Day 53: Visiting the Men of the Forest

Source: sarawakforestry.com

Today, we are heading to the Semenggoh Wildlife Centre. Established in 1975, the center cares for wild animals that are injured, orphaned, or previously kept as illegal pets. It also conducts wildlife research, runs breeding programs for endangered species, and provides public education on conservation.  

The orangutan, native to the rainforests of Malaysian Borneo, is one of the world’s largest primates and almost entirely arboreal. The name "orangutan" comes from the Malay words orang (person) and hutan (forest), literally translating to "person of the forest".  

We set off early in the morning—before coffee—to make it in time for the 9–10 am feeding. As Semenggoh is a wildlife center and not a zoo, there is no guarantee of seeing the orangutans. Currently, it’s fruit season in the jungle, so the orangutans are less inclined to make an appearance, as there’s plenty of food in the wild.  

After a one-hour drive, we arrive at the entrance and switch to electric buggies that take us to the feeding point deeper in the forest. Within just a couple of minutes, the hum of the road fades, replaced entirely by the symphony of the jungle. The sounds of insects, birds, and other animals create the classic "jungle noise." It’s surprisingly loud, but unlike traffic, it feels calming—once you get used to it.  

Pepper trees with fruits.

At the feeding station, about 20 other spectators are already gathered, waiting in anticipation. The scene reminds me of the winter deer feeding we once watched in Garmisch. Wildlife officers are stationed further in, mimicking orangutan calls in an attempt to lure them closer. While waiting, we explore the surroundings, discovering pepper trees, lizards, butterflies—and, of course, mosquitoes.  

Currently, about 20 orangutans live at the center, each with a name and a story. There are no fences to keep them here; they stay because of their connection to the center. Some were rehabilitated after injuries, others were raised by the staff after losing their mothers, and a few were born here and raised naturally by their mothers. Once they’re strong and confident enough, they’re free to leave and live fully in the wild.  

Eventually, we hear rustling in the treetops. The group rushes to one side, spotting a large, orangey-brown furry figure slowly making its way toward us. It’s Anaku, a 19-year-old aspiring alpha male preparing to challenge the current alpha, who is in his 50s. Anaku’s long, shaggy hair on his arms, shoulders, and back looks like a thick, luxurious coat.

Using a rope stretched between the treetops and the feeding platform, he makes his way to the food. Settling down, he begins to eat, pausing occasionally to scan the crowd, as if checking who’s admiring him today. He doesn’t seem particularly hungry, and after a while, he climbs back into the treetops. Finding a perch near the visitors’ area, he lounges, watching us curiously as though we were the ones on display in his personal zoo.  

At 10 am sharp, the officers end the session, allowing the orangutans their privacy. We make our way back to the car, hoping to beat the next rain shower.