Middle Eastern Memories

Whenever I thought of our time in Bahrain, I remembered the little pup I had found . . .

SUNLIGHT streams into the back of the house as I come down the stairs. There is something about this morning: something familiar that seems to wake my body.

It happens every year, lifting my mood and putting a spring in my step.

I’ve never really thought about that saying before.

It’s literal, of course, putting a spring in your step. But when spring gets into you, deep in your cells, it has the same effect.

But why does spring make us all want to clean?

The moment I set foot in the hall, I know what today will involve.

First a cuppa and toast, then I look for the liquids, brushes and cloths I will need for my tasks.

I decide which room I should start with, then pull out the sofas, feeling embarrassed at the dust behind them. It’s a good job no-one else is around.

The sideboard is the hardest to move. I consider waiting for Steve to get back from B&Q, but I want to get on with it.

Eventually, I manage to heave one end from the wall, and as I do, something drops on to the floor. I reach back and grab it.

When I see what it is, a wash of memories floods over me.

I lean back against the wall, look at the photo and remember . . .

In Bahrain, on the roads, your life was not in your own hands.

Relieved to get back to the compound, I waited outside the gates for security to grant me access, but something caught my eye.

In the shade of a palm tree nearby, there was movement, and it didn’t look like one of the local cats.

Leaving the air conditioning running, I left the coolness of the car and crept over, seeing the animal slink round the back of the tree.

It was quite obviously just a small pup.

Looking around, I searched for the mother, but there were no other dogs in sight.

“You poor little thing.” I reached out slowly, but it moved further away.

“It’s OK.” I tried to sound gentle and reassuring, but it was terrified.

“Have you been abandoned or did you get lost?” I went on, crouching down. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back with some water and something to eat.”

Climbing back into the car, I thanked the security guard and drove into the compound.

Ten minutes later I was back with water, a bowl and some cooked chicken breast from the fridge.

It wasn’t ideal for a puppy, but I knew that it would have been scavenging from bins before I came along.

The next day, whilst waiting to leave the compound, I prayed that the pup’s mum had returned.

“It’s still there,” I told Steve on the phone. “I’ll have to take it to the rescue. Unless . . .”

“You know we can’t take it. We won’t be in Bahrain for ever, and who knows where we’ll end up next.”

Sighing, I drove to a friend’s villa to pick up a dog crate.

“She’s stunning,” I said, sliding the crate into the boot. “She’s a mixture, I think. Maybe desert dog and a bit of German shepherd. It’s hard to tell.”

“Do you need help getting her into the crate?” Sally asked, and I nodded.

In the end, it took over half an hour, but the puppy never ran off.

The humidity was stifling and she must have been grateful to escape the heat.

“She’s gorgeous,” Sally said with a sigh.

“I feel bad taking her, but I doubt she’ll survive out here alone.”

The shelter took her in and I left a donation of Bahraini dinars to cover the cost of her treatments. It was the best I could do.

Every now and again, I popped in to see how she was doing and whether she had found a new home.

“She’s still here, but she’s doing well,” they told me.

Ex-pats mostly ran the shelters with volunteers and donations.

One lady found homes all over the world and organised shipping.

I felt terrible that I couldn’t provide the pup with a home.

“Jamila knows you,” Janice said as the dog bounded to the front of her pen, tail wagging. “Jamila?”

“We named her. It means beauty.”

“It’s perfect.” I opened the pen and she put both paws on to my knee.

“She’s looking so healthy and happy.”

“She’ll be happier once we’ve found her a home. She’s still on the website, so we’ll see if anything comes of it.”

My hand damp from Jamila’s tongue, I stroked her head gently, my heartbeat aligning with hers.

Every time I visited, it became harder to leave. This time, I knew it would have to be for the last time.

When Janice had left us alone, I whispered goodbye, blinked away tears and kissed Jamila on the nose.

The days of visiting the shelter seem like a lifetime ago.

I feel the silence of the house as I sit on the floor, remembering the smell of the small, dusty island, the sound of the call to prayer that woke me each morning, and the sight of the shoes outside the mosques, waiting for their owners.

It was a special time and we still miss the place now.

Jamila found a home – someone who’d be on the island for a long time, and then would fly her to their permanent home.

Janice was wonderful, sending me regular updates from Jamila’s new owners.

I printed this photo off – Jamila leaping about on the beach. She looked so carefree and happy.

“What on earth are you doing down there?”

Startled, I almost drop the picture.

“Spring cleaning!” I laugh. “I can see you’ve been really busy.”

Steve’s eyes roll, and before I can struggle to my feet, two paws land on my shoulders and I topple over as a tongue licks my cheek.

“Sarie! You must be the worst-behaved dog in your training class!”

I throw my arms around her, then remember I shouldn’t be rewarding her and gently push her off.

“Sarie, sit,” Steve commands, and I think how perfect the name we gave her is.

Speedy, it means in Arabic, and it couldn’t be more apt. She was a rescue, too, dumped on the street.

Although she was in a shelter in Kent, a lot about her reminds us of Jamila. The soulful eyes, the German shepherd mix.

I think of all the strays on the island, and the incredible people who do all they can to help them.

It has been a long time, and Jamila died a few years ago, but the memories are as fresh as the day we left.

A tear escapes my eye, dropping on to Sarie’s ear as I bend down to kiss her.

“Come on, trouble.” I glance at the sideboard.

“Forget the cleaning on a day like this. Let’s get to the beach for a walk.” ■