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Moja Lemsip: November 18, 1972 - June 6, 2002

Moja passed away on the morning of June 6, 2002. She was 29 years old.

Moja was the first chimpanzee of the Gardners' second sign language project. Moja was born in captivity, on November 18, 1972, at the Laboratory for Experimental Medicine and Surgery in Primates (LEMSIP) in Tuxedo, New York. Her full name was Moja Lemsip. Moja is the Swahili word for "first." Moja was raised by Drs. Beatrix and R. Allen Gardner. Moja joined Washoe Loulis and the rest of the Fouts family at the University of Oklahoma in 1979, and accompanied them to Central Washington University in 1980.

Free-living chimpanzee life expectancy can reach into the late 40s. In captivity, chimpanzees can live to be more than 60 years old, though most die between 10 and 15 years of age, according to Roger and Deborah Fouts. "Chimpanzees don't belong in captivity, period. Not even in a facility like this (CHCI). Captivity is not good for them. Our species has yet to learn that lesson, not only with chimpanzees but with any species."

Moja was the first chimpanzee to die at the Chimpanzee and Human Communication Institute (CHCI), a sanctuary for adult chimpanzees who communicate with humans and each other using American Sign Language. The mission of CHCI is to protect and care for these chimpanzees, educate the public on the endangered status of free-living chimpanzees, help improve the lives of all captive chimpanzees through ongoing research and serve as a humane research facility for students.

The following represent a sample of the many tributes that CHCI received following the news of her death.

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share my thoughts with you on this occasion.

I confess that I have had a soft spot in my heart for Moja ever since I saw her photo on the cover of Roger's book, posed proudly in one of her favorite outfits. I could tell immediately that she was a kindred soul: a fellow primate who, like me, enjoyed wearing red. I subsequently learned that she also liked trying on wigs and dressing up--traits on which our tastes obviously differed. But that didn't matter. Crimson still ruled.

For David and me, and for the various friends from out of town we brought to see a chimposium, Moja was a delight in other ways as well. We loved the way she would lie on her corner platform, engrossed in her magazines while her companions romped and hooted. She had the mystique that came from being a little aloof from the rest, a little quieter and more subdued.

It was those characteristics that seemed to endear her to many of those who saw her at CHCI. Her life touched us deeply. So did her death. A couple of brief anecdotes reveal how much.

Some of you may know that I have asked members of my office staff and all of the vice presidents to inform me when there is a death on campus. I have made it known that I want tragedies affecting faculty, staff, students or alumni to be reported to me immediately, even when I am out of town on business or on vacation.

On the morning of June 6, I was in Seattle. I was about to leave my hotel room when I received a call from Jen Gray, informing me that Moja had died. It is a measure of what Moja and her fellow chimpanzees mean to Central that her passing was reported to me as soon as it was known--in the same way I am informed of the loss of human members of our campus community.

Later that day, when I was back on campus and meeting with emeritus faculty and staff at the annual reception in their honor, the word of Moja's passing was already circulating. There were tears in the eyes of those who had heard the sad news.

Why was there this depth of reaction? It was partly, of course, compassion for a sweet, gentle creature and sadness that she is no longer with us. But I think there is another explanation. Moja and her family are bearers of a profound and timely lesson. I think we realize that, when any of them are lost, we risk losing touch with that lesson.

From Moja and her family, we have learned almost as much about ourselves as humans as we have learned about them as our "next of kin." From our interactions with them, we are continually confronted with evidence of the countless characteristics that we share with their species, but we know we are linked in subtler ways with other species as well. Through them we have learned that we must appreciate the precious ties we share with other animals and respect the equally precious qualities that differentiate us.

That's the bigger lesson: Humans must become better stewards of this planet and the rich diversity of life it shelters.

For now, for all that we have learned from them, and for the many joys they bring to us just by being part of our lives and our campus community, we say thank you to Moja and her family.

And may there be some comfort in knowing that Moja now enjoys the one gift we were never able to give her while she lived: she is free.

Jerilyn McIntyre, President, Central Washington University


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Moja Lemsip
November 18, 1972 - June 6, 2002

Moja, at age 29, passed away on the morning of June 6, 2002.

