"Saving Mickey, the dog under occupation"

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about religion.  If you ask any Christian if Jesus is real, they’d swear they feel an intimate connection with him.  Jews say the same about Jehova, Muslims about Allah, Buddhists about Buddha, etc…  Whether these all actually exist and coexist simultaneously remain in question.  For now, however, I was ready for my own religious experience.  I was in Bethlehem (in Palestine), at the Church of the Nativity- the exact spot where Jesus was born.  In fact, down in the basement is a small room, adorned with gold.  On the ground is a star and candles.   This is where people travel from all over the world to have a religious experience. The Pope, past American Presidents, Christian religious leaders... you name it. Now, I was here.

The spot where Jesus was said to have been born

This was it.  I walked down the stairs, through the wooden door and looked at the spot Jesus was born- and there it was.  There was a nun, a few people in a trance-like prayer, and another woman with several rosary beads and what looked like Jesus trading cards (do those exist?). This was it.  I guess this is the point where I feel some sort of spirit?    Nothing.  A few minutes pass.  Nothing.  I feel nothing.  I feel no different than I did a half hour ago when I was eating falafel at a street vendor.  In fact, I’m more concerned with the sanitation of everyone kissing the star on the ground where Jesus was born.  Ringworm is real.  I look at the lady next to me with the Jesus trading cards.  She kisses each one then lays them down at the star.  Again, I feel nothing.  All I can think about is Mickey…

You can see the star if you look closely at the ground

If you’ve read my previous post on IG/Facebook, you remember Mickey.  She’s the sweet girl that was chained up near the wall in a refugee camp called Aida (I-Da).  About an hour before I went to the church is when I first saw Mickey chained up in the hot summer heat. When I found her, I gave her some water, which she lapped up quicker than I could pour it.  I walked down the street to the Shwarma shop (it’s a type of meat), and bought some meat for her.  She again, ate it quicker than I could give it to her.  My heart sank.  This was her life.  Chained up in the hot summer heat, dirty, and wanting attention.  As I walked away she started to whimper.  There was nothing I could do.  I fed her and gave her water, and now I was off to discover Jesus.

Sweet Mickey

Mickey posing for the camera

Mickey's home next to the wall

Fast forward back to the church where I’m waiting for Jesus to come.  By this point I’m getting frustrated.  Everyone else around me seems to be having this religious awakening, and I’m wondering if Mickey is still thirsty.  Thoughts start racing through my head. Am I a real Christian?  If Jesus is real, does kissing the star where he was born make me a better Christian than someone who hasn’t?  Does Jesus value me more if I got some trading cards perhaps?  I hope Mickey isn’t lonely…  Maybe I should’ve bought some rosary beads to kick start my religious awakening.  This all seems silly.  This line of thinking spawned another thought… If Jesus and his teachings are real, I’m not sure if kissing the ground does anything.  In fact, I think I remember Jesus saying to tend to his flock.  Tend to his flock... what does that even mean? That’s it. Do something good today.  Do something good…

“Taxi!!” I shouted outside the church.  “Salem Alikum (A greeting in Arabic)” I say.  “Take me to the grocery store… the one down the road about a mile.”  Without hesitation he goes.  I’m not even sure if he speaks English, but at this point who cares. Magically, we arrive.  This is the only big grocery store in Bethlehem.  “Wait 5 minutes.. I’ll pay you, just wait,” I half plead with him as I half wave money during my explanation.  He agrees.

I start roaming down the isles quickly.  Finally, in the back I see my prize- a 30 pound bag of dog food.  I bring it to the counter and pay.  The cashier looks at me funny.  Feeding dogs in a world where children sometimes don't eat is a 1st world issue, let alone spending money on a huge bag.   She takes my money anyway.  I go back out to the taxi who is now surely thinking I’m some crazy American (I am).  “Aida refugee camp,” I tell him.  He looks puzzled… “The refugee camp? Are you sure?”  I'm mildly surprised he spoke English as he really didn't say a word until then. At this point I realize that a white guy carrying a 30-pound bag of dog food wanting to go to the refugee camp is probably the most bizarre things this cab driver has witnessed.  But, just like the virgin Mary, sometimes crazy circumstances turn out to be beautiful. #CrazyAmerican

