In an earlier chapter of my life I was fortunate enough to find myself in a research and rehabilitation camp for orangutans in Borneo, Indonesia. Sometimes wild orangutan infants were captured and kept as pets. Inevitably they grew too large and were kept in cages too small. The fortunate ones were discovered and sent off to camps such as the one that I was at, and over time they were reintroduced to the wild.
There were probably about two dozen ex-captive orangutans living around the camp. Of them, two were adolescents. From a distance they looked almost identical. However, Rombe was friendly and the other one, Rico, was dangerous. In fact, he had been terrorizing people in the camp, especially women.
One afternoon I was by myself when a lone orangutan met me on the trail. I recognized the face—or so I thought—so I wasn’t afraid. (For anyone who isn’t familiar with these wonderful orange apes, a full-grown orangutan has five to seven times the strength of a human.) As the animal quickly approached, I suddenly realized it was Rico. Within seconds he was mauling me. I yelled for help. Very soon some of the staff arrived and frightened Rico away. But by this time my legs were bruised and scratched and there was a nasty bite wound that was bleeding.