Moja was the first chimpanzee of the Gardners' second sign language project. Moja was born in captivity, on November 18, 1972, at the Laboratory for Experimental Medicine and Surgery in Primates (LEMSIP) in Tuxedo, New York. Her full name was Moja Lemsip. Moja is the Swahili word for "first." Moja was raised by Drs. Beatrix and R. Allen Gardner. Moja joined Washoe Loulis and the rest of the Fouts family at the University of Oklahoma in 1979, and accompanied them to Central Washington University in 1980.

Free-living chimpanzee life expectancy can reach into the late 40s. In captivity, chimpanzees can live to be more than 60 years old, though most die between 10 and 15 years of age, according to Roger and Deborah Fouts. "Chimpanzees don't belong in captivity, period. Not even in a facility like this (CHCI). Captivity is not good for them. Our species has yet to learn that lesson, not only with chimpanzees but with any species."

Moja was the first chimpanzee to die at the Chimpanzee and Human Communication Institute (CHCI), a sanctuary for adult chimpanzees who communicate with humans and each other using American Sign Language. The mission of CHCI is to protect and care for these chimpanzees, educate the public on the endangered status of free-living chimpanzees, help improve the lives of all captive chimpanzees through ongoing research and serve as a humane research facility for students.

The following represent a sample of the many tributes that CHCI received following the news of her death:

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share my thoughts with you on this occasion.

I confess that I have had a soft spot in my heart for Moja ever since I saw her photo on the cover of Roger's book, posed proudly in one of her favorite outfits. I could tell immediately that she was a kindred soul: a fellow primate who, like me, enjoyed wearing red. I subsequently learned that she also liked trying on wigs and dressing up--traits on which our tastes obviously differed. But that didn't matter. Crimson still ruled.

For David and me, and for the various friends from out of town we brought to see a chimposium, Moja was a delight in other ways as well. We loved the way she would lie on her corner platform, engrossed in her magazines while her companions romped and hooted. She had the mystique that came from being a little aloof from the rest, a little quieter and more subdued.

It was those characteristics that seemed to endear her to many of those who saw her at CHCI. Her life touched us deeply. So did her death. A couple of brief anecdotes reveal how much.

Some of you may know that I have asked members of my office staff and all of the vice presidents to inform me when there is a death on campus. I have made it known that I want tragedies affecting faculty, staff, students or alumni to be reported to me immediately, even when I am out of town on business or on vacation.

On the morning of June 6, I was in Seattle. I was about to leave my hotel room when I received a call from Jen Gray, informing me that Moja had died. It is a measure of what Moja and her fellow chimpanzees mean to Central that her passing was reported to me as soon as it was known--in the same way I am informed of the loss of human members of our campus community.

Later that day, when I was back on campus and meeting with emeritus faculty and staff at the annual reception in their honor, the word of Moja's passing was already circulating. There were tears in the eyes of those who had heard the sad news.

Why was there this depth of reaction? It was partly, of course, compassion for a sweet, gentle creature and sadness that she is no longer with us. But I think there is another explanation. Moja and her family are bearers of a profound and timely lesson. I think we realize that, when any of them are lost, we risk losing touch with that lesson.

From Moja and her family, we have learned almost as much about ourselves as humans as we have learned about them as our "next of kin." From our interactions with them, we are continually confronted with evidence of the countless characteristics that we share with their species, but we know we are linked in subtler ways with other species as well. Through them we have learned that we must appreciate the precious ties we share with other animals and respect the equally precious qualities that differentiate us.

That's the bigger lesson: Humans must become better stewards of this planet and the rich diversity of life it shelters.

For now, for all that we have learned from them, and for the many joys they bring to us just by being part of our lives and our campus community, we say thank you to Moja and her family.

And may there be some comfort in knowing that Moja now enjoys the one gift we were never able to give her while she lived: she is free.

