The Dream of Dahab

Imagine a politically neutral international outpost in a pocket dimension perched on the edge of a dreamy blue sea.

I’m not talking about the setting of a fantasy book. I’m talking about a town in Egypt called Dahab. South Sinai is a vast desert peninsula between the Suez Canal and Israel. At one point it even belonged to Israel. The Egyptians fought to get it back. But the land belongs to Bedouin tribes that have little regard for Egyptians or Israelis. Whoever gives them the most money is ok by them.

In the past few decades, Dahab has turned into one of the most liberal parts of Egypt, attracting tourism and many foreigners who decide to make it their home.

When I arrived here, I quickly discovered the reason why Sinai is referred to as holy land. The place exists in a special bubble. Time has no meaning. Days bleed together just like how sometimes the sky melds with the sea, and you can't tell the difference between them.

In a way, I found what I was searching for on my recent quest, a place that could easily be that Harry Potter world existing magically alongside the human world. It’s surrounded by the Red Sea, or rather, the Gulf of Aqaba, on one side and desert mountains on the other.

In reality, Dahab is a tourist area. One has to pass through at least 3 police checkpoints to get here, and they don’t let just anyone in. It’s truly international and almost autonomous in its own right. Once inside the bubble, I have experienced a profound sense of peace and tranquility. There are children everywhere roaming in packs. In that sense it reminds me of the 70’s in the U.S. Dogs and cats are free and have their own community. Goats roam the streets, eating anything they find, calling to each other in their cute goat voices. Beautiful Arabian horses trot by with riders. Dahab even has its own monkey that escaped from someone and now roams the streets.

When you sit on the beach, any number of broody writer-types sit alone, staring at the sea. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want. Or you can have a rich social life. In a way it’s like living full time in a place that feels like a mashup of Burning Man and the SCA in the Middle East. You can take any kind of art class, or join a choir, do yoga, get a massage, perform at open mic, go to a DJ party on the beach, learn to Salsa dance, go to karaoke, see live music.

The place is surrounded by a coral reef that attracts divers and snorkelers from all over the world. You can take classes in any of these aquatic adventures. You can also take boat rides, go into the mountains for vision quests, go on a quad driving tour or camel rides. You can party in craggy gulches around a fire under a misty moon where you feel like you might see the burning bush at any moment. This is the land where Moses was said to have wandered with his wayward tribe of escaped slaves, where he spoke to God.

There’s so much I can say about this place, it’s taken me a while to collect my thoughts into some kind of organized tale. Considering this place is like living in a waking dream, it’s hard for some to keep disciplined here. The days bleed together, and life starts to take on a fluid quality where you are one with the environment. For me, this is the way I exist every day, so I didn’t have to change at all to adapt aside from cultural differences. Considering my currency is inspiration, I could very well have found the perfect writing hideout for myself.

Having been here for almost a year, I have discovered the various cliches and pitfalls faced by foreigners trying to interact with Egyptian and Bedouin culture. This is where my story takes a dark turn. There are bands of microclimates here that serve as a metaphor for the entire town.

Along the shore you always have the sea and whatever various breezes that offers. The shore being lined with hotels and structures blocks the breeze from the streets starting from the moment you set foot off the shore. The temperature rises. The pollution and noise from cars become an assault on the senses. I didn't leave the shore for the first few months I was here. while the shore was the dream, outside was a collection of nightmares.

If you follow me on Facebook you may have noticed that I always post pictures of dogs. One of my greatest passions here is the dog pack I have befriended. It’s a really sappy love story. As I mentioned before, dogs and cats run free here. The human community takes care of them, but they also take care of each other. I spent the first few months as a resident of a hotel, which is known for having one of the only bars in town. They also have a dive center and a magnificent yoga studio plus an amazing beach with a cool restaurant serenaded by the pulse of electronic middle eastern vibes.

The day I showed up, three dogs came running to greet me with their happy wagging tails, and I decided then and there that this was the place for me. Over the few months I lived there, the resident dogs would greet me when I emerged for breakfast and escort me to the kitchen, then come and guard me from marauding cats as I ate my morning meals. Forcing myself to get up for their free breakfast period has turned me into a morning person since then, which is weird because I have been a night person all my life. But even at night, these dogs would all follow me and escort me on adventures and then escort me right back to my door.

