Title: Big Monkey Still Ask Full Milk Without Forage, Hard to Weaning
In the quiet corner of the jungle, where the sunlight filtered gently through tall canopies, lived a young monkey named Rafi. Though not a tiny baby anymore, Rafi was still deeply attached to one thing—his mother’s milk.
At nearly a year old, Rafi had grown long limbs, a fluffy tail, and a strong grip that helped him swing from branches with ease. He watched the other juveniles forage happily—plucking leaves, chewing on bark, and searching for soft fruits. But Rafi? He wasn’t interested. Foraging was hard, and milk was easy. So he did what he always did: run to his mother, Nira, and demand to nurse.
“Eeek! Eeeek!” Rafi cried, rushing over with his arms stretched out, mouth open in protest. He hadn’t even tried to find food that morning. While his playmates climbed through the fig trees and munched quietly, Rafi sulked, clinging tightly to Nira’s belly.
Nira was a patient mother, but even she had begun to grow weary. It was time for Rafi to learn independence. She had already started limiting his nursing—shorter feeds, gentle nudges away, and guiding him toward easy-to-reach fruit. But Rafi resisted. Every time she pulled away, he threw a loud, dramatic tantrum that echoed through the forest.
The other mothers in the troop noticed. Some of their babies were younger than Rafi, yet already nibbling on bark and learning to dig for roots. But Rafi, bigger and stronger than most, still refused. Nira felt torn—she loved him deeply, but she knew the time had come for weaning.
One afternoon, the troop settled by a fruiting tree. The smell of ripe figs filled the air. It was a perfect time to forage. While the others climbed and picked, Nira sat beside Rafi, gently pushing a soft fig toward him. He sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and whined. Then he threw the fruit aside and clung to her again, whining louder.
Nira turned away.
“Eeeek! Eeeek!” Rafi screamed, louder this time, tugging at her belly and pushing his face toward her chest.
She stood up.
Rafi followed.
She moved away again, climbing to a higher branch where he couldn’t easily cling. He sat below her, staring, confused and upset. His cries softened into whimpers, then silence.
Minutes passed. His belly rumbled. He looked down at the fig he’d thrown earlier. Slowly, he picked it up. It felt strange in his hands. With one last glance at Nira, he took a tiny bite.
It was sweet.
From above, Nira peeked down. She didn’t interfere. She just watched.
It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. Weaning was never easy—for mother or baby. But that small bite meant Rafi had taken his first step toward growing up.
Tomorrow, he might still cry. He might still beg. But today, he tasted his future.