Jerilyn McIntyre - President - Central Washington University

I remember watching Moja play with Loulis in the West room. She put a big purple hat over her head and tried to play "tag" with Loulis even though she couldn't see him. She would reach out with one arm and Loulis would move just far enough away so that she couldn't tag him. She took a couple steps forward, reached out toward him, and again he moved just out of her reach. They played this game for a little bit, and then Moja very slowly lifted the hat and peeked out to find where Loulis was. Once she saw him, she pulled the hat back down over her eyes and ran straight toward him until she caught him! They embraced each other and started tickling one another.

I admired the gentle and elegant way that Moja carried herself. She had so much poise. She was beautiful and she knew it! When she wore her black dress with the orange and red flowers, she wouldn't just walk around...she would strut. Seeing that always made me smile.

I will miss her more than words can say. CHCI won't be the same without her.

I just heard of Moja's death and it seems the only sort of relief I can get is to write to those that were also touched by her. I can not imagine how this loss is affecting the Chimps and Humans at CHCI right now. I hurt for her family and friends there. The world is surely lacking since Moja passed.

Moja was the first and last chimpanzee that I saw at CHCI during my four years. On my first shift, she chased ahead of me and watched with a sort of honest curiosity as I put on my boots and headed out to clean. This sort of observation was one of many lessons I would learn from Moja. After the last meal I would serve at CHCI, Moja sat in C1 and watched me in the kitchen. She signed HUG/LOVE from the bench as I took my last look toward the nightcage area.

There are so many memories that I have surrounding Moja. Until this moment, thinking back over them, I do not think I realized just how much these chimps had an impact on me.

It is the simple pleasures that I will miss about Moja. No one asking to smell my hair, no one asking me to open my mouth just to see inside, no one asking me to take out my earrings or roll my eyes inside my head, or to play with velcro, or listen to my watch...The thing that made Moja so endearing was that she was so real. She loved to play and groom, she was nervous and cautious, she was loyal to her family and friends, she had an awsome sense of humor. I can find no finer qualities in any human I know.

Washoe, Dar, Tatu, Loulis, Roger, Debbie and friends at CHCI, I am so very sorry for your loss. The only consolation I can think of is that for the first time Moja is getting to experience what it is like to be FREE. No bars, no glass; nothing but trees, sandwiches, and red clothes ... as it should be, of course.


Remember Moja

Remember our Moja,
Our African Princess,
Bathed in late summer sun
Grooming family with raspberry kisses.

Remember her songs,
Singing cocooned by her sarongs.
Hear her forever
Her message, a whisper from God.

Oh Daughter of Africa, Sister, Dear Friend
Your words remind us:
Look to see, as we never have
And share that, which we never knew we had.

You will be forever remembered
With a smile through a tear-streaked face,
Moja,
Our love's most painful beauty.

Now, with an empty space in our heart
We witness this silent peace.
Your soul transcends us, free now from captivity
Only your whispers and our memories remain.

Our mission continues, your life's lessons shall be carried on
From each of our minds to the minds of those we will encounter.
And may the universe, our dear Moja,
Forever be change by you.

~Wendy Iwaszuk


Donate now!

Moja Lemsip
November 18, 1972 - June 6, 2002

Moja, at age 29, passed away on the morning of June 6, 2002.

Moja was the first chimpanzee of the Gardners' second sign language project. Moja was born in captivity, on November 18, 1972, at the Laboratory for Experimental Medicine and Surgery in Primates (LEMSIP) in Tuxedo, New York. Her full name was Moja Lemsip. Moja is the Swahili word for "first." Moja was raised by Drs. Beatrix and R. Allen Gardner. Moja joined Washoe Loulis and the rest of the Fouts family at the University of Oklahoma in 1979, and accompanied them to Central Washington University in 1980.

Free-living chimpanzee life expectancy can reach into the late 40s. In captivity, chimpanzees can live to be more than 60 years old, though most die between 10 and 15 years of age, according to Roger and Deborah Fouts. "Chimpanzees don't belong in captivity, period. Not even in a facility like this (CHCI). Captivity is not good for them. Our species has yet to learn that lesson, not only with chimpanzees but with any species."

