I Saved The Life of the Devil and Now I Can't Stay In Malaysia

Daily I get asked why I chose to move from Borneo, Malaysia to Maui, Hawaii. I list a couple creature comforts, and try to explain how the differences there made daily life uncomfortable, but seldom do people understand.  And that always makes me think about a little Ritz and this piece from June.  It's a story that deserves to be told, before I move on too far and post multiple lessons and stories taking place back in the states. It's different from my usual stuff, and it's a long one. (Can't say I didn't warn ya, Peg!)

 

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June 1st, 2014





I saved the life of the devil last night. It was an innocent enough gesture at first. I wasn’t really aware of what I was getting into and then things started to escalate. And now I find myself walking down the street searching for a body, praying I won’t see one.

Our diving boat pulled up at the Semporna jetty (Borneo, Malaysia) and I thanked the customers for spending their day diving with us, then loaded my arms and back with their gear, preparing to carry it to the dive shop. Both hands full of BCDs and Regulators, I climbed the steps and exited the harbor. I looked down and instinctively cried out - “Oh, baby!” in sympathy. In a large crack in the walkway was a tiny body curled up, holding still, hiding. It was a young puppy, no bigger than my palm. I kept walking, but the image wouldn’t leave my mind. I thought it over as I rinsed and hung up gear in the shop. There was no way we could have a dog. Tim and I are only going to stay in Malaysia another 3 months, and we live in a bedroom above the dive shop, and we have absolutely no free time to spend with a pet. I don’t really want a pet - its just that the pitiful image struck me hard. Dogs are hated here. Several nights I have heard them cry out as bands of men beat them in the dark. Many times while crossing the street I have seen cars swerve towards dogs purposely trying to hit them. And the times I have approached a dog with bread, hoping to temporarily ease the gnawing ache of exposed ribs, the dog thought I was trying to hurt it and wouldn‘t come near, acting as though the food I threw closer to him was a rock aimed to harm.

This tiny puppy really stood no chance as soon as it was discovered. So I decided, I would go back but guard myself to not get attached, not take it home, just sit with it for a moment and give it some love - something contrary to the rest of its existence. I went home to drop off my backpack, briefly told Tim what I had seen, grabbed some Ritz crackers and walked back out to try to get there before a local did. Tim, being the soft hearted man he is, came with me. We sat on the grimy walkway, and talked gently and soothingly to the puppy cuddled between plastic bags and discarded rotten fruit. It didn’t look up, didn’t move when we gently petted it. It did show a little interest in the Ritz cracker I brought, but could only get down one bite before resting its head back around a curled tail. I understood that it only had a matter of minutes to live as I looked up at a group of contractors staring at us as they exited the jetty. They wouldn’t move in and harm it while we were sitting there, but they would wait.

Tim left me with the little one and went into the office to ask if any of the staff there could adopt a puppy. They could not. Its not the same as other countries where you can just adopt a shop dog and everyone takes turns taking care of it. There is so much more danger here - people kill dogs on sight if they are able. They urged us to leave it, saying they had buried too many puppies that employees had adopted over the years.

We looked at the contractors with their cold eyes and back and the little one. My intention had been just to give it some love before it met its sure and soon end. But we found we couldn’t just leave it, so Tim and I brought it back and put it in a box outside the door with some food and water.

When our roommate Berta found out about this, she went into veterinarian mode - sanitizing and cleansing the puppy’s wounds and wrapping them gingerly in gauze while I held it still. Either out of sheer exhaustion or inability, the puppy - who we named Ritz never made a sound.

Later that night, we awoke to it crying. Which left Berta and myself out at 1:30 AM on the porch in our pajamas with the great debate. If we let our little dog out in the world, it stood only a fraction of a chance of surviving. However, it wasn’t fair to the rest of the roommates to have a crying dog keep them up at night when we weren‘t allowed to keep a dog in the first place. So I took the box downstairs, opened it and left quickly when I saw a group of men in the shadows on the jetty watching me.

I didn’t expect to see it in the morning, and was trying to dim my hope for it’s survival so I wouldn’t be hurt to see it’s body abused and empty later on. Wrestling with the nightmares, I tried to be okay with the fact that I had given it a good meal, some love and tenderness and from now on, it had to be responsible for its own fate.

But bright and early, there was little Ritz, waiting for us at the base of the stairs, trying to follow us across the road to breakfast. When our co-workers met at 7:30 to load boats, I was touched by how many of them bent down to pet the puppy or played with it for a few moments -that is- the Western employees. The local employees, not so much. Ritz was doing the typical puppy trick of chasing toes and biting shoes and she bit the wrong one. When she clambered up the four inch stair and started playing with Nasi’s shoes, he jumped and yelped and then kicked her away. We were all shocked.

