Indonesia's growing trade in wild animals

Indonesia's growing trade in wild animals

John Aglionby, Guardian News Service, Jakarta

"You name it, we can get it for you," Baki said simply, waving
his mobile phone as if to show delivery was just a quick call
away. "Monkeys, tarriers, cuscus, birds of paradise, eagles,
cockatoos, turtles, gibbons, orang-utans, leopards, panthers,
whatever you want. Tigers and rhinos are a bit harder and will
take longer, but should not be a problem."

One of his supporting cast, Lesty, then chipped in, as if on
cue in a well-rehearsed act. "And don't worry if you don't like
the goods," he said a little too enthusiastically for my liking.

"You are under no obligation to buy. We will just dispose of
the animals elsewhere. Or perhaps you might consider taking a
stuffed animal instead? It doesn't cost so much to feed."

What was so shocking about this exchange was not that it was
taking place -- I was not so naive as to think the Indonesian
government had somehow magically solved the problem of illegal
animal trading in the past two years, since the plight of
endangered species last hit the international headlines -- but
how openly and brazenly it was happening.

Baki, Lesty and I were not haggling in some seedy office in a
back alley of Jakarta where the authorities would never interrupt
us. Nor were we taking the discreet upmarket approach of
negotiating quietly over cups of Earl Grey tea in one of the
capital's swanky five-star hotels.

We could not have been much more public if we had tried. We
were by Baki's collection of cages in Jl. Pramuka animal market
in East Jakarta, sandwiched between a bustling thoroughfare from
which a continuous procession of rusty buses belched fumes on to
the animals, and the pavement where fish sellers repeatedly
checked the water temperature and bubble flow in huge plastic
tubs as prospective buyers peered down inquiringly.

And the longer we talked, the bigger the crowd of onlookers
grew - a development that did not seem to faze the scrawny but
cocky trader.

"Don't worry about anything," Baki said while stroking the
head of a majestic bird of prey. "We have our contacts and will
be told if a raid is being planned. There hasn't been one for
months. These people are harmless."

The next shock came when we started discussing prices. Unlike
in other countries in south-east Asia, such as Thailand, where
dozens of tigers reared in farms are traded illegally, what is
unique about the Indonesian trade is that more than 95 percent of
the animals being sold come from the wild.

This means stocks are being constantly depleted; it is not as
if the traders have agreed to leave the wild animals alone and
stick to selling farm-bred alternatives. Then there's the risk
(though more theoretical than real) the traders are taking.

Considering most of the species on offer are endangered, and
so listed as protected, anyone caught trading them faces up to
five years in prison and up to US$11,000 in fines per animal.

In light of all this, I was expecting to pay about $1,500 for
a young orang-utan or a panther, more for a tiger and about half
for a tarrier - the size of a woman's fist when full-grown, it is
among the world's smallest primates.

"It's like this, mister," Baki began, clearly trying to
justify an outrageous price. "Orang-utans are getting pretty hard
to find these days, you know, so I'm going to have to charge you
at least two million rupiah.

"On seeing the surprise on my face, he added hurriedly, "But
we can offer you a discount."

Baki had completely misinterpreted my look. Two million rupiah
is only about $225 - a complete bargain, I thought, considering
there are perhaps only 15,000 to 20,000 orang-utans left in the
wild, and in many areas they are reaching critically low
populations, thanks to the poachers and illegal loggers who are
destroying their habitat.

Overseas, they go for 100 times that amount, particularly in
countries such as Taiwan and Japan, where they are extremely
popular as pets. Baki said a panther would cost about $180, and
everything else was less than the price of a steak in a smart
London restaurant.

Once I'd convinced Baki that I was neither a Greenpeace
activist nor an investigative reporter, he said he would have
something on offer the following day. I promised to return, but
said I would look elsewhere first.

"Elsewhere" is primarily the Pramuka bird market, also in the
sprawling suburbs of East Jakarta, which dates back to the
beginning of the last century when Indonesia was still the Dutch
East Indies.

The main building is a very attractive two-storey warehouse,
packed from floor to ceiling with hundreds of cages full of birds
of every color and size imaginable. The screeching cacophony
generated by the competing egos is considered beautiful music by
thousands of bird fanciers who buy legal birds every day. Waiting
at the entrance was Irwan, a self-appointed guide.

"I show you round," he said, attaching himself to my left arm.
"I get you what you want." He was as good as his word. Within 10
minutes we had seen four endangered animals and only one of them,
a bird of paradise from Papua (the Indonesian half of New Guinea
island), had wings, highlighting the market's inappropriate name.

The cutest was a tarrier, which clearly did not appreciate
being waken during the day. This nocturnal creature's bulging
eyes - about the size of very small coins and yet so completely
out of proportion with the rest of its tiny body - looked scared
and confused as it was exposed to Jakarta's harsh tropical
sunlight. Next to it was a cuscus, a cuddly ball of golden brown
fur which appeared captivating and angelic. Only later was I told
that its teeth had been ripped out with pliers to protect the
future owners.

The tarrier owner, Rikza, eventually decided I could be
trusted and said he had "something special" to show me out the
back. In a small padlocked shed on the bank of a stinking canal
were half a dozen cages. The first animal I noticed was what
appeared to be an ordinary tabby cat. But just as I was about to
complain, I noticed the contents of the next-door cage.

Slumped in the corner of the 50 centimeter cube was a young
honey bear, unable to stand up straight and barely able to move
around. The words miserable, forlorn and afraid do not do justice
to the pained expression etched on its face. Even the unique
yellow crescent of fur on its chest - which with most honey bears
resembles a smile - seemed despondent. Its claws had been cut and
its body looked emaciated.

"We were hoping to sell this to an animal show," Rikza said.
"But if you are interested, I'm sure we could come to a deal."

As he locked up the shed, a taxi pulled up next to us and what
should pop out but a four-foot-long black leopard. Luckily - for
our sakes - it was stuffed and mounted on a fake log, but it
still cut a very imposing figure, with its razor-sharp teeth
glistening between its open jaws.

Its owner, a civil servant named Sukma who wanted to
supplement his meager government income, had no qualms about
showing it off to me, even though we were in the middle of a
road, in full view of anyone who might be passing.

"If you want a panther, I'd recommend getting a stuffed one,"
he said. "They're only three million rupiah ($340) and a lot
easier to handle than a real one!" With that he covered his
prized possession with a green tarpaulin and lugged it off down a
side alley.