Babylonian Zoo

Since I was born, I've been having dreams about dilapidated zoos. To my infant mind, the zoo was a veritable paradise filled with strange and exciting creatures from the far flung corners of the globe. Going to the zoo was the ultimate buzz (and still is if I'm honest) but concerns about animal welfare came secondary to the thrill of seeing them in the flesh.

Over the years, and more recently after a tour of zoos in China, my stance has started to change. Today I will begin writing a 20,000 word dissertation on the topic, tentatively titled: 'Degenerative Fascination - The Enduring Allure of Zoos and Aquaria in Contemporary Culture.' Despite questioning their necessity in today's world, zoos have continued to exude their influence over me, a power that simultaneously fascinates and disturbs.

Last night I had another of my zoo related dreams, this time set in China. It was a Babylonian themed super park featuring all manner of attractions and the largest of its kind in the world, covering hundreds of acres. There were rides, hotels, bars, casinos, and shopping arcades all built with ostentatious Babylonian inspired architecture, palm trees, and sparkling water courses. As is often the case, although boasting a dazzling facade, conditions for the animals were squalid.

I walked through a grimy primate section with Li, peering at depressed chimpanzees through smeared perspex. The indoor sleeping quarters were tortuously cramped and the animals were covered in their own feces. One of the females birthed a premature, blob-like foetus resembling something out of a Lynchean dreamscape. The baby clung to some wire mesh, quivering convulsively. Next door, two glum orang-utans slumped listlessly in a corner, seemingly fed up with the world.

Roused by screams and growls, we moved on to the next exhibit where we saw with horror that an endangered bongo and her two calves were about to be fed to a pack of half starved African wild dogs. An overeager bitch wiggled through the adjoining barrier and clamped its jaws onto the antelope's upper eyelid in an attempt to bring her down. We watched the tussle with growing agitation, sick to the stomach.

Suddenly there was a rusty screech and a metal shutter was raised, letting in the blinding sunlight from outside. The bongo ripped free and bolted through the hatch, closely followed by her two calves. The rest of the wild dog pack were released a few seconds later and they tore after their prey onto an immense race track encircling the perimeter of the park. The roar of an engine kicked in, followed by the whooping of fat American cowboys who had paid to follow the chase in a jeep.

From a raised viewing terrace, we saw the sun glinting off the jeep's metal and a long cloud of brown dust billowing from behind. The cowboys were rich ranchers and entrepreneurs from Texas, hideously drunk and profligate in their excess. I shouted all manner of insults at them, but my words were lost by the roar of the chase. We didn't stay to watch the hunt to the end, but I did give Li a lecture on the European Animal Welfare Act.