Profile: A safe haven for the animal victims of abusive situations and illegal wildlife trade. Rescued animals come here for rehabilitation and hopefully, an eventual release back into the wild. The refuge’s name is drawn from Bolivia’s three major languages: Inti in Quechua means Sun; Wara in Aymara means Stars; Yassi in Guarani means Moon.

History: Founded in 1992 by Juan Carlos Antezana, a role model in conservation for many underprivileged Bolivian children. Aspiring to help poor children from the shantytowns around La Paz, Juan Carlos started out mentoring them, and taking them on hiking trips in the jungles. On one such hike, they came across a burned patch of forest and a starving caged bird, and Inti Wara Yassi was born. As word about this refuge spread, a steady stream of confiscated and sick animals started to arrive, and it began to grow into a full fledged sanctuary for species as diverse as birds, monkeys and wildcats.

Website: http://www.intiwarayassi.org

Through the Eyes of A Volunteer

I wake up to the alarm at 5:30am under the mosquito net and listen to the steady pounding of rain on the thin metal roof. The tropical rain that began at sunset the previous evening is still holding steady. At sunrise it will be replaced by a humid, sticky heat that will intensify through the day as it has for the two weeks that I have spent volunteering here, at this small animal refuge bordering the rain forest in central Bolivia. My work day at the refuge's Monkey Quarantine begins at 7am, and I am usually early. After a quick breakfast at the refuge's little vegetarian cafe, I hurry in to begin work.

I first check on the small monkeys who spend nights indoors. Cici, an orphan Capuchin, is the youngest, barely few months old. In the wild she would still be with her mother. I worry every morning that something dreadful would have happened to her overnight. She and her companions begin to chatter loudly when they see me. I bring them to the shaded area outdoors to join the thirty-five other monkeys who live there in bigger enclosures, all waiting out their quarantine period. Some are violent, and have behavioral problems from extended abuse. Others are young and playful, and have a better chance of being free again.

When I open her cage, baby Cici quickly clambers over my arm and onto my shoulder, her tail wrapping around my neck. She has had diarrhea for several days now, and seems extra tired today. At the small veterinary office, Cici looks tiny and vulnerable on the examination table, as she dips her entire head into her cup of tonic, lapping up the medicine. Inti Wara Yassi lies by the rain forest out-side the sleepy little town of Villa Tunari in Bolivia's central Chapare region. The closest cities are 170km away: Santa Cruz to the east, and Cochabamba to the west. The refuge is run by a few Bolivian employees and volunteers from the world over, who commit to work a minimum of 2 weeks, and pay $90-110 for the opportunity.

Breakfast is a frantic chore, where we work as fast as possible, trying to simultaneously feed forty hungry chattering monkeys. Later, as they play under the shade of avocado trees, I sweep the floor while other volunteers wash soiled monkey-blankets and do the dishes. Cici clings to my arm and tries to catch the water from my hose as I clean the cages. The morning passes quickly in a buzz of activity.

The post lunch respite is my favorite time of day, when I can watch the monkeys play. I can easily tell them apart, for each monkey has its own unique personality.

Arturo, a clever little Capuchin, likes to undo his rope and run off to hide, waiting to be found each time. He lies on my lap this afternoon, watching a tortoise amble through the enclosure picking up scraps that the monkeys have dropped.

Matensita, a beautiful Capuchin, lives in a large cage with her mate. She was kept tethered outside a house and abused for six years. As a result, she is very aggressive, and attacks everyone. She can never be free.

Miel is the prettiest little Capuchin, with golden fur and soft brown eyes. She quickly learns to undo my shoe laces when I am not looking. She also loves to climb onto people's heads, grabbing their hair with her tiny fingers.

And then there is Bibi, a quiet Spider monkey who likes to stay hidden. She is wary of people, but delighted me with a tight hug the first time I saw her. Bibi was rescued from sexual abuse at the hands of men. When I try to hug her back, she grows uncomfortable and slinks away each time.

The tiny squirrel monkeys are gentle and playful, each small enough to fit in my palm. There are several in the refuge, but a large band of wild squirrel monkeys raids the kitchen constantly bringing endless amusement to the volunteers.
The refuge houses about 300 monkeys of seven different species (spider, capuchin, squirrel, nocturnal, titi, howler and tamarin), birds, ocelots, pumas and a jaguar, as well as coatis, turtles, and snakes. Since the refuge is not funded by the Bolivian government or any other agency, it is usually strapped for funds and supplies. Dinner for the monkeys is at 6pm. Pandemonium reigns once again, as we hand out chopped vegetables and fruits. Dinner is followed by bed time, and we take the animals back into their enclosures one by one.

After one last stroll through the quarantine area to make sure the tarps above the enclosures are secure, I bring in the smallest monkeys. This is always the hardest time for me, when I pry Cici's tiny arms from around my neck and put her into her laundry basket for the night. As soon as she gets her blanket though, she cuddles with it and settles down.

