This is the Memory Palace of Nate Tameo.

Ken Allen was born to be observed.

He was in Orangutan, I should clarify, as the name Ken Allen doesn't exactly scream

Orangutan. You got the name shortly after his birth in captivity in 1971 thanks to the close observation of two men one named Ken Willingham another another named Ben Allen, who noticed that his mother was about to smother the infant orangutan, and they jumped in to save the fuzzy orange little guy's life, a life that would be spent entirely within the confines of the San Diego Zoo.

Then, as now, that institution was at the vanguard of a movement to make zoos more humane, by making their enclosures less human.

Normal prison bars, fewer cramped spaces, habitats with a bit more room if not to

roam than to explore, rest to find some stimulation

typically in a simulation of if not the animal's literal homes for so many of the

zoo's creatures like Ken Allen are born there,

then like their ancestors' homes,

with jungle plants or desert brush,

or tall grasses upon which to graze

that would provide some instinctual comfort perhaps and proper nutrition for the animal

while making things look a little like Africa or the steps of Central Asia to the humans wandering

the winding paths from exhibit to exhibit.

And Ken Allen, a Borneo Orangutan by blood,

but a Southern Californian by birth,

went on display in a state-of-the-art habitat complete with region-appropriate vegetation and things to climb and swing around on,

thanks to the learned and earnest zoologists, animal behaviorists,

in a vast number of skilled and mission-driven professionals

charged with the care and feeding of the zoo's residents,

all while under observation by zoo-goers,

...