On the last day of February this year, we lost Malaika. Our beautiful, noble, gentle, dog was run over by a large SUV. It was clearly an accident. The SUV had run over the entire body of Malaika, and not only smashed her hind legs but damaged her internal organs. There was blood on her face.
Zeenat first ran to her, and I followed. When I arrived a few seconds later, Zeenat was sitting on the street with Malaika in her lap. Malaika was lying smashed and bloodied in Zeenat’s arms and Zeenat was crying uncontrollably. It was a sight to break any heart.
When I arrived. Malaika, recognising my voice, tried to lift her head to look at me but the angle told me that something was not quite right. Her eyes looked deep at me, and I shuddered with a premonition of tragedy to come. But it was her attempt to move her legs and stand up that devastated me. Her legs were completely demolished and she did not have strength enough to even lift her body a few inches. All the while, Zeenat who had Malaika in her lap, cried without restraint.
We rushed Malaika to the animal hospital and the doctor soon declared that there was nothing they could do to save her. Just to keep her alive would mean extensive operations, amputation and could cost 10,000 dollars and over. They recommended they put Malaika out of her pain with euthanasia. Zeenat was with her to the end. She said that she continued to make heart-breaking, gentle noises indicating she was in pain until she was put to sleep.
Within a few hours, it was all over. It brought home to me once again the transitory nature of life, of the need to appreciate every moment that we are alive and to use every moment to love and to express it.
While Zeenat was at the hospital, I experienced a strange melancholy; I felt alone and miserable. I stepped out onto the patio at home and was immediately aware of something missing. Every time Malaika heard the door of the living room slide open, she would come running out from the basement, climb up the staircase to the patio where I was and then stretch out with her tail wagging in a gesture of friendship. I would say some affectionate words to her such as “good girl” “nice girl” and she would walk about the garden with an air of proprietorship. She would then wait for Zeenat, walking up to the door in anticipation, tail swishing about gently. The two were completely devoted to each other and Zeenat would not eat until she had fed Malaika her meals. She would bring the choicest of foods such as salmon and tuna and chicken and new kinds of health foods for Malaika.
The price of food was rising dramatically with the pandemic continuing to affect its production and distribution. We had resorted to eating basic food like daal to cut costs. But Zeenat felt that Malaika deserved a special diet for health purposes.
Zeenat would take Malaika for professional baths and medical check-ups, rub her stomach and talk to her in a special loving voice. She would speak in Pukhtu or English as if Malaika understood human languages. There was a very special bond between them. Zeenat would tolerate her like a favourite child. Malaika was perhaps the most spoiled – certainly the most beloved – dog in America. She was very much part of the family and Nafees who had brought her to us from Africa, saw that the whole family took to her and adopted her as one of our own. Even the next generation of kids doted on her.
When Malaika stood at the edge of the garden she was master of all she surveyed, as regal as any lion king, and for the first time our patio and garden were reclaimed. She was particularly allergic to squirrels and chased them with ferocity, but it was more to show us she still had speed and commitment. Squirrels were, in any case, as swift as lightning and disappeared up a tree in a flash.
Recently, one afternoon as we sat in the patio enjoying the sun, Malaika came to where I was seated and put her head on my foot as a pillow and dozed off. I did not dare move my leg in case I woke her up. One of the children took a picture that has become a memory of Malaika. Little did I know then that it would be this picture that would remind me of Malaika.
Zeenat and I tried as far as possible to maintain a regular routine of taking a walk about the neighborhood at least once a day. Malaika would look forward to these excursions. Once outside the house she would immediately assert her independence and disappear to chase a squirrel or explore a flower bed. When we would ask her to stay with us, she would ignore us. But she would have us in mind and invariably turn up walking alongside us or just behind us. One evening she just vanished, and we became extremely worried. She did not turn up at the house either. We went looking for her and drove about the neighborhood calling her name. She turned up later on her own, and we discussed what could have happened. It was getting dangerous for Malaika in Washington, DC.
Malaika was an unexpected member of the family. While in Kitale in Kenya, Nafees wrote about a dog she had encountered in the local bazaar which followed her home and then refused to leave. The dog was called Malaika and was affectionate and seemed to have attached itself to Nafees. Malaika followed Nafees everywhere and people in the village called her “mama Nafees” as Malaika had become like her baby. When Nafees was returning to Washington DC she said she would like to bring Malaika home. Considering how rigid American immigration officials were, I worried how they would react to Malaika. We had no real experience of keeping a dog at home and we were not sure how we would adjust to a dog in the house. But we did not want to say no to Nafees so when she turned up with Malaika we welcomed her. What surprised me was that Malaika sailed through immigration without a hitch. I suppose Americans have a soft spot for dogs.