“Nasi,” I said, “She is just a baby. You have to be gentle with her.”

“I don’t’ have to be anything with her, Goddamit.” He said.

Nick piped up, “But she is just a puppy. How could you be so rough with a face like that?”

“It is the Devil! It is unclean. You see a problem with the way I treat it but tomorrow you will not have that problem because I will throw it out. In the ocean.”

“Nasi, please.” I said, reeling, unwilling to believe he would kill the puppy, shocked to hear it as a suggestion from him. “See how the people here respond to it, love it. You don’t like dogs, I know, but you do like these people, and these people love you. It would really hurt them if you threw it into the sea.”

He scoffed and walked away, motioning that the conversation was over. The rest of the day I tried to wrap my mind around Nasi wanting to kill the puppy. I knew him to be a fun loving, kind person. But he was a fun loving kind Muslim person whose local Malaysian culture insists that dogs are the Devil incarnated. Therefore, they must destroy all dogs on sight of them. How could I respect his culture and also preserve a life?

During breakfast, I watched Ritz waiting for us on the other side of the road - extending her four inches of height to try to see us in the restaurant windows. A man on a motorcycle saw her too and swerved over to the side of the road. I thought maybe he was veering to park. No, he kicked the puppy with his boot. She yelped and disappeared underneath a car and he kept driving. And so it begins, I thought.

When we returned home from work that day, there was no little friend waiting at the base of our stairs. The box had been thrown away. I was the one who had to tell Berta, and saw a door close in her eyes. “Oh.” she said simply and looked away, growing cold. And now some bit of hope in me looks for a tiny wagging tail, wanting to know she is okay, while the realist in me tries to divert my eyes up from the ground, up from the sea on the sides of the dock so I won’t see the body. As much as I have closed down to get used to living in a Muslim country, I still I don’t think I could bear to see her floating lifeless, or worse, in pieces.

As Tim avoided Nasi with a new found certainty, I still tried to understand, not willing to ask if it had been him.

Up until now, I have thought of myself as an open person. I never thought I would say that living in another culture was so hard. I always thought I could respect the foreign culture that I was in. I used to talk about how much fun it was to experience new cultures. I have never run into this. I guess the differences are more in your face when it's life or death. When you go out of your way to rescue something, something that in your culture is adored, and here others are going out of their way to hurt it, trying to kill it. It's interesting how one little life form can change our entire view of a country. How to sum that up? I saved the Devil and now I am having a hard time staying in Malaysia.

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On my next boat ride out, I sat next to Ash from the dive shop office and asked her, “You have lived here 6 years, how do you understand the local culture when it goes so harshly against your own morals? Like the dead manta ray the villagers paraded through town. I love those creatures so much that it hurts my heart to see people celebrating their death. I am trying to find peace around that. Is it because these people live in so much poverty that that manta is enough food to keep a community fed when shared? Or is it because they see mantas as an evil creature of the sea who has been defeated?”

“I think it is more about the food.” Ash said, “They don’t eat the manta but sell its fins for the shark fin soup. The money from that will feed their family for an entire week. To be able to relax and not need to worry intensely about having enough food for that long is reason to celebrate. But no, I am still not used to seeing them paraded through the streets dead. By the way, Nasi didn’t kill your puppy. I have heard Tim thinks he did, but he didn’t.”

My heart jumped, I was still trying not to ask then who did? Its best not to ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.

“Some kids surrounded your puppy, giving it a hard time. We have seen them hurt too many animals. It kept trying to come in to the office. Trusting humans here is deadly for dogs. So Dave drove it outside the city and dropped it off in an area it might have a chance.”

That’s why you see Jon clean the office with a face mask on. The last time he breathed in just one of Ewok’s hairs, he had to go though an intensive internal and external cleansing process. I guess what the doctors do for cleansing here is very painful and makes you weak and sick. Muslims see dogs as so dirty that anytime someone touches a dog, they have to go to a doctor and be cleansed.”

“Oh I didn’t understand that part.” No wonder Nasi was upset and frustrated the puppy had touched him.

“Part of living here is becoming open enough to see their side. It would be easy to just get angry and say they are wrong. It is a lot harder to try to understand things culturally from their point of view.”

So where does that leave me? Can I understand beating an innocent puppy that has no defense to death, or going out of your way to drown one? Can I possibly wrap my mind around a trauma like that for something I care about and get far enough removed to see their reasoning why? It sure is a new perspective - I’ve always said that travel expands your worldview. If I can get so far outside of the situation that I can see their belief that that puppy is the Devil/evil/disgustingly dirty and at the same time see my own morals, my own loving reaction to the same life form and not see either as right or wrong: Just what I would do and what they would do and why. I come back to how all I can control is what I would do. Then do my best and leave it at that. Oh, and get out of Malaysia as soon as possible.