The streets of Bethlehem

We pull up to the refugee camp and I walk the half mile to Mickey.  I see a shack-type house next to her.  I politely walk in and knock on the door.  A man in his 40s answers and looks confused why a white male with a huge bag of dog food is at his door.  “Hi… Do you speak English?” I ask.  “Yes… not a lot but yes.”  I smile, and he does the same. I instantly feel relief, but I'm not exactly sure why.  “That dog.. is she yours?”  He nods.  “Well, I just wanted to give you some food for her, and I also…”  I stop.  I see a small girl peak from around the corner.  I look in the shack and the entire house is the size of my living room in Oklahoma.  This shack is essentially outside, and everything is dirty.  I should be buying food for the girl instead.  She reminds me of the scene in Aladdin where Abu gives the poor kids who peak around the corner some bread. 

Entrance to Aida Refugee Camp

I stop.  “Here… this is for the dog.  Please feed her,” I say quietly.  I also hand him 100 Shakels ($25).

He seems confused, and grateful...  He looks at me with almost an embarrassed look.  “I’m not sure what to say.  Thank you.  Her name is Mickey and I found her wandering around the refugee camp.  Dogs die here very easily so I tried to rescue her.  Do you want her?” 

Typical apartment in Aida refugee camp

"Yes" I thought...  “No, no I can’t.  I live in the United States, I’m just… visiting” I muster up to say still looking at his daughter staring at the white man her Dad is talking to.   

He looks at me with gratitude in his eyes and I wonder if he’ll spend the money feeding his daughter instead.  I wish I had more cash to give him. 

“Will you come in? I have some soda or tea if you want it.”  This gesture warmed my heart. 
“Thank you, but I should be going.  I have to head back and the bus is a little far.  Thank you again,” I say.  We both smile. I say bye to the little girl.  She finally lets out a smirk.

I start to walk back to the bus stop.  On the way back I find some kids playing next to the wall.  They have no idea what that wall represents.  That wall is their prison bars, they just don't know it yet.  They have no idea that they are being oppressed.  They don't know that the chances of them leaving the West Bank and slim to none.  They are blithely unaware of all of this... I'm feeling a wave or emotions and I'm not sure how to process everything that just happened.  The bus ride home was around 2 hours.  I did a lot of thinking on that drive.  One of my conclusions is that Mickey represents any Palestinian: 

So much potential, but chained and bound without freedom. 

So much to give, but restricted. 

Full of love, but limited by barriers. 

Children play next to the wall that separates Israel and Palestine

Whether in the U.S. or Palestine, kids love their picture taken.

     

Why am I so obsessed with this dog?  Sure, I'm a dog person, but why do I feel such an overwhelming feeling to help?  I realized that I'm surrounding by feelings of helplessness.  Everywhere I go I see injustice and I can't do anything.

Poor kids playing on the street? Nothing I can do.

An entire country being oppressed?  Nothing I can do.

People being forced to live marginal lives that are under constant surveillance and subject to arrest without provocation?  Nothing I can do.

I'm helpless and frustrated.  But Mickey... Sweet Mickey.   I can do something.  There's so much pain here, but maybe I can finally do something.

She will be full for tonight, and the next week, but what about after that?  Back to the hunger pains laying in the hot sun.  I started to feel helpless again.  It was at this moment that I made the decision to save Mickey.  I have no idea how, but I need to get this dog to a better home.  I am unable to help the other thousand situations that plague the West Bank, but I’ll be damned if I can’t help this one dog from suffering anymore than she has to. Mission accepted.

Rawan is a friend I met who lives in Israel (she’s Palestinian).  My first thought was to ask her for advice.  She gives me some, and a lot of encouragement.  Below is a list of plans we made for saving Mickey:

Plan A: Ship Mickey to the United States

Plan B: Bring Mickey to Israel

Plan A was way to complicated as I had a layover in Russia (Russia like to complicate things).  Plan B was to bring Mickey to Israel.  However, this had several problems…  First, how would we transport her? Second, dogs need an ID.  Mickey is a street dog.  How do we get an ID for her?