Moja was the first chimpanzee to die at the Chimpanzee and Human Communication Institute (CHCI), a sanctuary for adult chimpanzees who communicate with humans and each other using American Sign Language. The mission of CHCI is to protect and care for these chimpanzees, educate the public on the endangered status of free-living chimpanzees, help improve the lives of all captive chimpanzees through ongoing research and serve as a humane research facility for students.

The following represent a sample of the many tributes that CHCI received following the news of her death:

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share my thoughts with you on this occasion.

I confess that I have had a soft spot in my heart for Moja ever since I saw her photo on the cover of Roger's book, posed proudly in one of her favorite outfits. I could tell immediately that she was a kindred soul: a fellow primate who, like me, enjoyed wearing red. I subsequently learned that she also liked trying on wigs and dressing up--traits on which our tastes obviously differed. But that didn't matter. Crimson still ruled.

For David and me, and for the various friends from out of town we brought to see a chimposium, Moja was a delight in other ways as well. We loved the way she would lie on her corner platform, engrossed in her magazines while her companions romped and hooted. She had the mystique that came from being a little aloof from the rest, a little quieter and more subdued.

It was those characteristics that seemed to endear her to many of those who saw her at CHCI. Her life touched us deeply. So did her death. A couple of brief anecdotes reveal how much.

Some of you may know that I have asked members of my office staff and all of the vice presidents to inform me when there is a death on campus. I have made it known that I want tragedies affecting faculty, staff, students or alumni to be reported to me immediately, even when I am out of town on business or on vacation.

On the morning of June 6, I was in Seattle. I was about to leave my hotel room when I received a call from Jen Gray, informing me that Moja had died. It is a measure of what Moja and her fellow chimpanzees mean to Central that her passing was reported to me as soon as it was known--in the same way I am informed of the loss of human members of our campus community.

Later that day, when I was back on campus and meeting with emeritus faculty and staff at the annual reception in their honor, the word of Moja's passing was already circulating. There were tears in the eyes of those who had heard the sad news.

Why was there this depth of reaction? It was partly, of course, compassion for a sweet, gentle creature and sadness that she is no longer with us. But I think there is another explanation. Moja and her family are bearers of a profound and timely lesson. I think we realize that, when any of them are lost, we risk losing touch with that lesson.

From Moja and her family, we have learned almost as much about ourselves as humans as we have learned about them as our "next of kin." From our interactions with them, we are continually confronted with evidence of the countless characteristics that we share with their species, but we know we are linked in subtler ways with other species as well. Through them we have learned that we must appreciate the precious ties we share with other animals and respect the equally precious qualities that differentiate us.

That's the bigger lesson: Humans must become better stewards of this planet and the rich diversity of life it shelters.

For now, for all that we have learned from them, and for the many joys they bring to us just by being part of our lives and our campus community, we say thank you to Moja and her family.

And may there be some comfort in knowing that Moja now enjoys the one gift we were never able to give her while she lived: she is free.

Jerilyn McIntyre - President - Central Washington University

I remember watching Moja play with Loulis in the West room. She put a big purple hat over her head and tried to play "tag" with Loulis even though she couldn't see him. She would reach out with one arm and Loulis would move just far enough away so that she couldn't tag him. She took a couple steps forward, reached out toward him, and again he moved just out of her reach. They played this game for a little bit, and then Moja very slowly lifted the hat and peeked out to find where Loulis was. Once she saw him, she pulled the hat back down over her eyes and ran straight toward him until she caught him! They embraced each other and started tickling one another.

I admired the gentle and elegant way that Moja carried herself. She had so much poise. She was beautiful and she knew it! When she wore her black dress with the orange and red flowers, she wouldn't just walk around...she would strut. Seeing that always made me smile.

I will miss her more than words can say. CHCI won't be the same without her.
I just heard of Moja's death and it seems the only sort of relief I can get is to write to those that were also touched by her. I can not imagine how this loss is affecting the Chimps and Humans at CHCI right now. I hurt for her family and friends there. The world is surely lacking since Moja passed.

Moja was the first and last chimpanzee that I saw at CHCI during my four years. On my first shift, she chased ahead of me and watched with a sort of honest curiosity as I put on my boots and headed out to clean. This sort of observation was one of many lessons I would learn from Moja. After the last meal I would serve at CHCI, Moja sat in C1 and watched me in the kitchen. She signed HUG/LOVE from the bench as I took my last look toward the nightcage area.