Nafees even took her to MIT. It was inspiring and touching to see the bond between the two. It was a delight to see Nafees, sensitive, social and highly intelligent, growing as a result of having to be “mother” to Malika.
When preparing the essay for an Ivy League entrance exam a few years ago, Nafees took a bold decision and successfully offered the story of how she met Malaika and brought her home to the USA.
The topic was, “Describe the biggest commitment you have ever made.” Here are extracts from Nafees’ essay:
That essay won a place for Nafees at an Ivy League University and she was thrilled. In the end she joined MIT and Harvard University.
Through Nafees’ stories of Malaika and through television shows about animals I also became aware about how abominably human beings have treated them. They beat them and blind them and break their limbs. Zeenat said several times that a dog was particularly vulnerable as it could not feed itself or speak about what it needs. She would then say how gentle Malaika was in the tone of a mother concerned about a vulnerable child.
I always imagined, given the theories of reincarnation, that Malaika had been a gentle and loving housewife to a brutal drunken tyrant of a husband who beat her regularly. One day when he threw a hot dish of curry on her she decided to end her misery by taking his life and then her own. In the next cycle of rebirth she was born as Malaika. Her husband was, I am certain, reborn as a rodent, who would be eternally chased by Malaika, thus reversing the power dynamic and restoring the balance of justice in the cosmos.
But what was remarkable was Malaika winning over the boys at home who were at first indifferent to her. We were not really dog people. Slowly, however, in time they too fell under the spell of Malaika, insisting on talking to her, feeding her and taking her for walks and generally accepting her as part of the family. Our grandchildren doted on Malaika and she on them. She sensed their arrival when their father drove into the close where we live. She would straighten up, staring at the entrance to the garden and her tail would start wagging in anticipation. The younger of the two boys would treat her as a buddy, a pony or a wrestling companion. She would lick his face with love. It was difficult to tell him about Malaika’s passing. He could not understand where she had disappeared to and asked if she was in dog-heaven.
Then came the burial. Zeenat arranged for her ashes to be delivered by the funeral home and placed them in the corner of the garden. She planted some lovely flowers on the spot. It allowed us to feel that Malaika has not left us.
God is beautifully described as Rab-al-Alameen meaning the divine creator of all creation and all creatures. We have been told to be kind to living things. True worship is to show kindness to all - including and especially towards animals who cannot care for themselves.
Yesterday, as I stepped out into the patio, I half expected Malaika to run up to greet me, I could not help tears forming in my eyes. In her love and dignity Malaika had given each one of us a special gift by enhancing our own capacity to love.
I have heard people say that animals do not have souls. At least not like human beings. But if to have a soul is to be loving, sentient, affectionate, bringing joy to others and always remaining loyal then Miss Malaika you had a soul as big as the Himalayas.
Zeenat first ran to her, and I followed. When I arrived a few seconds later, Zeenat was sitting on the street with Malaika in her lap. Malaika was lying smashed and bloodied in Zeenat’s arms and Zeenat was crying uncontrollably. It was a sight to break any heart.
When I arrived. Malaika, recognising my voice, tried to lift her head to look at me but the angle told me that something was not quite right. Her eyes looked deep at me, and I shuddered with a premonition of tragedy to come. But it was her attempt to move her legs and stand up that devastated me. Her legs were completely demolished and she did not have strength enough to even lift her body a few inches. All the while, Zeenat who had Malaika in her lap, cried without restraint.
We rushed Malaika to the animal hospital and the doctor soon declared that there was nothing they could do to save her. Just to keep her alive would mean extensive operations, amputation and could cost 10,000 dollars and over. They recommended they put Malaika out of her pain with euthanasia. Zeenat was with her to the end. She said that she continued to make heart-breaking, gentle noises indicating she was in pain until she was put to sleep.
Within a few hours, it was all over. It brought home to me once again the transitory nature of life, of the need to appreciate every moment that we are alive and to use every moment to love and to express it.
