My alarm rings a muffled tune from where it’s buried under my pillow. It’s still dark outside, and it feels like I’ve hardly slept. Thanks to the iguanas’ midnight feasts, I’ve spent the night being startled awake each time they dropped a fruit onto our huts’ very loud tin roof. I dig around to find my phone and wince as the bright screen lights up: 6:00 a.m.

I roll out of bed and get changed. I have 15 minutes before preparation for the morning feed begins, and I don’t want to be late. Dressed, I dash outside with my head torch and camera, and am instantly met by the morning committee of mosquitoes. They chase me across the lawn as I run toward the rehab facility. The dawn sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon.

Ducking into the centre’s food-prep kitchen, I’m met by the equally sleepy smiles of the WildTracks team. They are all here, busy chopping fruit and assembling the dozens of bowls set to feed their current inpatients. It smells incredible – banana, papaya, watermelon and powdered baby milk fill the air. Happy flies whizz around us, equally intoxicated.

I joined one of the volunteers at the milkshake-making bench. Although the centre is home to a menagerie of wildlife, I am here to meet one very special animal: the Antillean manatee. Nestled in the north of Belize, WildTracks is an internationally renowned rescue centre and a world-leading expert in manatee rehabilitation.

Belize is the last stronghold for this subspecies, with between 700 and 1,000 individuals left in its waters. Currently, the centre has three manatees under its care: Twix, Kit and Kat. All three are juveniles and still bottle-fed, and my job this morning is to assist with feeding them.

With the bottles made, we wander down to a small walled pool on the edge of the lagoon, where Kit and Kat spend their nights. They are in what the centre calls a “soft release”. They are still fed three times a day but spend their days roaming freely in the adjacent lagoon, exploring, socialising, and munching on seagrass to their hearts’ content as they learn about their environment.

Manatees would usually learn all the skills they need from their mothers, but in their absence, the WildTracks volunteers step into that role. Once the juveniles are old enough, they are fitted with a satellite tag and begin the full soft-release phase: living free in the lagoon, introduced to the seagrass beds, and monitored remotely around the clock. This stage can last up to a year, and it’s critical, giving the young manatees time to understand the wild environment while gradually being weaned off human dependence.

Reaching the pool, I roll up my trousers and sit on the edge, dangling my feet in. The water is cool and refreshing in the tropical heat. Almost immediately, a bristly grey snout materialises between my legs, followed by an entire, enthusiastic manatee head bursting from the water, lips flaring with excitement. I’ve watched the team do this for the past two mornings, so I know the drill. I tuck my feet under Kat’s flippers on either side to hold her steady. Then, placing one hand under her chin, I slip the bottle into her mouth and buckle up for a wriggly ride.