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.