Almost 20 years ago, the conflict that would become America's longest running war was about to become its youngest war. The United States and its NATO allies bowled over the Taliban regime in Afghanistan, securing the country. For most Americans, September 11th and its aftermath was the first time that they'd given the landlocked South Asian country the slightest notice. Soon, everyone was overwhelmed with news from the country, much of which focused on the oppressions committed by the recently-ousted fundamentalist government. And, as is often the case with the news, one of the most prominent human interest stories to come out of the country wasn't even about a human.
Marjan (his name came from the Persian for "Coral") was the star of the Kabul Zoo... which, considering the state of the Kabul Zoo in 2001, really wasn't that much to brag about. Just a few years earlier, before the rise of the Taliban, the zoo had been a jewel of the city, specializing in the (surprisingly diverse) wildlife of Afghanistan. In 1978, Germany's Cologne Zoo donated Marjan, a 2-year old lion, to Kabul Zoo. Marjan was soon joined by a lioness named "Chucha."
Like the rest of Afghanistan, Marjan's life took a dark turn when the Taliban came to power. The preceding civil war slashed the resources of the zoo, and many keepers were driven away by the conflict, to say nothing of the guests needed to sustain a zoo. The Taliban considered shutting the place down entirely, questioning whether the zoo was in keeping with the ideals of Islam. Thankfully, a quick-witted keeper pointed out that the Prophet Muhammad was himself said to keep pets, and therefore was something of a zookeeper himself. The Taliban authorities were convinced and allowed the zoo to remain.
On March 27, 1995, one Taliban warrior, perhaps overconfident about his prowess after battlefield victories, decided that there would be no better way to commemorate himself than to take a photo with a lion... from inside the cage. He entered the dens and began to pet Chucha. Chucha didn't seem to mind. Marjan did. He charged, and the man was killed almost immediately.
The next day, the man's brother came to the zoo and, in rage over his brother's death, threw a live grenade into the lion dens. Miraculously, Marjan wasn't killed. The blast did take one eye (and pretty much ruined the other), all of his teeth, and much of his mobility. A ramp had to be built to help the lion in and out of his den, and he was fed a diet of boned meat. The man who attacked Marjan was himself killed a week later.
When the occupying forces rolled in Kabul, Marjan was perhaps one of the saddest sights in the city, and he became a celebrity symbol for the plight of Afghanistan. While various humanitarian groups swarmed the country trying to undo the damage of the last decade of war, a consortium of zoos and aquariums worked to rehabilitate the Kabul Zoo. Broken, antiquated facilities were rebuilt, staff received training and support, new supplies were brought in, and animals were donated.
Marjan wasn't there to see much of it. He passed away in 2002, an impressive age for a lion, especially one with his medical history. The next year, the Chinese government donated two lions. Not that anyone could replace Marjan, certainly not as a symbol of his adopted country and its perseverance. After his death, he was buried on zoo grounds, and a bronze statue of him was erected at the entrance of the zoo. "Here lies Marjan, who was about 23," reads the plaque on his grave in Pashto. "He was the most famous lion in the world."
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