In the shaded jungle canopy of Cambodia’s ancient Angkor Wat, time seems to slow. The stone ruins stand as silent witnesses to countless lifetimes—but today, all eyes are on something far more alive. Nestled beneath the arms of a massive strangler fig, a playful scene unfolds that touches the soul.
Baby Lorina, the newest member of Mama LORY’s tight-knit forest family, is having one of her happiest days yet.
Her tiny limbs bounce and wriggle with energy, and her wide eyes scan the jungle floor with curiosity. Every stick becomes a toy. Every leaf, a game. But no matter how excited she gets, she always makes sure Mama LORY is never far from reach.
And Mama? She watches with a kind of love that’s deeper than instinct. She gently touches Lorina’s back, follows her toddling steps, and every now and then, she lets out a soft sound—low, melodic—something only a mother monkey can sing.
You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it yourself.
This is not just playtime. This is bonding. This is learning. This is pure, unfiltered joy.
Earlier that morning, I arrived with my camera, expecting to quietly observe the troop. But when I saw Mama LORY cradling her baby while the little one tugged playfully at her ear, I froze. It wasn’t the cuteness alone that stopped me—it was the look in the mother’s eyes.
A look I’ve seen in human mothers across the world: love, patience, and a fierce commitment to protect.
As I crouched behind a fallen log, Lorina made her move. She let out a squeaky chatter—something like a giggle—and tumbled forward in a clumsy cartwheel. Mama LORY reached out and caught her, then nudged her upright. No scolding. No warning. Just soft, quiet encouragement.
It reminded me of something very human. A toddler’s first steps. A child’s first tumble. The patient hand of a parent who knows falling is just part of growing.
Lorina began climbing a thin vine that dangled from a high branch. It wobbled, of course, but Mama LORY stood below, ready. When Lorina slipped halfway up, her mother caught her mid-air and lifted her back to the starting point.
Try again, little one. I’m right here.
Minutes passed. The jungle breeze rustled the leaves, and bird calls echoed overhead. And then it happened—Lorina reached the top of the vine. She looked around proudly. Mama LORY clapped her hands on the ground in celebration, a little gesture that made my heart ache.
Even in the wild, play is not frivolous. It’s a child’s way of learning balance, strength, boundaries… and love.
And as Lorina slid down, tumbling joyfully into her mother’s arms, they rolled together in the soft dirt—laughing, cuddling, nibbling one another’s ears.
There’s something profound about watching a baby monkey like Lorina grow under such tender care. Especially here, in Angkor Wat—a place often associated with stone and silence. Amid ancient walls and sacred roots, a story of gentle motherhood unfolds, echoing louder than any sermon.
Some people might say, “It’s just monkeys.”
But I saw more than that.
I saw what unconditional love looks like when words don’t exist. I saw how trust is built not through discipline, but through time spent playing together. I saw that no matter the species, love and laughter are the languages all mothers and babies speak.
As I packed up to leave, Lorina peeked at me from under Mama LORY’s arm. She gave a tiny chirp, then buried her face into her mama’s belly, wrapping her arms tightly around her.
Mama LORY glanced up—her eyes meeting mine—and in that moment, I swear I saw her nod.
As if to say:
“Don’t worry. I’ve got her.”
