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Trinidad: Rehabilitation

We raced down canals which cut like veins through the expanse of reeds. Dense mangrove tunneled above our heads. I feared that at any moment we might be impaled on lance-like roots, but Shortman steered the boat with practised ease.

“There are no manatees here, I take it?”

“Not here,” he confirmed as we ran aground with a thump, signalling our arrival at one of six islands in the swamp.

The heavens opened.

“I think we should’ve waited for better weather,” I said, slapping at another mosquito. My bug spray had washed off before we had climbed into the boat.

The rain meant that the wildlife kept a low profile. Two bedraggled blue and gold macaws cowered on a branch inside a huge enclosure.

“They are from the pet trade,” Shortman said. “Once blue and gold macaws flew wild here. We’re working with Cincinnati Zoo to rehabilitate them. We’ve released 32 birds so far and 42 chicks have hatched.”

The enclosure suddenly made sense. It felt as if the light among the dripping branches had grown a little brighter.

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