There are so many memories that I have surrounding Moja. Until this moment, thinking back over them, I do not think I realized just how much these chimps had an impact on me.

It is the simple pleasures that I will miss about Moja. No one asking to smell my hair, no one asking me to open my mouth just to see inside, no one asking me to take out my earrings or roll my eyes inside my head, or to play with velcro, or listen to my watch...The thing that made Moja so endearing was that she was so real. She loved to play and groom, she was nervous and cautious, she was loyal to her family and friends, she had an awsome sense of humor. I can find no finer qualities in any human I know.

Washoe, Dar, Tatu, Loulis, Roger, Debbie and friends at CHCI, I am so very sorry for your loss. The only consolation I can think of is that for the first time Moja is getting to experience what it is like to be FREE. No bars, no glass; nothing but trees, sandwiches, and red clothes ... as it should be, of course.
Remember Moja

Remember our Moja,
Our African Princess,
Bathed in late summer sun
Grooming family with raspberry kisses.

Remember her songs,
Singing cocooned by her sarongs.
Hear her forever
Her message, a whisper from God.

Oh Daughter of Africa, Sister, Dear Friend
Your words remind us:
Look to see, as we never have
And share that, which we never knew we had.

You will be forever remembered
With a smile through a tear-streaked face,
Moja,
Our love's most painful beauty.

Now, with an empty space in our heart
We witness this silent peace.
Your soul transcends us, free now from captivity
Only your whispers and our memories remain.

Our mission continues, your life's lessons shall be carried on
From each of our minds to the minds of those we will encounter.
And may the universe, our dear Moja,
Forever be change by you.

Wendy Iwaszuk

I heard the news only moments ago about my beautiful friend, your amazing African daughter Moja. A flood of memories and emotions has consumed me and I cannot imagine how you and the rest of Washoe's family is handling this loss. Moja has had such a strong influence on my life, it seems impossible to fathom all that she has done for others in this world. For me, she has taught me lessons no human could and there by bettered me as a creature of this earth. I know she has done the same for so many CHCI visitors, docents, apprentices, Earthwatch volunteers, students and family members. I pray that now, that more than ever, you and all will be comforted by the memories we were fortunate enough to share with her.

May our hearts, heavy with grief, only remind us of the vast space Moja held and will always hold in our hearts.

Thank you for allowing me to share in Moja's life.


We are all devastated and in shock. Moja was a wonderful soul who impacted all of our lives tremendously.

Her chimpanzee family in Ellensburg has been showing their grief. Tatu signed HURT and CRY to her human friends and Dar has been signing CRY as well. Washoe has seemed very introspective and sat looking into the night enclosure area for a long time this morning after going into their playrooms for the day.

We all have lost a family member, and have been experiencing the ups and downs from mourning the loss of a loved one.


I lost one of my best friends today. Moja, one of the chimpanzees at CHCI, passed away last night. I'm absolutely devastated. At times I can barely keep myself together. I just left work today without saying anything to anybody because I could barely manage to speak. I keep breaking down when I walk by the pictures of her I have in my living room.

Moja was family to me, and I miss her terribly. I keep remembering all the fun little things she would do; the way she would sign LISTEN THAT to my watch and make little "tick tick" noises; the way she would sign GLASSESBLOW and make a game out of me holding my glasses up to the window so she could fog the window up as if she was fogging up the lenses; our relaxing grooming sessions; the times she would ask me to brush her; the enthusiastic, high-pitched squeals she'd make when I made a dinner she loved; the clothes she liked to wear; how she would sometimes sign so much and so fast that I would have to ask her to repeat herself just so I could figure out what she said; her sometimes high-strung nature; her love of velcro; her beautiful paintings; her wild play times with Tatu; I could go on forever.

She was an angel.

Roger and Debbi, my sympathies to both of you and everyone at the lab.

Moja, I love you, and I miss you.

Learn about Tatu & Loulis's home at Fauna Foundation's website!