Some moments stay with you forever. For me, one of those moments happened more than three decades ago, when a man named Félix Medina led me into a tropical dry forest in northern Colombia to see a tiny primate that would change the course of my life. It was my very first visit to Colombia. I had traveled there hoping to learn more about the critically endangered cotton-top tamarin, but nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced that day. Félix knew every trail, every tree, every sound the forest made. He moved through the woods with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged there. And then, suddenly, there they were—my very first wild cotton-top tamarins. I still remember the excitement I felt watching them leap effortlessly through the trees. That day changed me. I often say that Proyecto Tití was built on science, conservation, and community. But it was also built on relationships. People like Félix taught me that conserving wildlife isn't just about protecting animals—it is about protecting the knowledge, passion, and connection that people have with the forests they call home.
Over the years, Félix and I have worked side by side through every stage of Proyecto Tití's journey. Together we've watched forests disappear, protected new ones, celebrated births of wild tamarins, and welcomed visitors from around the world to experience this remarkable ecosystem. Today, as I watch his son Jeisson become one of Proyecto Tití's most knowledgeable field conservationists, and now see his grandson Alexander beginning his own journey into nature, I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride. This isn't just a story about one family. It's a story about legacy.
When Félix talks about Jeisson's childhood, it's impossible not to smile. "Jeisson was born in the forest," he laughs. Their home in Colosó sat beside a small stream surrounded by forest. Cotton-top tamarins regularly visited the trees around the house. "The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the forest." Like so many young boys, Jeisson followed his father everywhere. "If I went somewhere," Félix recalled, "he wanted to come with me." But these weren't ordinary father-son outings. Their adventures involved fishing in forest streams, watching howler monkeys moving through the canopy, learning the names of trees, discovering which plants produced fruit that cotton-top tamarins loved, and quietly observing the wildlife that surrounded them.
Every question Jeisson asked became another lesson. "What tree is this?" "Why do the tamarins eat here?" "What animal made that sound?" Patiently, Félix answered every one. "I wanted him to learn," Félix explained. "Not because I forced him, but because he loved it."
Sometimes the greatest classroom has no walls.
Jeisson doesn't remember every detail of those early years, but he vividly remembers watching cotton-top tamarins visit his aunt's backyard. "They came down to eat guavas and papayas," he told us. "I thought they were beautiful. I knew everyone called them titís, but I had no idea they were endangered." As a little boy, he simply thought they were another animal living nearby. His understanding would come later. He also remembers accompanying his father to the old primate research station, where several species of monkeys were housed for research and rehabilitation. Like any curious child, one particular memory still makes him laugh. "They made special biscuits for the monkeys," he admitted with a grin. "They were delicious." Whenever no one was looking, young Jeisson would sneak into the kitchen and steal a few monkey biscuits for himself. "I used to steal the monkeys' cookies." Some conservation stories include sophisticated science. Others involve cookie theft. Both seem equally important.
As Proyecto Tití became established at Hacienda El Ceibal, Jeisson's connection with conservation deepened. He watched researchers safely capture cotton-top tamarins for health assessments and monitoring. He learned what they ate. He even searched along the roadside for crickets to feed a rescued tamarin being prepared for release. "I remember coming home from school and collecting insects because my dad had taught me that cotton-top tamarins loved them." He still remembers the first time he actually held one. "You always see them high in the trees," he said. "But the first time I could touch one... smell it... it smelled like fruit. That was the moment I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life."
Sometimes a career begins with a university degree. Sometimes it begins with the scent of a cotton-top tamarin. Listening to Jeisson describe his work today made me realize just how much he has grown. He doesn't just see himself as Félix's son anymore. He sees himself as part of something much larger. "For me," he said, "working for Proyecto Tití is a dream." He spoke about everything he has learned—not only from his father, but from the biologists, researchers, students, and visitors who have come through our field station over the years. "I feel like I've graduated from the University of Life." I couldn't have said it better myself.
Some of the most remarkable conservationists I know never sat in a university classroom studying ecology. They learned by listening. By observing. By asking questions. By spending thousands of hours in the forest. Knowledge comes in many forms.
Now the story enters its third chapter.
Alexander, eight years old. Already fascinated by cotton-top tamarins. When asked where he first learned about them, he answered simply: "From my grandfather"; What does his grandfather do? "He protects the tamarins"; Would he like to protect them too? "Yes"; Why? "So I can follow my grandfather and my uncle"; Then came perhaps my favorite exchange: Why are cotton-top tamarins important? "So they don't disappear." Simple, honest and perfect. Alexander has already learned one of Proyecto Tití's most important messages: Cotton-top tamarins are not pets. They belong in the forest. Exactly where Félix first introduced them to me all those years ago.
I asked Félix how it feels to watch both his son and grandson continuing the path he started nearly forty years ago. His answer was deeply moving. "There are no words," he said. "It is a unique happiness. To know that what began forty years ago will continue with my son and my grandson... now I can almost sit quietly and watch them continue the journey." Then, with a smile, he added, "Maybe I'll stay nearby just a little longer... just not to get in their way." That made me laugh. Anyone who knows Félix knows retirement isn't really in his vocabulary. Before we finished, I asked both Félix and Jeisson what advice they would give parents hoping to inspire their children to care about nature. Neither mentioned smartphones. Neither talked about apps or textbooks. Instead, their advice was beautifully simple: take your children outside, walk with them, show them the forest, answer their questions, be patient, keep trying and help them fall in love with nature. Because once someone truly loves something... they'll want to protect it.
As I looked at the three generations of the Medina family standing together in the tropical dry forest, I couldn't help but think back to that first day when Félix led me through the woods to find my very first cotton-top tamarins. Neither of us could have imagined then where that walk would lead. Today, Proyecto Tití is protecting forests, restoring habitats, inspiring thousands of children, and helping secure a future for one of the world's rarest primates. But at its heart, our work is still about people sharing their love of nature with the next generation. Watching Félix pass that love to Jeisson... and watching Jeisson and Felix begin passing it to Alexander... reminds me that conservation isn't only about saving species. It's about creating legacies. And I can think of no greater legacy than three generations of one family, walking the same forest trails together, ensuring that cotton-top tamarins will always have someone looking out for them. That is a future worth believing in.