AIDS Monkey’s 7 Star Bombshell Shocker

JANUARY 28, 2007

The most interesting and disturbing conversation I’ve ever had just took place.

After a grueling follow-up journey focusing on our ongoing Pakistani earthquake relief, our small team was grateful to have a day layover in the Middle Eastern oasis of Dubai. It’s always a shock to the senses to go from the squalor of Pakistan’s remote regions to the opulence of UAE’s most visited city.

Settled in a baking, barren desert with daytime temperatures in excess of 110 degrees F (44C), this oil-rich nation drips with man-made, lush luxury. The world’s biggest indoor ski slope is set nearby a shopping area where giant subterranean turbines blow air-conditioned coolness across the outdoors.

Looking for a souvenir that won’t soon be forgotten? Vending machines sell (non-edible) gold bars by the ounce. Luxury automobiles can be purchased in under five minutes with a credit card swipe and a few signatures – and delivered to your driveway anywhere in the world within a day.

We enjoyed a superb meal in an underground restaurant, walked about the city for some hours, taking in some sights, and even stopping to pray in the name of Jesus for the only cripple we came across. Refreshed, we finally made our way back to the airport.

Breezing up to our check-in counter came an older gentleman with quite an entourage. They all wore turbans and sunglasses, with what appeared to be very expensive robes or suits. Beside their ostrich & silver-studded suitcases stood a fairly large, aluminum egg-shaped cage on wheels.

In no time at all, they were off to the gate, and as they whisked past us, through the only opening in the cage (a circular glass window with a vent above it) I could see what looked like a robed ape sitting in a small recliner.

We laughed and wondered what that was all about.

Thankfully, those men were on board our oversold flight. Two of us were upgraded to first class. The chrome dome cage was buckled in at the very front row, and the faint odor of cigarette (or marijuana???) smoke leaked from a hose connected to an overhead vent. Was the monkey smoking?

I sat next to the youngest man of the entourage, probably a teenager, who was all too excited to practice his English with me.

I told him of our work in Pakistan, helping families displaced by earthquakes (and the occasional, unfortunate misguided American bomb) to be resettled in semi-permanent housing, his eyes lit up.

“So… You are the GOOD AMERICAN… yes?”

“Yes,” I replied, ready to give an answer for the reason we share such love and hope.

When I asked him what his group was, and if he was related to the older gentleman or if he worked for him, his reply was, “both.”

And what he told me next was part of the most interesting and disturbing conversation I’ve ever had. He settled into his chair and leaned closer to me, lowering his voice.

“You are a good man, no? I think I can trust you." He waived his hand dismissively. "Our private jet is under repair, so here we are. You see the animal in the cage up there?"

He pointed. I nodded.

"It is the AIDS Monkey. You know, the monkey who started the AIDS virus. Until last week, only 8 or 11 of the world’s richest men knew where he was.

“For the past 29 years, that monkey has been kept in a 7-Star hotel room in Qatar, but now, the secret is out. So we are on to move to a more secure location.”

“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes. And he is quite a character! Through the battery of tests required to find a cure, we must do our best to keep this animal alive. He is given the best food in the world, sleeps in the most comfortable of beds, and is afforded every luxury necessary to stay relaxed and entertained.”

He went on, “But he is SPOILED. Very hard to keep up with his ever-changing appetites and needs. He is very, very difficult! A prima donna, as you say!"

His eyes squinted, and he whispered the next part. "He is recluse, and party animal... I'm not sure how it started, but he is addicted to filterless cigarettes and wheat [I think he meant weed], and some pills... and not just any kind, only the best... One day he eats the rarest specialty-prepared sashimi and the next day he wants premium French cat food. If we try to give him something else, he throws a fit!

“Everyone caters to him now. Most of us live in fear; afraid if we make the wrong move he will either fire us or throw his feces at us. We bring in what is almost a parade of lesser monkeys, one or two at a time, and he either accepts or rejects them. Those he accepts are dead within weeks-- battered to death with sores everywhere. And then there are those few businessmen who underwrite everything. They come and go, too, often with similar wounds.

“So we just do what the Monkey wants, keeping him happy and alive, and once a year a team of doctors test him to find a cure.”

He breathed a sigh of exhaustion. "Now, to the next home. The next den of iniquity. How to arrange everything-- the food, the monkeys, I do not know yet. But, I think we shall manage."

I sat with my mouth open the whole flight. Hoping to catch another glimpse of this odd creature. Too many emotions. I would have loved to kill that animal myself, but...BUT for a cure, I did not.

Before I knew it, the flight was over, and I watched as a special team of agents helped escort this group off the plane and to some 7-Star hotel, or castle, or mansion who-knows-where.

An unusual, if not divine appointment. And a sign to continue praying for a Cure.