Bohol tarsiers in captivity

TARSIER   genus:  Tarsius; phylum:  Chordata; order:  Primates; species:  T. syrichta 


Above mentioned facts, I got from Wikipedia.  Illustration below, mine.

My interest in tarsiers is not really, by any means, scientific and if someone asks what genus do tarsiers belong, I would have no idea. I only know that these cute and shy animals are a great tourist attraction and because of that, I think their existence is nearing end.  Here's why:

A scenario:

A tourist bus with 10 to 15 Koreans take the Tagbilaran - Baclayon - Loboc - Carmen - Danao route. I mentioned these towns as they are where the bus drivers usually make stops. Baclayon is where you will see the oldest church of the Phillipines. Loboc is where the floating restaurants are. Carmen, the Chocolate Hills and Danao, the ziplines, the plunge, caves, wall and root climbing. You might ask why I am telling you this.  What does the Maumag (local name of tarsier) got to do with it? Well, each of these stops have tarsiers IN CAGES.

Tourists are sightseeing during the day and tarsiers which are nocturnal, sleep at daytime.  So? Well, tourists don't want to see tarsiers sleeping behind the leaves. Afterall, they are paying for it...although you'll see signs on a box that says Donation for the upkeep of those hapless tarsiers, still they are indeed paying.  It's been told that a donation box could easily earn ten thousand pesos a day during peak season.  That's more than the monthly salary of a rank and file employee. So what happens is that, to make the tourist happy and not to feel short-changed, the operator wakes them up. The tarsiers have get out from their sleeping quarters (behind the leaves) so tourists can marvel on their cuteness and take photos. Some would poke them with long sticks or shake the branches hard if they refuse to come out from their hiding places.

Sure, they are allowed to get back to sleep after the tourists are gone but not for long.  The last time I was in one of those places, there was a long queue of tourist buses so I doubt it if those hapless tarsiers did get any sleep at all.

Being nocturnals, this predicament these tarsiers are in,  greatly disorients them and without sleep, they will surely get sick and eventually die. And if they do, the operators buy another set.  Set? Yes, set.  Tarsiers don't live long if caged alone. So with this trend of buying tarsiers>burying dead tarsiers >buying a set again (I am sure of this) >burying and so on, there's no doubt about it:  extinction is inevitable. 

There's a man named Carlito "Lito" Pizarras of Philippine Tarsier Foundation, aka, the Tarsier Man who is very active in taking care of these hapless creatures. He had been ridiculed as a fool for tarsier but now has become a national figure.  Nobody knows about tarsiers more than Lito. 

I met Lito 2 years ago at the foundation. Not that he knows me back but to someone who loves tarsiers knows a thing or two about him.  A soft-spoken man.  I saw him whisper softly to one of his tarsiers and this tarsier looked at him and snuggled at his neck. It was a very touching moment. No wonder his wards (tarsiers) love him so.  But what can a single dedicated man do to stop this massive abuse on tarsiers?

In desparation, I once uttered this question after a discussion about the plight of the tarsiers. Maybe we can clone him, one of my friends jokingly answered.



  

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Growing old gracefully

Growing old gracefully

What not to do when planting broccoli

Just this morning, I read a book about gardening. The centennial edition of Yate's Garden Guide, although very informative, some of its guidelines just won't work (for me) being an Australian book made for Australian climate. And I'm here in Bohol, Philippines. Still, I find myself reading parts and pages and looking at photos of broccoli, big ripe tomatoes, crisp-looking lettuce and of  beautiful flower and herb gardens. And I do it again and again for inspiration that at times I forget that I'm here in the tropics. One time, I asked a friend working in Canada to send me (as a gift!) a pack of broccoli seeds. She sent me two! At the back of the packets, it says early dwarf variety, big and compact bright green heads. I sowed one packet. They sprouted but just a few made it. But there was enough for the 18- meter plot.

They grew just like the previous broccoli I had, only taller and slimmer. So much for a dwarf variety! And instead of forming into heads, the flowerets spread out. For a moment, I was wondering what went wrong and whether or not it tastes different. Not really different as I found out later. I mean, you'd know what you're eating is broccoli.