One day I noticed a scrappy, ugly mangy mutt who was injured from a fight. I could tell he was exhausted and hungry, so I bought him a plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. I named him Wolfie because when he gets snarly he has the crazy look of a wolf on the hunt. I’ve been watching him and the dog pack for months, and they adore me even though I don’t feed them that much. I’ve become queen of the dogs there, and whenever I arrive, they greet me like a VIP and follow me around and sleep in a circle around me as long as I’m there.

I’ve really given a lot of thought to trying to take Wolfie with me to retire in comfort with regular meals and good medical care. He was abandoned here originally, and even though he has found a home, and acts as the alpha dog of the pack, I wonder if he would like a comfortable retirement as my boon companion. But ultimately, I feel like that pack depends on him. And as my time has continued, I started getting closer to another member of the pack, Dave the Dog.

Unlike Wolfie, who kept his territory on the beach, Dave was more of an intrepid explorer. He wanted to see new things. It almost felt like he saw Dahab as a huge unraveling puzzle as he followed me to places he hadn’t seen before. He would escort me at night, and even negotiate through dog packs with the skill of a diplomat. I came to realize that this was no ordinary dog. He was one of those human-like creatures with charisma and intelligence all wrapped up in a magic glowing aura.

When I moved to a location near the hotels where there was no dog pack, Dave started coming home with me all the time. He followed me everywhere like a shadow attached to my leg. He came with me inside bathrooms, up strange rickety staircases, into coffee shops and restaurants. Into the sea. I stopped going anywhere that wouldn’t allow Dave, and eventually we became very well known on our routes. It was unheard of to separate us. Someone tried to make him leave my side at the bar once, and Dave got scary for a second, then looked at me eagerly as I said he was with me.

Sometimes Dave would get antsy and want to go out at night, so I let him. I knew he missed his pack. A few times he peeled off and ran back to his beach, and I would just go get him in the morning. He would always jump up and walk with me wherever I was heading. I posted on the Facebook group if anyone knew him, and I found out his entire story from other people who loved him.

Like so many other dogs in Dahab, he was left at the beach as a young puppy. Some animal lovers who had bought one of my favorite nicer houses on the beach started feeding and caring for him along with the other dogs in that area of the beach. Wolfie was one of those dogs, and Dave was almost like his protégé.

I could always tell that Dave knew Wolfie when he was a puppy. He was stern and serious, but whenever he saw Wolfie, he would revert to a playful puppy.

I also discovered that Dave had a quasi-home with a cool British Expat I know who has horses and a rescued eagle among his own dog pack. Dave would often go to his house. A few times when I couldn’t find him I would text the British guy who would confirm that Dave had showed up at his house. The community knows Dave. The Russians named him Shine. Everyone up and down that area of the beach had their own names for him. He was popular and loved.

Ultimately, I could tell that Dave craved the kind of love I give. With me he could be sweet and cute and mellow and vulnerable whereas the rest of the time he had to be stern and on-guard. I knew that he was choosing to be with me. So, when my plans to leave were canceled, I knew it was because I was getting more time with my boy Dave. More time to prepare him to come with me to my next destination.

But the spirit of Sinai decided it would be a good lesson for Dave to be taken away from me by a cruel act of murder instead…

A Requiem for Shine

Dave died the kind of death that has the capacity to start a war.

The outrage and helplessness of injustice quickly gives rise to feelings of vengeance. It boils in the body until an aura of spiritual fire radiates from an endless pool of grief.

The memory of the last morning we spent together both illuminates and breaks my heart. He stayed faithfully by my side as my man and I prepared for our wedding. He gently put his calloused paw on my foot then laid his head on my soon to be husband’s leg. We all snuggled together, watching the tumultuous sea on our special day. We were a family.

For a big guy who made it his business to protect me, this particular morning, he was all full of snuggles and love. I knew that he had finally chosen us. He made sure I knew how much he loved me.

We had to go to Cairo to deal with the legal system in Egypt. And when we came back it would be time to start preparing Dave to travel. Before I stepped into the car with my suitcase, I wrapped his stout dog body in my arms and sent all my love through my heart. And he felt it. I promised him I’d be back in 5 days. I counted on my fingers as he watched. I told him when I came back, I would make sure that he would stay with me for the rest of his life.