I tried to rent a car.  It’s a no go.  There are no cars to rent in the West Bank.  However, I did find out how to get Mickey an ID.  She would have to go to a vet, get vaccinations, and a microchip.  The problem was getting a vet- which is hard to come by in the West Bank.  Doctors for dogs is a first world luxury.  Nonetheless, I did find one in another city that said he could give Mickey her vaccinations (for a price, of course). 

So of the three issues, (1. A vet, 2. Transportation, and 3. A home), I’ve solved one.  I leave the West Bank in 2 days.  At this point, I don’t care how Mickey gets saved.  I just want to save her.  So, I come up with a plan… we’ll title this plan C:

I will take a taxi to Bethlehem, pick up Mickey, take her in a taxi (is that allowed?) to another city to a vet, then take another taxi back to my city.  The taxi’s alone will cost a few hundred dollars.  I’m willing to forgo that.  It’s an investment. I was planning to buy a new laptop when I got back to the U.S.  I don't need it.  

"Some taxi's won't let dogs in cars, and they may not take you to different cities," Rawan commented.  She's right.  I’m feeling defeated.. At this point, I need help.  I text some friends for encouragement.  I text my friend Amanda, Anan and Natalie.  They all tell me just to go for it.  It’s now the night before I set my plan (can we call it that?) into motion.  I still have no transportation and no home for Mickey.  Great… yolo… carpe diem..  I’m screwed…

It was at this point I get 2 phone calls.  The first was Abdul, a colleague who works at Project Hope.  He tells me he’s heard about my story, and he and Manuela (another colleague) will forgo their vacation day tomorrow to help me.  I have no words.  I also don’t know if they know what they’re getting into.  The second call came from Noura.  Noura coordinates schedules at project hope.  She said her brother would take Mickey as long as she gets an ID.  Magically, this was all coming together.  Now it should be smooth sailing, right?  Wink wink.  No. 

We wake up early the next morning and Abdul and Manuela meet me.  We make the long drive to Bethlehem (around 2 hours) and Abdul lets me drive his car along the way.  We pick up one more passenger, Hanan, to drop her off in Bethlehem.  It should be noted that having a personal car in the West Bank is a privilege that not many people have.  Further, this car was a nice car- one he was proud of.  The seats were clean, the trunk was empty… it even smelled new.  He had a nice radio system, and the car was shockingly clean for all the everyday desert dust.  He reminded me to close the doors gently.  It was his baby. 

Car ride to Bethlehem to rescue Mickey

Excited to rescue Mickey!

Two hours later we arrive in Bethlehem and drive into the refugee camp.  We pull up to the wall and I see where Mickey was the last time I saw her.  Nothing.  My first thought was that we just drove 2 hours for nothing and I ruined their day.  Before that thought finished however, Mickey comes trotting along from behind a rock, still chained up.  She cries when she sees me, and I tear up.  I introduce Abdul and Manuela to Mickey, and they both love her.  Mickey, of course, loves the attention.  I give her some water and she laps it up again. 

Walking up to Mickey

She remembers me :)

Reunited

Abdul gives Mickey some water, and she laps it up.  We leave Mickey for a few minutes to go talk to her owner at the shack.  Abdul translates in Arabic, and we find out the owner (named Ali) was in prison for 9 years.  Why?  Well, he worked at a bar when one night 3 Israeli soldiers came in.  They got drunk, started a fight, and Ali was involved.  He punched one of the soldiers and that was that.  “Palestinian punches Israeli soldier” was the headline that night, and Ali suffered the consequences.  He told Abdul that while in prison they put him in solitary confinement.  He tried committing suicide twice but failed.  Now, 9 years later he lives in a refugee camp selling second hand items… clothes, pots, utensils… whatever he can refurbish.  He said he found Mickey a few months ago and tried to rescue her as best as he could.  Dogs in the middle east are of the lowest class, and they usually die on the streets.  It was Ali that decided to try to feed her when he has trouble feeding his own wife and kids. 

Abdul and I with Mickey

Sweet Manuela with Sweet Mickey

Ali tell us his appreciation, and I promise to come visit him whenever I come back.  Next time I'm back I want to do something nice for him and his family.  Any ideas? I'd be happy to listen.  I'm still working on that plan... but for now, Mickey...

