chain on the elephant's ankle. One married couple in their 20s who took their baby girl to the zoo were shocked and dismayed. "Isn't that horribly wrong?" asks Rania Hamdi, the wife. "Even the children were upset." For his part, lawyer Bahaa Gamal, the husband, adds, "this zoo is a treasure and it should be better kept. It used to be a much better place." For Sedqy, keeping the treasure is a matter of regaining its federal rank before all else: "we know what needs to be done to have our glory back. The problems the federation pointed out are justified and shouldn't be difficult to solve. But in the last few years, with people who had the right intentions but not the right qualifications, the zoo has been going in the wrong direction." To mention but one example in this regard: officials eager to beautify the zoo decided to keep the lights on at night, something which, as the federation pointed out, causes discomfort to the animals. Likewise the Elephant House, which is too small and makes no provisions for sand-and- water baths. "It's the welfare of the animals that's always disregarded." A new Elephant House costing LE1.7 million is in the process of being built. The zoo continues to pay its federation membership charge and Sedqy is working on fixing the problems. How long will it take? Three to 12 months, he says, smiling diffidently. "By the end of which the zoo will be firmly back on track."