While Zeenat was at the hospital, I experienced a strange melancholy; I felt alone and miserable. I stepped out onto the patio at home and was immediately aware of something missing. Every time Malaika heard the door of the living room slide open, she would come running out from the basement, climb up the staircase to the patio where I was and then stretch out with her tail wagging in a gesture of friendship. I would say some affectionate words to her such as “good girl” “nice girl” and she would walk about the garden with an air of proprietorship. She would then wait for Zeenat, walking up to the door in anticipation, tail swishing about gently. The two were completely devoted to each other and Zeenat would not eat until she had fed Malaika her meals. She would bring the choicest of foods such as salmon and tuna and chicken and new kinds of health foods for Malaika.
The price of food was rising dramatically with the pandemic continuing to affect its production and distribution. We had resorted to eating basic food like daal to cut costs. But Zeenat felt that Malaika deserved a special diet for health purposes.
Zeenat would take Malaika for professional baths and medical check-ups, rub her stomach and talk to her in a special loving voice. She would speak in Pukhtu or English as if Malaika understood human languages. There was a very special bond between them. Zeenat would tolerate her like a favourite child. Malaika was perhaps the most spoiled – certainly the most beloved – dog in America. She was very much part of the family and Nafees who had brought her to us from Africa, saw that the whole family took to her and adopted her as one of our own. Even the next generation of kids doted on her.
When Malaika stood at the edge of the garden she was master of all she surveyed, as regal as any lion king, and for the first time our patio and garden were reclaimed. She was particularly allergic to squirrels and chased them with ferocity, but it was more to show us she still had speed and commitment. Squirrels were, in any case, as swift as lightning and disappeared up a tree in a flash.
Recently, one afternoon as we sat in the patio enjoying the sun, Malaika came to where I was seated and put her head on my foot as a pillow and dozed off. I did not dare move my leg in case I woke her up. One of the children took a picture that has become a memory of Malaika. Little did I know then that it would be this picture that would remind me of Malaika.
Zeenat and I tried as far as possible to maintain a regular routine of taking a walk about the neighborhood at least once a day. Malaika would look forward to these excursions. Once outside the house she would immediately assert her independence and disappear to chase a squirrel or explore a flower bed. When we would ask her to stay with us, she would ignore us. But she would have us in mind and invariably turn up walking alongside us or just behind us. One evening she just vanished, and we became extremely worried. She did not turn up at the house either. We went looking for her and drove about the neighborhood calling her name. She turned up later on her own, and we discussed what could have happened. It was getting dangerous for Malaika in Washington, DC.
Malaika was an unexpected member of the family. While in Kitale in Kenya, Nafees wrote about a dog she had encountered in the local bazaar which followed her home and then refused to leave. The dog was called Malaika and was affectionate and seemed to have attached itself to Nafees. Malaika followed Nafees everywhere and people in the village called her “mama Nafees” as Malaika had become like her baby. When Nafees was returning to Washington DC she said she would like to bring Malaika home. Considering how rigid American immigration officials were, I worried how they would react to Malaika. We had no real experience of keeping a dog at home and we were not sure how we would adjust to a dog in the house. But we did not want to say no to Nafees so when she turned up with Malaika we welcomed her. What surprised me was that Malaika sailed through immigration without a hitch. I suppose Americans have a soft spot for dogs.
Nafees even took her to MIT. It was inspiring and touching to see the bond between the two. It was a delight to see Nafees, sensitive, social and highly intelligent, growing as a result of having to be “mother” to Malika.
When preparing the essay for an Ivy League entrance exam a few years ago, Nafees took a bold decision and successfully offered the story of how she met Malaika and brought her home to the USA.
The topic was, “Describe the biggest commitment you have ever made.” Here are extracts from Nafees’ essay:
“When an African street dog arrived at my doorstep a year ago in Kitale, Kenya, I took one look at the flea-ridden mutt and cried out to the office guard to get rid of her. I was living in rural Kenya for the year to work for Village Enterprise, an NGO that starts small businesses in East Africa, and didn’t need any distractions. Plus, I’d never been much of a dog person. But the guard wasn’t within earshot, and the mutt lingered. I think it was her big, eager eyes that persuaded me to feed her half of my dinner. That act would sign me up for the biggest commitment I’ve ever made.