The cafe is deserted. Most of the volunteers have left already. I get myself a cup of tea and sit down at a bench by the road to watch the rain clouds gather in the sky. There is a moist stillness in the air, an anticipation for the approaching rain.

Large trucks still thunder down the highway that runs outside the refuge, as they have been doing all day long. They are mostly filled to the brim with timber from the disappearing forests.

As refuges like Inti Wara Yassi struggle to accommodate orphan monkeys and wildcats for rehabilitation, they are fighting a losing battle. Wildlife habitat is disappearing at an alarming rate, and the resulting human-wildlife conflict is creating victims faster than refuges can take them in. Innocent animals like baby Cici are left clutching at a blanket for comfort when they should be with their mother in the wild.

There surely must be something more that I can do! I finish my tea, and ponder this question on my walk back to the hostel, as the first drops of rain start to fall.

The Chakana is the inca cross, symbolizing different levels of life through which the shaman transgresses in trance. He goes first to the underworld, embodied in the snake, and learns ‘I live. don’t lie.’ He passes through the current world, where the puma represents ‘I work. don’t steal.’ Finally in the upper world of the gods the condor speaks, ‘I love. don’t be lazy.’ For a shaman (or kallawaya, in Aymara) the snake’s skin, jaguar or puma’s tooth and condor claw are vital talismans.

A SELECTION OF EARTHLY ANIMAL SYMBOLS

Snake

'Amaro' or 'amaru' is the Quechua word for dragon or snake. The first Incan king was called Manco Capac Amaro. It is sometimes said that he himself was an amaro. More prevalent, however is the understanding that he in fact killed one, adding 'Amaro' to his name as a badge of victory. Thereafter anacondas and boas were often offered as tribute to Inca kings, and the snake adorned the royal arms and shield. This tradition was continued by the renowned Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, on whose shield two intertwined amaros are depicted.

In Quechua meteorology rainbows are understood to be enormous two-headed snakes that emerge from the earth during rain and return when the rain is over. This cycle marks the be-ginning and end of the rainy season. Because of this the snake has aquatic connotations and it is also said to have guarded lake Titicaca.

Puma

Lake Titicaca was originally called Lake Titicala, meaning 'puma rock,' but after it was wrongly transliterated to Spanish, it was left with the name it has today. There are varying stories as to why the name Titicala was originally given. One tells of a couple boating on the water who found many dead pumas floating there and named the lake in their memory. Another less gruesome version has live pumas brought in to protect the Isla del Sol, then known as Taypyquala. The animals were to be seen sunbathing on the rock all day, and gradually the name Tapyquala morphed into Trtiquala, meaning gray puma rock.

Condor

The condor is the ancient messenger of the gods, to whose high echelons it ascended, carrying the people's prayers. It may also have borne the sun into the sky. Incorporated into the Bolivian coat arms, it is the national bird of Bolivia, Chile, Colombia and Ecuador, and carries symbolic weight in Peru and Argentina.

Mama

The mama is the spirit of a great female deity. Natural places or plants can associated with a protective mama spirit, which often takes animal form. For ex-ample, as snakes are associated with water, a lake's mama might be a particular boa constrictor. Should that boa constrictor be killed, the lake will dry up.

Tangarana Ant

Tangarana ants in the Amazon are believed to be the mama of the tangarana tree. These trees have hollow stems housing colonies of large ants. They are very aggressive creatures, and should any foreign body bump against the tree bark the ants pierce them through the bark with a very painful sting. They also tend to the tree by snipping any unwanted vines, and the tree returns the favor by producing extra-floral nectars which they can eat. Traditionally, adulterers were tied to this tree to suffer endless pain from the powerful stings.

Pink Dolphin

Bufeos colorados, or river dolphins, are believed to be powerful shape shifters who might become human in order to impregnate women. Their whistling has caused them to be linked to shamans, who blow virotes, or magical darts. It is also rumored that sorcerers might attract women by use of a charm made from a ring of dolphin tissue, cut from around the vagina of a bufeo.

Conopa

The conopa is a stone or wooden llama figurine. It is painted with llama fat and dirt, and has a hole in its back where the fat can be packed tighter, and coca leaf offerings are sometimes placed. It is a symbol of fertility, good luck and prosperity and is placed both in llama corrals and people's homes.

Llama Foetus

Like the conopa, a dried llama foetus symbolizes prosperity, fertility and good luck, but it is even more powerful than the conopa. It might be buried under the foundation of a house or kept conserved in a large jar. It is given to the Pachamama as an offering.

