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Falling in Love With Primarily Primates

I have been to Primarily Primates three times — each trip consisting of a week-long stay. The picturesque refuge is located just outside San Antonio, Texas, yet seems worlds away from the city.

The first time I went, I was nervous. I wondered: Would it seem like a zoo — a sad spectacle of depressed animals sitting in the corners of cages? But the first thing one notices when arriving, opening the front gates and stepping onto the beautifully kept property, is the chorus of the monkeys, the loud chatter of the chimpanzees, the other-worldly songs that gibbons sing. It’s like being transported to a fairy-tale jungle.

I will never forget being introduced to the chimpanzees. I was petrified. I had no idea, before approaching them, that chimpanzees are very large and capable of twisting me into a pretzel. Everyone who works at Primarily Primates is in awe of the chimpanzees, and not just because of the DNA we share or their famous intelligence; all on their own, they are simply amazing creatures to behold. They live according to a social structure and set of rules that is both foreign to us and similar. It’s an honor to simply sit and observe.

I’ve been to other places: where animals are displayed and visitors come and go; where we are told sad stories about the animals and then get to pet or feed the residents. Primarily Primates is different. The animals aren’t expected to put on a show or interact with humans. The refuge is here to restore their dignity, to allow them to be the undomesticated beings they were born to be.

Primarily Primates is a place of stories. Some are sad, heart-breaking, devastating —but they are all, every one of them, inspiring. I began to learn them on my first trip to Primarily Primates, where I was greeted by Stephen Tello, the executive director. Stephen is instantly charming — a fast-talking, hard-working person who’s devoted his adult life to the cause. Stephen is also a story-teller, capable of recounting the vast trove of narratives. Stephen knows who likes what kind of food, or if someone has a penchant for a certain kind of human; the amusing anecdotes roll off of his tongue, one after the other. I remember my first tour of the place: how we patiently stopped to see each animal, recounting each one’s story. Stephen knows these individuals as other people know their family members. Stephen has raised a few of the residents at Primarily Primates from infancy — bottle feeding them, providing 24-hour care.

The stories are all over the map: there are animals released from circuses and zoo exhibits, who would likely have been killed if not for Primarily Primates. There are countless primates who survived vivisection; the kinds of research projects they endured range from psychological studies to gavage (force-feeding them poison) to vaccination studies.

My most recent visit to the sanctuary was just after 25 Java macaques arrived from a lab in the summer of 2010. All had been used in force-feeding experiments; in other words, they had only known abuse, manipulation, at the hands of humans. They had all lived in crates in a lab in New Jersey. They didn’t know the company of other macaques until they arrived at Primarily Primates; they’d never known the taste of fresh air, the experience of climbing a tree. It’s fascinating that some of the macaques aren’t fearful of humans. They trust the caregivers who bring them food, clean their enclosures, monitor their health and safety. Tonks, one of the rescued macaques, would actually reach out his hand when I walked by him — a poignant reminder to the rest of us that, perhaps, we should try to live in the moment.

Many of the smaller primates are abandoned pets, who became too much for their owners to handle when they became old enough to be dangerous. Some of the animals came through dramatic rescues that involved months of work sorting out the details; some of them arrived on a day’s notice or less.

Watching the sanctuary operate on a day-to-day basis can be exhausting, for there are about 400 mouths to feed. In addition to cleaning the living spaces each day, the staff must observe the animals for any health issues; that is no easy feat, as some of the animals spend their days high atop trees, in naturalistic settings with live trees and lush grass. The fresh produce is chopped and separated by hand; different types of animals have different feeding schedules. But the care and feeding isn’t random; the people assigned to individual areas know the animals and their spaces. Many have academic and personal passions for the kinds of animals they work with. The caregivers are loyal and observant, caring for their residents — indeed, loving them.

It’s hard not to fall in love. The first time I went, I became obsessed with Sampson — a hybrid Capuchin monkey who is well into his teens. In a word, he’s just plain precious, and beyond that I cannot explain why I am drawn to him so much. His former owner still visits him — a rare occurrence among the ex-pets at the sanctuary. She drops by to bring him peanut butter sandwiches. I spend a lot of time watching him and his two cohorts keep vigilant watch over the grounds, and I learn that Sampson has very strong opinions about everyone in his sight, and he has no interest in withholding them. He’s still the first person I go see when I arrive.

Everyone is entranced by lemurs — who should only exist in Madagascar, a country off the coast of Africa. But they have, tragically, become part of the pet trade. Thus do so many reside at Primarily Primates. (It always bears repeating: primates were never intended to live with humans as play-things.) Lemurs are arrestingly beautiful animals who are easy to project human qualities upon; I’m tempted to say their souls are gentle and kind, but maybe that’s only because they move with such elegance, and their eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Their spacious enclosures have trees that reach far into the sky. They climb, bathe in the sun, and just seem to enjoy being alive.

Books could be filled with the stories of animals at Primarily Primates, and I always pester Stephen about when he’ll begin writing his memoir. But I already know the answer: There’s no time. There are mouths to feed, individuals to care for, others still in need of rescue. There’s always another story unfolding.

Note, Oct 2010: Primarily Primates is delighted to inform ActionLine readers that we have brought our administrative and fundraising costs down to the point that fully 90% of Primarily Primates’ expenses go directly to animal feed, housing, care staff, medical care and public education.

Primarily Primates
26099 Dull Knife Trail
San Antonio, TX 78255-3420