Kabul's Desperate Zoo on the Brink

[Guest guest]

KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) -- Marjan the one-eyed lion

gets his daily 25 pounds of flesh thanks to a trusting

butcher. The caged rabbits eat cheap. All in all,

Kabul's desperate little zoo is a wreck running on

hope.

 

It is the perfect metaphor for Afghan's plight.

 

``We cannot let these animals die,'' said zoo director

Sheragha Omar, a gentle man of short stature with a

trim gray beard. ``It is our Pashtun honor. We do not

count up the cost. Our duty is to save them.''

 

Omar's seven children are at the edge of hunger. He

has not been paid his $20 monthly wage since July yet

he still finds a little cash to help out the destitute

11 people who work for him.

 

Warring factions long ago trashed the place, along

with most of the city around it. Shells smashed the

main building, shattering its fine old aquarium. Half

the cage bars are twisted, with doors hanging open.

 

The Afghan bear is a nervous wreck. There is no money

to treat the large open sore on its nose, which Omar

says is the result of mindless Taliban visitors

smacking him with sticks.

 

Marjan sits listless and lonely in the lion pit,

hardly raising an eyebrow when Omar drops in for a

visit.

 

``He is as old as I am,'' Omar laughs. Close enough.

He is 48, and Marjan is 45. ``The poor beast has no

mate. He is aging fast. Mostly, he is traumatized from

his brush with death.''

 

During the roaring '90s, after the Russians left, an

Afghan guerrilla showing off for his friends jumped

over the guard rail into the den and teased the lion.

Marjan ate him.

 

The next day, the guerrilla's brother applied the

Afghans' strict code of revenge. He tossed a hand

grenade at the lion. Marjan, expecting food, pounced

on it. The blast put out his eye and nearly killed

him.

 

On another black day, a different Afghan guerrilla

amused himself by firing a rocket-propelled grenade at

the elephant.

 

These days, the zoo's 37 species of animals are

reduced to 19. They include some curious choices,

including one unlabeled feline that looks like an

ill-tempered house cat.

 

``We have hope,'' Omar said. ``We used to get maybe

100 people a day, and now there are 200. People are no

longer afraid to come out. We even have women now who

open their burqa masks for a better look.''

 

But his accounts tell a less optimistic story.

 

The zoo costs $6,000 a month to operate, and gate

receipts come to $300. The hard-pressed city of Kabul,

with hungry people in its streets, has other

priorities.

 

Omar is doubtful that the chaotic northern alliance

administration now governing Kabul will get around to

funding the zoo. Soldiers don't even pay the nickel

entry fee when they visit.

 

Promises from abroad buoy up his hopes. The Kenyan

government said it would provide exotic animals in 10

years if the zoo, and Afghanistan, lasted that long.

Zoo associations elsewhere offered some help.

 

Omar considers it a miracle that the zoo survived the

Taliban.

 

At one point, he said, a budget crunch produced an

order to reduce the zoo's staff from 19 to three. ``I

explained how that was impossible,'' he said, ``we

have managed to keep enough people.''

 

And then the Taliban's minister of justice appeared

one day and demanded to know which law of Islam

sanctioned the keeping of animals. Unless Omar could

cite the proper text, the animals would be set free.

 

When the city could provide no answer, Omar went to

the University of Kabul's zoology department. They had

no opinion. Finally, the theology department certified

that the Prophet Mohammed kept house pets.

 

But the Taliban made Omar fire his vet, so now he has

to rely on the generosity of teachers and students at

the university's school of agriculture.

 

Freezing weather is approaching and there is no money

for winterizing the cages, but the small staff does

its best.

 

When the population of songbirds began suffering from

the cold at night, zoo keepers put them in cages

inside their own cramped sleeping quarters. ``No one

gets any sleep for all the chirping,'' Omar said.

 

Because he did not trust the Taliban, he had the

foresight to put aside a small reserve in case the

money ran out. That is fast evaporating.

 

The biggest item is Marjan's lunch tab which

approaches $14 a day, more than many Kabulis earn in a

month. ``The butcher says he trusts us to make good

when we can.''

 

Now, like Kabul and all of Afghanistan, Omar figures

the future is in the hands of Allah.

 

``We are running on faith now,'' he said. ``In the

end, things will work out. God willing.''

 

 

 

2001 Associated Press Information

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