The zoo times two

The immediate closeness is confronting. There's a certain sense of uncertainty in the air, and every ear and eye pricks up at the drop of a pin, a sudden step or a small movement or sound. The children appear fascinated, squealing and jumping at every movement the animal's make. It's easy to see how a trip to the zoo can be a mother's worst nightmare; it shows on their faces as they frantically try to keep their eager children in tow.

Not even the overcast day could keep some of these people away- holidaymakers, students, people on first dates, parents with a day off and grandparents spoiling and adoring their grandchildren.  An Islamic family saunter around; their baby seemingly unenthused by the amazement of it all, sound asleep in her pram. Her father and grandfather wander off, silently slithering away, leaving the mother and grandmother to watch the baby girl, whilst fixing their hijabs and speaking in another language. A father and his son walk hand in hand, the father carrying the Thomas the Tank Engine backpack which the child had obviously started the day wearing. The little boy is infatuated with the animals, oblivious to everything else happening around him, even the obvious embarrassment his father feels by wearing his son's bag. Nothing else matters, other than the words of his father when he breaks the news that it's time to leave and he sobs and he cries and he stomps his feet firmly on the ground with rotten discontent. Their relationship is most certainly a love hate one today.

Yummy mummies push designer prams and straighten up their designer coats and sunglasses, knowing that they're a distraction for the fathers there. Every single hair on their heads is in its perfect place and their rich blood red lipstick is perfectly applied to their perfectly shaped lips. They watch over their children in prams like lions over their cubs. Their protective eyes are constantly scanning.

"Smile for Mumma girls" says a mother accompanied by their grandmother, when her children seem to be more interested in the emus behind them than getting their photograph taken. "Get down" a mother says in a tone that screams 'how many times do I have to tell you?' when her son jumps up on a barrier and a father laughs and jokes "You're part of the wildlife, aren't you son?" when he sees his son pretending to roar like a lion. "Take a photo" a mother excitedly yells to her daughter and another middle aged woman seems more excited by a lion jumping than the children around her do. She squeals with enthusiasm and makes her husband look a little embarrassed by her extroversion. "Shoo. Shoo. Go away" a young boy who would be lucky to be three years old, yells to a flock of birds, who are threatening to steal his bucket of hot chips. He is encouraged by his father, who is protective of the food he has just bought him. The larger builds of the young boy's mother and his father, suggest that they don't like to waste food. The echidnas bear a striking resemblance to his parents. They are all short, with a certain waddle to their bodies when they walk. "That was amazing" a young girl in school uniform cries when she's allowed to throw a carrot in a hippopotamus' mouth. The aging zookeeper unaffected by her excitement, his distinct tone of voice and stiff body language showing that he does not want to be questioned about the hippo's any longer.

"What's that?" a stressed preschool teacher is asked by more than twenty inquisitive faces, boys and girls who are obviously too young to read the signs or distinguish the animals for themselves. The teacher gathers all of the children around and proceeds to read the sign to them, constantly scanning to make sure they're all still there. When a boy in their group, who would be merely four or five years old yells to them that "There are the most beautiful birds here" and "I think the giraffes look like girls" I can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. He seems to be a certain ringleader of his group as his friends seem to whole heartedly agree with everything he says to them. The chimpanzees remind me of these younger children when I see one scrape its fingernails under a wooden plank and then licks his fingers afterwards in such a nonchalant way. Another teacher keeps her huddle of primary school children in tow, walking behind and then in front of them, constantly checking that they're all still together. Two high school aged girls in green school jumpers, with thick black eyeliner and orange foundation around their chins, meander around, seemingly bored. They wander the Lyrebird Cafe aimlessly, slinging what appear to be heavy school bags around the backs of their legs, in an almost rebellious way. When they see me watching them, they look me up and down with attitude, in that typical adolescent, coming of age manner.

Old friends and zoo volunteers catch up over lunch. Two women catch my eye though. Each pushing sixty years of age, this of course undeniable through their greying hair and wrinkled faces that only time could produce them with. They gossip and chat whilst eating in the Lyrebird Cafe, similar to the four adolescent school girls that sit at a table adjacent to them. The women sit, cross legged, throwing conversation back and forth eagerly. Out of nowhere, a quiet hush suddenly falls over the congregation of lunch eaters and I can sense them all watching me, becoming mindful with their behaviour. I find it ironic that although I am here as an observer, watching and noting behaviour, that the same is being done of myself. As these people look warily at me, I feel like an intruder almost as I plot away in my notebook like a nomad. I feel judged for being the only person, other than zookeepers, who walks around alone. The eyes of the other people here seem to bore straight through me and I am intimidated just to be a loner, surrounded by families and groups of friends and chatty, giggling school kids.

Even the animals display their relationships, like the humans who come to watch them do. The otters claw and grasp at one another in a scene reminiscent of a weekend pub brawl between several burly men. And it's funny how they stop and cock their heads and watch me as soon as they notice that I'm watching them. Animals have egos too you know. It's funny to notice however, that the second time I come to observe that they have been removed from their enclosures, perhaps too violent for their own good? When a cockatoo says 'hello' to me, I feel almost compelled to say hello back in the oh so Aussie slang tone he said it to me in. The vibrant cobalt blue macaws gawk with wide eyes at me with as much intrigue as I look at them with. They peck one another passionately, fuelled by my attention, just like the two hopping mice in the nocturnal house that peck one another and run off. They both remind me of the young couple I saw earlier who joked and teased one another, laughed and hugged and kissed, almost an exhibit themselves to the other people at the zoo.  The grey tapir's toss their heads from side to side, just like the girls do on Saturday nights when they're trying to flick their hair seductively. However when feeding time rolls around the tapirs slurp and chew with their mouth's open, in the same way the boys do when their nights are nearing an end. When you're here to observe the relationships evident, it's hard not to notice how alike humans and animals really are in the way they act and interact.

The zoo is deserted now, not another soul is in sight and even the animals can tell the show is over and crawl back into their dens. As the day draws to an end, the children slump over and the exhaustion shows on their faces as they are pushed in their strollers, by mothers, fathers and grandparents who appear equally as exhausted. Their screeches are no longer as loud as they were at the start of the day, and neither are the children's. The zoo is a multicultural paradise in every sense of the word. People of all races, heights, sizes and backgrounds roam around just like the animals they've come to see do. The interaction between the animals and humans here is so similar to how humans interact with each other. We look at the creatures that seem odd, marvel at the greatness of others, and laugh when they trip or make loud noises, just like we do when humans do the same things. It makes me wonder if there is any equality whatsoever in the generation we live in, when even the animals themselves interact by the unwritten laws of human engagement. I guess as they say, it's just another day at the zoo. Filled with everything that occurs outside of it, perhaps the name human zoo would be more apt. The interaction side of things is only the beginning - it's a stepping stone to help us learn more about everyone and everything around us.