My friends joked that my new dog, Malaika, had worms—she was very lazy and had a protruding belly—but I think I always knew she was pregnant. That fall, six puppies came into my constant care. I don’t think I would have survived one week had it not been for my new friends at Village Enterprise. When I tried to feed the puppies peanut-butter and bread (dog food is hard to come by in Kitale), Beatrice, the office cook, laughed heartily at me. “African dogs need real food,” she said. She took me to the market to buy maize and silver fish. She taught me how to cook the only nutritious and affordable meal for my platoon of dogs.
Living and working within the same compound at Village Enterprise also had its challenges. While I doted on Malaika and her puppies, some staff were less than enthused. A few were terrified by the miniature beasts. So, while I was trying to acclimate to Kenyan culture, I also attempted to integrate Malaika into the office. I created an enclosure for the puppies, reassured staff that Malaika would never bite, and recounted tales of the US where some people even sleep in the same bed as their dogs!
These efforts paid off: today Malaika lounges within our office space, and our staff designated her the Village Enterprise mascot.
When the puppies were four-weeks old, I started researching how I could eventually get Malaika spayed. I searched for reputable vets in town asking to see their credentials. One evening, I came home from a workday in another village. One of the vets I had contacted was waiting for me. He told me that he had already finished the procedure. Without my consent, the vet had drugged a nursing dog and conducted a major operation in my backyard.
For the next month, Malaika’s health dwindled on the edge. She writhed in agony every time the puppies went to feed. She bit her stitches out five times and had to have them redone each time. I called every vet in town, but no one followed through. I even called my friends’ vets in the US to get advice. But it was YouTube that became my greatest ally as I found ways to make dog cones out of towels and buckets to prevent her from biting her stitches. At the end of long evenings, Benson, the office guard, and I laughed in pure disbelief as we’d watch Malaika posing in her new headgear. After two months of looking after six puppies and one mother dog, Malaika’s stiches set and, just like that, she was back in action. The puppies were given away to loving owners. Now when Malaika stares at me with her big, eager eyes, I reflect back on these experiences. Now colleagues call me Mama Malaika and even wish me Happy Mother’s Day. And I wear my badge of motherhood proudly.
While I had not come prepared for caretaking, Malaika has shown me the rewards of working tirelessly for a cause beyond myself.”
That essay won a place for Nafees at an Ivy League University and she was thrilled. In the end she joined MIT and Harvard University.
Through Nafees’ stories of Malaika and through television shows about animals I also became aware about how abominably human beings have treated them. They beat them and blind them and break their limbs. Zeenat said several times that a dog was particularly vulnerable as it could not feed itself or speak about what it needs. She would then say how gentle Malaika was in the tone of a mother concerned about a vulnerable child.
I always imagined, given the theories of reincarnation, that Malaika had been a gentle and loving housewife to a brutal drunken tyrant of a husband who beat her regularly. One day when he threw a hot dish of curry on her she decided to end her misery by taking his life and then her own. In the next cycle of rebirth she was born as Malaika. Her husband was, I am certain, reborn as a rodent, who would be eternally chased by Malaika, thus reversing the power dynamic and restoring the balance of justice in the cosmos.
But what was remarkable was Malaika winning over the boys at home who were at first indifferent to her. We were not really dog people. Slowly, however, in time they too fell under the spell of Malaika, insisting on talking to her, feeding her and taking her for walks and generally accepting her as part of the family. Our grandchildren doted on Malaika and she on them. She sensed their arrival when their father drove into the close where we live. She would straighten up, staring at the entrance to the garden and her tail would start wagging in anticipation. The younger of the two boys would treat her as a buddy, a pony or a wrestling companion. She would lick his face with love. It was difficult to tell him about Malaika’s passing. He could not understand where she had disappeared to and asked if she was in dog-heaven.
Then came the burial. Zeenat arranged for her ashes to be delivered by the funeral home and placed them in the corner of the garden. She planted some lovely flowers on the spot. It allowed us to feel that Malaika has not left us.
God is beautifully described as Rab-al-Alameen meaning the divine creator of all creation and all creatures. We have been told to be kind to living things. True worship is to show kindness to all - including and especially towards animals who cannot care for themselves.
Yesterday, as I stepped out into the patio, I half expected Malaika to run up to greet me, I could not help tears forming in my eyes. In her love and dignity Malaika had given each one of us a special gift by enhancing our own capacity to love.
I have heard people say that animals do not have souls. At least not like human beings. But if to have a soul is to be loving, sentient, affectionate, bringing joy to others and always remaining loyal then Miss Malaika you had a soul as big as the Himalayas.