So I didn’t ask my friend for broccoli seeds again or any other seed for that matter. And the other packet of Canadian broccoli? I didn't throw it either. The picture on it looks too gorgeous. I just let it peacefully expire inside a plastic box. At least I learned a very important lesson: never assume that the big difference in climate, soil and temperature between here and places like Canada won't matter because it does. And it could cost you a planting season.

boracay

boracay

every - well, almost every fun loving beach bum who loves to party have heard of this beautiful island boracay. local tourists flock to this island during summer. foreign tourists too. celebrities come here to unwind, some come incognito and others come to be seen and recognized. and they all come to enjoy the clear blue sea, the long stretch of fine white sand, the hundreds of coconut trees, the water sports, the glorious sunrises, the beautiful sunsets, the nightlife - both tranquil and wild.

boracay

a phographer's dream island

photo taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Boracay_White_Beach.jpg

haiku lanes:






written on the beach 
reminder of a visit
soon...:


 written on the beach
 reminder of a visit
 soon washed away.

B-1

To name a dog B-1 may sound categorical and impersonal,

 but he likes that name and responds to it.. even to the softest whisper of a call.

 He'll look at you with those bluish eyes -questioning or pleading. 

 Either way, it never fails to get your attention and affection -those eyes that hid behind hairy tangles of white and lightest brown, the color of caramel that so suits him.

His dark brown drooping ears would raise up as he anxiously wait for his food.

 And sure enough, he gets it.

But a few days ago, we lost B-1. 

How? That's a question we cannot give an answer to.

 Perhaps B-1 managed to get out of the gate unnoticed and somebody just picked him up.

 I just hope that whoever took him takes good care of our beloved pet dog.

green thumb

One afternoon a few months ago, I was harvesting okra from my garden. My two elder sisters were there at that time and I suggested that stir-fried veggies with okra sounds delicious. I gave a handful to Nang Lita to take home. She took it and was about to pass it to Tita (my other sister) so she could put it in the basket when they saw a brown hairy worm inching along on one of them (okra) and they screamed! Both of them. And guess what happened to the okras. Well, you guessed it right. They flew! and I was laughing so hard, my tummy hurt.

I wasn't born unafraid of those crawly things. I mean, who loves them? But as one becomes a green thumb, worms aren't scary anymore.

Let's talk about true-blue green thumbs. My paternal grandfather was a great farmer. My father loved his garden so much, he went there after office hours, whenever possible. My uncle, a more seasoned farmer, never ran out of root crops and corn and rice. I remember having hearty snack of sweet potatoes and thick hot chocolate every afternoon on their kitchen table - well, almost. Sometimes, there's boiled or fried ripe bananas. You may say, farming or gardening runs in the family, which is true in my uncle's. But I don't see anyone else following my father's passion in his. There's only me and I knew it then when one morning many years ago, my auntie was harvesting peanuts and I offered to help, not really because I was a good hardworking girl who loves to lend a hand but mainly because the thrill of pulling up the plants and counting as each gorgeous peanut is plucked from the roots, was so exciting! When we finished harvesting, my aunt gave me a bucketful. Almost immediately, I run home and cooked my peanuts (boiled unshelled and salted). The next day, I fried the beans. And the next and next. I still had two cups of raw peanuts left and I decided to sow them. I asked my father if I could have a plot for my peanuts in his garden. Of course, he said yes. After a couple of months, their yellow tiny flowers dotted the lower portion of the plants. Then it was time to harvest. I was thrilled to see peanuts dangling from the roots as I pulled each plant up. The biggest and most vigorous had 62! And to think I only sowed two beans per hill, my calculating mind went to work: 62 peanuts / 2 = 31 peanuts! Imagine, each peanut is multiplied 31 times! I showed Papa my calculation and he said, that's wrong. It couldn't be wrong! I insisted. No, he said. Look, each of this peanut has two beans inside, so 1 bean is 1/2 of 1 peanut. So, your calculation should be: 1/2 peanut x 2 beans = 1 peanut and 1 peanut x 62 equals? Sixty-two! I answered. I must have looked so ridiculously animated that he laughed. Although proven wrong, it even excited me more. And I said to Papa, that's so much more than what you'll earn from bank deposit. He just smiled at me. Of course, a kid aged 10 didn't know about cost of labor and materials. What she just saw was the gross and the bliss of tasting the fruit of her labor. That was then the start of my love affair with gardening.