Had I known it would be the last time I saw his sincere golden eyes looking at me with such love and trust… Things would have been very different.

But he loved his life of freedom on the beach. He had not been in danger before. He was at least 5 years old, dumped as a puppy, and so many people loved him in the community. He was more fortunate than other street dogs. He was cared for. He had a beach to protect, sand to dig in, food scraps to eat, water to drink, a bunch of dog friends.

I remember the look in his eyes as he watched me packing. When he followed us outside and stood at the car as if expecting to come with us. I rolled down the window and told him to go wait for me. He watched until the car drove away, then turned around and ran toward the beach.

Two days into my 5-day trip, dogs were found poisoned along the beach where he grew up… Very quickly it was revealed that more dogs were found dead all over town. Bags of poisoned meat were found scattered around neighborhoods. A bag of meat was tossed over the garden wall of my British friend.

Was this a mass extermination of street dogs? Was any dog or cat finding that meat meant to be arbitrarily eliminated? And who would do something so evil and sadistic? Were they targeting Dave? Or worse yet, me? But what had I done?

With a mystery unraveling, the community erupted into outrage, pointing fingers, blaming and whispering conspiracies, jumping to conclusions. And it became a microcosm of the way much of the planet is operating in this rapidly deteriorating age at the end of time. I watched it all on the Facebook group as my heart broke and the part of my soul that was bonded with Dave decided to go with him.

He died on the Mayan day out of time, my little Egyptian boy. My new husband and I had spent that day at the pyramids in Cairo. And when I found out what had happened to my golden boy, my anguish was so extreme, I screamed myself into emptiness. I became Isis, crying enough tears to fill up the Nile. The dark monster that lives in my soul wanted blood. The storm had erupted. Had I been there when it happened, all of Dahab would have known. Instead, I was at the pyramids when he was being buried.

In this world evil eliminates innocence. Love is what links us to our origin as part of creation. Once our love is ruthlessly denied, we are also being called to evil, as if a dark spell is cast. Then our darkest impulses are justified by our rage and helplessness.

Bullies have done this for all time. They submit to the need to be more powerful than others, to exert control over others. Makes one wonder what kind of loss they suffered to destroy their hearts so much that they could so ruthlessly snuff out life with no regard to the harm they’re causing others affected by those lives. Did their hearts fall victim to this cycle? Is that what turned them into pawns for evil?

But then I think of how nature can be this ruthless. It can snuff out innocence in the blink of an eye. Life is fragile. Death is rarely fair. But if nature has done it, then this is dealt by the hand of God. If humans do it, then they are arrogantly and naively playing the role of God.

As I work to rise above my anger, my grief, my betrayal by the place I called my refuge, I ask myself how I can turn this into something good. How can I honor the memory of my sweet magnificent Dave?

To let something like this go feels like a crime. For this angelic creature who captured my heart then had his life mercilessly stripped away… alone, without me there to protect him, my guilt and anguish creeps in. I desperately want justice, and so all I can do is make his death into a clarion.

For me, his death has become a symbol for the condemnation of arbitrarily murdering innocent lives. In the Muslim religion, dogs are considered citizens of this planet. They are gifts from God, and to kill them is haram. But to love and show them kindness is to be purged of the evil in your own heart. When those deep, soulful eyes meet yours, speaking volumes without saying a word, your soul is lifted to the heavens.

Will the death of these dogs become a blood ritual for these evil creatures who call themselves men? It only serves to show that they are a minion of evil, murdering innocent lives because of their need for power. Their grudge. Their greed. Their anger. Their need to satisfy their own outrage. They are no better than any bully who hurts others for their own gain, starting wars, murdering innocent people, causing the curse that leads to wars...

I’ve watched the war rising between dogs and Bedouins. I’ve seen Dave run from them. He was a brave boy, but they terrified him. I’ve also seen Bedouins stop at the sight of him and turn to run. I’ve seen dog packs gang up on Bedouins. I’ve seen gangs of Bedouin kids hunting for dogs to torture. I’ve seen them set their sights on a dog. Any dog. And their eyes shift into an angry glare intent on some kind of vengeance perhaps? I’ve heard horror stories about the treatment of dogs they capture. Hung from a tree by their collar and used as a pinata. Left in a cage in the desert. Puppies tossed out of a moving car. A mother dog and her litter of puppies all brought and dumped in the mountains because of a grudge.

