Read Online Babylon's Ark by Lawrence Anthony - Free Book Online

Iraqis would not be seen dead wearing Kuwaiti gear, I was not sure how that went down.
    I then called everyone together; the five Iraqis and two Kuwaitis. It was time to formulate a plan of action.
    I had thought long and hard about what I was going to say. I would base my strategy on two central concepts that formed the core of every project I had tackled, whether in business or the bush: once committed to something, make it go right at all costs; and always complete any cycles of action that you start.
    In other words, whatever happens, finish the task you start—easier said than done with fighting and looting rampant all around. But even so, here in a city at war, I already had five people—Husham and his four helpers—prepared to risk their lives just to come to work. This was something precious to build on, and I knew that in order to foster fragile morale I had to keep them productively occupied.
    Speaking slowly in basic English, I pointed to the animal cages around us. Every one of these creatures, I said, depended on us. Every single one. It was up to us whether they lived or died.

    The American soldiers had said they would help us if they could, but the bottom line was the zoo lived or died under us. We were the last chance. And we were going to make damn sure these magnificent survivors, helpless victims of a brutal war of which they had no comprehension, were going to live.
    We lived in a world, I continued, where the environment and animals were viciously abused and soon we are going to pay a terrible price for our neglect. Here in Iraq, we would make a stand that would send a message to fellow humans: that you don’t do this to other creatures. More prosaically, I also reminded them that without animals there was no zoo and thus no jobs when the war was over.
    I then called upon each of them to speak about their experiences, as a type of catharsis.
    A man called Ayed was the first to come forward. “Nobody care about zoo or animals, or people working here, nobody help, everybody fighting, but we try. My wife also she help; she wash your clothes.”
    I hadn’t even thought of that and appreciated the offer, as there was no water at the Al-Rashid.
    Husham was next, speaking quickly and animatedly to the others in Arabic and then saying to me. “We thank you; we will be here; we will try.”
    Then the other Iraqis spoke. They knew each animal well and told of their anguish at what had happened to their zoo, emotionally recalling the names of the creatures they had cared for that had been slaughtered or were missing. It was a type of requiem for the lost animals. Dr. Husham translated their words into rough English, his broken syntax adding a quaint, poetic poignancy.
    â€œGiraffes gone—Ali Baba eat, sure,” said one, shaking his head at the utter futility of the slaughter.
    â€œBomb, lions come out. Soldiers kill too quick, shoot … brrrrrrt, ” said another, imitating a machine gun with his hands.
    â€œWhy all birds gone? Why Iraqi people do this?” asked another, grappling with the enormity of the trashed cages around him.

    After that came the anger. Some of them cursed Saddam Hussein, others the coalition forces. They needed their jobs; their families were as hungry as the animals and their future looked bleak.
    Each man repeated the same theme, albeit in different words: It was their zoo and it must be saved. No question about it.
    How were we going to do that? I asked.
    There was silence. The clarity of our predicament was suddenly and brutally distilled.
    I answered my own question. “We will do what we can, right now, using whatever we’ve got right here in the zoo. And we will make it go right, whatever happens.”
    The men nodded.
    The next question was would they be safe coming to work? Would the Americans and fedayeen busy shooting each other on the streets let them through?
    There was nothing we could do about Saddam’s thugs,