Title: Small Baby So Hungry Yelling Loud, Mom No Feeding for Long Hours
The soft rustle of leaves and distant birdcalls filled the jungle air, but above all that, one sound cut through the peace like a sharp cry — the loud, desperate yell of a tiny baby monkey.
His name was Nilo, barely a few weeks old. Still fragile, with thin arms and a wobbly grip, Nilo clung tightly to the rough fur of his mother, Mena. His eyes, wide and searching, darted from her face to the thick trees above. But his cries didn’t stop. He was hungry — deeply, painfully hungry.
For hours now, Mena hadn’t fed him.
The troop had been moving through the dense canopy since morning, foraging for ripe fruits and tender leaves. The adults and juveniles were busy plucking berries, chewing bark, and digging in the earth for roots. Even some of the older babies had started nibbling on scraps. But little Nilo… he was too small, too helpless to feed himself.
Normally, he would nuzzle close to Mena’s chest and nurse quietly, warm and safe. But lately, she had been pulling away — not cruelly, but firmly. The troop was entering weaning season, when mothers slowly began teaching their young to forage and rely less on milk. For Nilo, though, it was too soon. He still needed it. His body wasn’t ready.
And now, after being denied for so long, his tiny stomach ached and twisted with emptiness. His mouth opened again, and he screamed — a long, trembling cry that echoed through the trees.
“Eehh! Ehh-ehh!”
His limbs trembled as he clung tighter to Mena, who continued climbing through the branches, searching for food. She glanced down at him, her face showing signs of stress. She knew he was hungry. She heard his cries. But her instincts told her it was time to start the transition. Time for Nilo to grow.
But Nilo didn’t understand weaning. He only understood hunger.
Each time she paused, he reached for her chest, hoping for a chance. But again and again, she moved away, offering no comfort. The rejection broke his heart — and hers, too, though she didn’t show it.
Eventually, the troop settled beneath a fig tree for rest. Mena sat down on a thick branch, and Nilo collapsed into her lap, his energy drained. His cries grew softer now, more like weak whimpers. His eyes blinked slowly, tears clinging to the corners.
Seeing his state, Mena paused. Her motherly instincts overpowered the plan. She gently pulled him close.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then — he latched on, suckling greedily.
The cries stopped.
Only the quiet sound of wind in the leaves remained as the baby drank. Mena closed her eyes, letting him feed just a little longer. She knew weaning was necessary, but sometimes… a baby just needs his mother.
And in that quiet moment, wrapped in warmth and relief, Nilo drifted into sleep, no longer hungry, no longer afraid.