I’ve seen Dave become one of their targets. It was part of why I had decided to take him with me. It's easy to see the cycle of hate as it spins and churns. I don't know who started the war between the dogs and the Bedouins, but it perpetuates itself all the time. They learn from a young age to hate dogs. They learn to torture dogs. Then dogs hate them. Then they hate dogs. And round and round the wheel turns. There can be no way out of it until someone teaches the children that dogs can be their friends. Someone has to break the cycle. It's not hard to see this as a microcosm of so many things happening around the world.

I don't know who killed him. Should I know? What would I do anyway? I have my suspicions. Every person who has reached out to me with a theory all point to the same people. I have had experiences with these people, and they are actually quite scary. They are obviously not Muslims, at least not the ones who practice the heart and soul of Islam. They obviously wanted to clear dogs out from this particular area of the beach. And they are obviously more powerful than the police somehow. Here's why I say that...

A group decided to meet on the beach and have a vigil for these murdered dogs. The police found out and tracked down the woman who made the Facebook post about it. Gatherings are unlawful here apparently. But that law applies to events where money is exchanged. In this case, a potentially angry mob wanting justice for poisoned dogs was a threat to them. So, it became illegal for us to gather on a free beach.

Since all rental tenants are supposed to be registered with the police, they found and threatened to arrest her old landlords until they found out her phone number. Then they called her and sent the head of national security to speak with her. My husband and I went to speak with him too. He seemed very kind and said they would track down the killer and begin an investigation. Weeks later, he has stopped returning my texts. Perhaps they hope that the dream of Dahab might make everyone forget.

But how can I forget? They stole a piece of my heart from me after I have been someone who has fed a lot of money into all the stores and hotels near where the dogs were poisoned. Could I have given my money to these criminals? I will not go back to any of the hotels in that area until I find out who not to give my money to. My entire reason for being in Dahab was destroyed in one cruel act. How does one reconcile this kind of injustice?

When we returned from our trip in Cairo, we went immediately to the beach I had spent so many months going just to see Dave and the entire dog pack. It was late at night and the beach was closed. When the dogs realized it was us, they came to snuggle with us in the sand.

Wolfie laid down beside me and put his paw in my hand as I cried. Stella, the queen of the beach wrapped her entire body around me. I could tell that they were sad too. The others crowded around as I cried and pounded the sand. I drew circles of protection around them where they lay, and they stayed in their circles as I cried.

As the moments passed and the tears subsided, my husband and I stared at the stars, watching them move and twinkle. The dogs laid around us and I felt like Dave was there too, just like always, watching and protecting me. And a voice whispered to my soul… “You have loved and showed kindness to one of God’s creatures. This always earns you a blessing, dear one. The pure love you shared with Dave is now part of you for all time.”

Soliloquy

And now as I prepare to leave this place, I reflect back on my time. Was it all worth it? Of course. As you may have noticed, I got married here, which is its own story. I also invested in a business, which didn't go well. These are all the things that happen for foreigners in this place. Get ripped off and screwed over by a refugee who I cannot sue because I don't have the heart to have him deported to his own country. Check. Find a dog to adopt and lose it to poison. Check. Marry an Egyptian that is almost impossible to get out of the country. Check. Make lifelong friends from all over the world. Check.

I have to admit my bubble has been burst. What I thought was a peaceful refuge has now shown me the cracks in its foundation. My love for the place has all but disappeared. Unless this murderer is somehow caught and put in jail, I will most likely steer clear of Dahab in the future. But who knows? I'm married to an Egyptian. I am a resident of this savage paradise. This is where we met and fell in love and got married. I will never let these experiences stop me from having a tender, caring nature.

Right now, Dahab has earned the right to be exposed for the deception that makes it seem like a place that's friendly to animals. Underneath its gilded charm are lies and corruption and a dark unspoken secret between its locals. They pretend to care about their foreign visitors. They only care about our money, and hope that we close our eyes to how little they respect us. For months I have been writing this article as a resounding praise for this beautiful pirate utopia.

But alas, my review is instead a sad, broken tale of a place that allows villains to flourish, where innocent souls are silently eliminated, and there's nothing that you can do about it except ignore it and pretend it didn't happen, then find yourself caught up in gossip and accusations, then silenced and ghosted by the police.