Togar.

Some mornings, when the forest is still dark, a long, deep sound arrives from far away: the call of a big male orangutan, one of the wide flanges, who lives in the next valley over. It's the voice that carries farthest in the whole forest — heard from nearly a kilometer and a half off, farther than any other — and it announces, simply, that the big one is there.

Togar goes still when he hears it. He listens until the sound dies away completely, and only then goes back to what he was doing. He knows, without anyone explaining it, that this voice is his horizon: one day he'll be the one who has it, with his big voice and his own patch of forest to roam. For now, when he tries, out comes a tiny little squeak. But it doesn't bother him: he tries again the next day, and the one after, like someone breaking in a size that's still too big.

Togar lives in the Leuser Ecosystem, in the north of Sumatra: one of the last great jungles where the orangutan still has forest to spare to move through. And moving through a forest like that, without getting lost or going hungry, has its trick: you have to carry the whole thing in your head.

That's exactly what Togar is doing, little by little, without realizing he's doing it. He goes storing where each tree stands and at what season it gives food, one corner of the forest after another, until he's put together a huge map that isn't drawn anywhere but inside him. With every passing day, that map is a little bigger.

It's what he'll need when he's grown, when it's his turn to walk his own patch of jungle. That's why this youth t-shirt suits him so well: it portrays an infant still small, one who still comes out with a squeak instead of a big voice, and who is already gathering inside, unhurried, everything he'll need to be grown.