Step one- get Mickey… CHECK.  Now we need to get to a city called Ramallah to get her to the vet.  Abdul is driving, Manuela is in the passenger seat, and Mickey and I are in the back.  We have a small towel that Ali gave us for Mickey to sit on, but she curls up on my lap anyways.  Around 5 minutes in, Mickey perks up.  She sits up, and barfs… All. Over. The. Back. Seat.  

“Umm.. Abdul?? Pull over…” I manage to calmly say.  “Why??” he replies as he looks back over his shoulder.  He realizes what happens.  At this point I’m guessing Abdul will freak out.  Mickey just barfed over his impeccably clean car- he has every right to be upset.  He doesn’t.  He looks back and says, "No problem."  For a second I forge the smell of the throw up and am grateful Abdul is here.  We pull over, and start to clean up the puke.  Manuela, who is a vegetarian, jumps in a starts cleaning the meat filled throw up with some wipes.  I feel TERRIBLE, and they reassure me it's okay. Who are these people?? Mickey's guardian angels, apparently.  Abdul runs into the corner store to buy some hand towels.  I talk to Mickey like I talk to Cookie (my own dog in the U.S.) and tell her it's okay and not to feel bad.  I think she understands.  For as dramatic as it was, we were an efficient team. 

Me smiling after cleaning up Mickey's puke

What we didn’t know at the time was that this would happen again…  Not once, not twice… not 3 or 4 times… 8.   8 times Mickey puked in the car.  That’s what happens when you’ve never been in a car before.  “At least she had food in her stomach to throw up” I think to myself.  The 2 hours drive wasn’t over.  Mickey was stressed, confused.  She had barely been off of a 3 foot chain in her life, and now she’s driving in a car (side note: the roads in Palestine aren’t exactly smooth).  Besides the 8 throw ups, Mickey pooped in the car… 3 times. 

After the first hour of driving, we made it to the vet who met us at a gas station before bringing us back to his house.  Maybe that’s how vets work in Palestine? I’ll never know.  He gives Mickey a clean bill of health, a microcip, and ID, and some vaccinations.  We get on the road again.

Mickey's first vet appointment ever

Patient Abdul and Mickey

Mickey was much better on the way back from the vet.  We get back to Nablus, our home-base city, and go to a park.  Here is where Mickey gets her first ever run off leash.  It was a fenced in park, and Mickey experienced what freedom tastes like.  She likes it, but has trouble going down stairs.  That’s okay.  She’ll learn.

Mickey's other parents

I give Abdul and Manuela some time to grab some food, while I bring Mickey back to the girls dorm to shower.  Katy, a colleague of mine, helps me bathe her.  Her first bath ever.  She is confused and afraid of the water, but Katy does a great job of talking her through it.  

Katy and me after washing Mickey

I meet back up with Abdul and Manuela, and we wait for Mickey's owner.  He pulls up and I'm nervous I won't like him.  I couldn't be more wrong.  He's a gentleman and thanks me for saving Mickey.  I thank him for taking her.  I give him the leash  (it was harder than I thought) and he promises me the following: “Next time you come to Palestine, you wont be able to recognize Mickey.  She will eat well, and she’ll have a full belly everyday.”  I feel relieved.

Handing over Mickey to her new owner

Mickey's new home

After it was over, I walk back to my apartment.  I start sobbing.  Sobbing out of relief, out of sadness, out of happiness.  It looks like I got my religious experience...

Mickey is the epitome of Palestine.  There is so much injustice here in the West Bank, and Mickey is just one of many who experiences this.  I hope and trust she has a better life, but there is more work to be done.  Let’s not forget the stories of Mickey and Palestinians.  Next time you hear the words Israel, or Palestine, or occupation, or freedom… remember them. Remember Mickey...

Special thanks for everyone who helped me rescue Mickey:

Abdul*

Manuela*

Katy

Rawan

Anan

Natalie

Micah

Ian

Alex

Laurence

Noura

Ali

Emily
Marcos
Jesse
Amanda
Ahmad

It takes a village!!  We did it :)  

**Abdul and Manuela- You both are two of the sweetest, kind and gentle people I know.  I appreciate you both.  Anytime you need anything from me, I'm there.  I WILL see you both again.  Can't wait :)