Leashless, a Scottish terrier takes itself for a measured stroll down the avenida San Pedro. Strays are a reality in any major city, but in La Paz loose dogs are often not the tramps they appear to be. They may well have a lady tending to them at home, who lets them out to roam in the morning, and welcomes them back to a warm spaghetti Bolognese at night. Between the cities of El Alto and La Paz, there are 300,000 dogs on the street. Half of these are ‘semi-strays’ domesticated dogs posing as tramps, scavenging through bins alongside the genuine hobos. If you are used to a domesticated ‘pet and owner’ type of relationship between man and dog you may ask, what is the point of owning a dog if it is rarely seen?

The freedom dogs enjoy here in Bolivia can be understood as a more ancient and respectful alliance: dogs are free to do as they please and owners enjoy their company on occasion. Nevertheless, the reason why it occurs is not a high-minded respect for dogs’ roaming rights, but financial need and cultural norms. The majority of dog owners who let their animals run free possess animals for security reasons; they may not desire the company of a pet, but feel the need of extra protection. However, few of these owners can afford to keep a dog, and letting the dog roam the street and feed off the rubbish it finds provides a solution to this problem. In other cases, immigrants from the countryside, where it is common practice to let a pet roam free, continue to do so when they migrate to the city, failing to realize that while it is harmless to do so in the countryside, in the city it creates problems.

Susana Carpio Ormachea, president of Animales SOS has pinpointed the issues that free roaming dogs create: overpopulation, rabies, and dog bites are the most serious. Furthermore, unpleasant mess in the streets and an ‘irresponsible’ attitude towards animals are listed as the less pressing concerns. The City Kennel in La Paz receives 25 calls a day reporting dog bites. She informs me that in Bolivia 80% of the people who are attacked by dogs are children, and 90% of these attacks are to the face, often leaving the victims with scars. Furthermore, rabies is still prevalent in Bo-livia; other countries have managed to eradicate the disease, but here millions of bolivianos are spent each year on distributing free vaccinations and treatments. Stray dogs, undeniably, create health and economic problems. ‘Still the number of dogs continues to grow, and the number of people dying from rabies continues to grow, because a lot of dogs on the street have rabies, and you can’t blame anyone when you don’t know who the owners are’. This seems to be the underlying problem: owning a dog as a ‘semistray’ means that noone is given full responsibility for the animal, and therefore nobody can be held accountable for the trouble that they create. In other countries, when a dog mauls a baby, the owner is charged, and this incentivises people to control their pets; in Bolivia this is not the case, and so there is no example to discourage further incidents.

Stray and semistray dogs are a problem that need to be solved; the number of strays is increasing exponentially, and with it the gravity of the problems they create. Carpio Ormachea sustains that the method currently in use to diminish the number of strays is not successful. ‘At the moment they take the dogs off the street and they kill them. This doesn’t solve the problem. According to the OMS (World Health Organization), if you successfully get rid of 400 dogs in a city where there are 500 dogs, because you haven’t got rid of the rubbish in the city of which they live off, this 100 have more success in feeding themselves. This means that they reproduce more. So you’re achieving the exact opposite of the desired result when you only capture and kill them.’ Furthermore, regardless of the fact that this tactic does not seem to work, it is also of questionable ethic. Until recently, homeless people, the majority of whom were drug addicts or alcoholics, were offered a sum of money to strangle or hang stray dogs that were captured. Currently the dogs are either poisoned, electrocuted, gassed, or shot. Neither of these ‘solutions’ present an appealing scenario. Animales SOS are trying to change this.

They have suggested sterilization as an alternative, and this is now being taken seriously as a more humane and effective solution. The organisation pay half the price towards the surgery for families with low incomes wishing to sterilise their dog, in hope that it will encourage more pet owners to take this step. Other methods to alleviate the problem are also in progress, one of these being a system of obligatory registration of all dogs. 'For me, this means a tattoo in the ear. Because Bolivia is a third world country, and we have very few economic resources, a large proportion of the country is poor. The people who are the poorest tend to have the most animals, often in very bad conditions. So to put a chip in the dogs for example, would be difficult'. She argues that the registration needs to be free and must not be centralised, rather it needs to be organised by city zones. Anyone who has a dog which has not been registered would have to pay a fine of 5000 bolivianos. 'Having a tattoo on the ear means that once the dog is registered, people can't abandon it, because they will have to pay a large fine. You can leave it in an animal shelter but not on the street. If you live in a dangerous area and you need dogs for protection that's fine, but you'll have to make sure they're registered and well looked after.' This tactic will hopefully awaken a sense of responsibility in the owner of a dog - knowing that they will be identified as the owner and subsequently punished if their dog is found biting someone, they will be reluctant to let that dog out onto the street to do as it likes.

If Animales SOS is successful, Bolivia’s liberal and unique way of enjoying canine company might be coming to an end. But given the widespread problems they have caused, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Of course if I were a dog, I’d rather roam free than be cooped up. But then, if I had to choose between the risk of being herded up for electrocution, or being kept indoors with a tattoo, there’s little doubt which one I’d pick. The action proposed by Animales SOS could be a solution for all citizens of La Paz, two and four legged alike.