In an unprecedented meteorological migraine, a four-day tempest has swept through the Indonesian rainforest, snuffing out 7% of the world's most critically endangered orangutans. That is seven percent of our ginger-furred, soulful-eyed cousins, gone, plucked from the canopy by a sky that forgot its manners. The storm, whimsically named Cyclone Gertrude by meteorologists who clearly have a taste for the macabre, has left conservationists in a state of high dudgeon and low hope.
British conservation groups, who have been known to get apoplectic over a misplaced badger sett, are now in full-blown crisis mode. The Orangutan Foundation, headquartered in London but with tentacles reaching into the Borneo sludge, has demanded emergency action. 'We need a summit, we need funding, we need the sort of diplomatic urgency usually reserved for collapsed banks or royal scandals,' spluttered a spokesperson between sips of ethically sourced chamomile.
The numbers are grim. Before Gertrude, there were roughly 1,500 Tapanuli orangutans slouching towards extinction in the bat-infested forests of Sumatra. Now, there are 1,395. That is 105 souls who will never again fashion a leaf umbrella or throw a tantrum over a rotten durian. The rest, no doubt, are traumatised, clinging to what remains of their world with the desperation of a government minister clinging to a portfolio.
The storm itself was a masterpiece of malevolent nature. Winds of 120 kilometres an hour, rain that could drown a cathedral, and a duration that suggested a personal vendetta against all things arboreal. The orangutans, being tree-dwelling specialists, are uniquely vulnerable to such fits of pique. They cannot flee to higher ground because they are already on the roof. They cannot build shelters because they are not humans. They simply hang on, and when the hanging stops, they fall.
Conservation groups are now demanding a 'Noah's Ark Protocol' for these great apes. This involves airlifting survivors to safe zones, a plan that sounds heroic until you consider the logistics of tranquillising a 90-kilo primate with a bad attitude and flying it in a helicopter that looks like a flying teacup. 'We are mobilising,' said Dr. Helena Birch, a primatologist who has been known to weep over a broken termite mound. 'But we need the government to unlock the emergency fund. We need the military to lend us their choppers. We need a global response to a local tragedy.'
Meanwhile, the Indonesian authorities are doing what they do best: blaming the storm on climate change and promising a 'review of disaster preparedness' that will gather dust faster than a politician's manifesto. The British government has offered condolences and a modest grant of 5 million quid, which is roughly enough to buy a decent lunch in Chelsea but not much else.
So here we are, watching 7% of a species vanish in a matter of days. The orangutans, those gentle philosophers of the jungle, are being wiped out by the weather. And the British conservationists, armed with clipboards and righteous fury, are demanding action. Will they get it? Will they appeal to the United Nations? Will they chain themselves to the railings of Downing Street wearing orangutan costumes? Probably. But will it save the remaining 1,395? Only if the sky decides to behave itself, which, given the current meteorological mood, seems unlikely.
