The Seagull and the Sheikh

By Diane Van der Westhuizen

A family's determination to rescue an injured seagull draws them into a web of industrial espionage and royal intrigue. More than the seagull's feathers are ruffled when their compassionate gesture puts them in the cross hairs of a crooked boss, a scrotty private eye and the Dubai royal family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Van der Westhuizen
• Release date: Sep 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386948513

Diane Van der Westhuizen

Di van der Westhuizen is a South African-born author who took a quantum leap of faith and left office life to follow her passion: writing. She has drawn on her love of fantasy, humour and the perseverance of the human spirit to weave the story in this, her first book, Wild Avengers. But, more than anything else, it was her concern for the way we treat animals who cannot speak for themselves that was the driving force behind this book. A quotation from this book says it all: "Morbidius Ultimatum understands that damage is done one butterfly at a time, book one tree at a time, one bullet at a time". She has subsequently had articles published in South Africa's most widely-read family magazine as well as a self-published compilation of short stories, viz. Chilli Bites.

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DISCLAIMER

This book was inspired by a family’s determination

to rescue an injured seagull.

Some events and characters have been included for the purposes of dramatization, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by:

Diane van der Westhuizen

Email address:

[e-mail]

Nelson, the giant seagull, was named after a song

made popular in South Africa

by a local husband and wife duo, Des and Dawn Lindberg.

(Dawn sadly passed away in December 2020)

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THE SEAGULL’S NAME WAS NELSON

(Written by Peter E Bennett - 1970)

"A long time ago in '67

A little boy was running on the beach,

When all of a sudden, he heard a plaintive cry

So near yet so far out of reach.

He looked behind a rock so tall

And there before his eyes,

Was an oilsome seagull lying there,

Windswept with pain in his eyes. 

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson who came from the sea.

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson the seagull free.

He fed that seagull limp and small

Until that bird could fly,

And when he thought it was so

He let little Nelson go,

And it flew above his head into the sky.

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson who came from the sea,

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson the seagull free.

And the time had come for the boy to go

And sadness was in their eyes,

But it's not for you to criticize

You’ve never seen a seagull cry.

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson who came from the sea,

And the seagull's name was Nelson,

Nelson the seagull free."

––––––––

THE SEAGULL

and

THE SHEIKH

––––––––

"Until one has loved an animal,

A part of one’s soul remains unawakened."

~ Anatole France

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DEDICATION

To my friend, Carol, whose infinite abundance of love and tireless devotion to the abandoned cats in Dubai banished my scepticism of the human race’s compassion for those who have no voice. She and her fellow cat lovers deserve the highest reward for caring for those souls discarded in the desert by their humans. Mankind spends billions on luxuries for themselves, but all these cats ask for is shelter from the excruciating desert heat, food, water and love.

Since the writing of this story, Carol and her family have left Dubai, and the Jumeirah Beach pier referred to in this story has been replaced by a new development. Some things may have changed, but the lives of these cats have forever been transformed. Because these ladies’ ultimate goal was for these animals to be adopted into a forever home, and it was through sheer determination that they managed to do just that. So this dedication also goes out to the kind people who adopted these cats. Nose rubs and comfortable beds have forever replaced pain and suffering.

It struck me one morning as I visited the colony of cats with her - What if nobody came? What if there was no food or water for them? The desert is harsh and the heat in the height of summer, relentless. And without water, lethal. I watched in awe as my friend scaled those treacherous granite blocks every morning, heavily laden with water bottles and large bags of food. One misplaced step and she could have cut herself badly on the rocks’ sharp edges.

But her determination didn’t end when she summited the pier. Each cat was fed in its own special spot down amongst the nether regions of the pier, meaning that she had to lower herself between the blocks to ensure that every bowl was topped up. Cats that were ill or injured were given special wet food and, if they needed medical care, trapped and taken to the vet for treatment, the cost of this care often paid for out of her own pocket.

Not satisfied with only feeding the cats on the pier each morning, Carol also did an hour’s ‘tour of duty’ every evening to feed scattered lone strays that had made their solitary homes in apartment garages, building sites and hotel gardens. Having identified feeding spots for these souls - skittish because of human cruelty and neglect - she faithfully fed them every night, regardless of what may have been happening in her life.

To Carol and these women - I am humbled by your dedication to those who can offer nothing in return, except their love.

To the irrepressibly happy, loving cats that trudged through the scorching heat, their blistered paws cut and bleeding, to find refuge - humans would do well to emulate your spirit. You found it in your little hearts to forgive us and learn to trust us once more. Beano, Big Daddy, Charlie, Smudge, Mama Cat, Findlay, Meow-Meow, Buddy, Brownie, Queenie, BC, Mustang Sally, Ginjie, Ying Yang, Spot, Calico and all the other furry joys - thank you for the happy sight of your tails raised high in the air, your bodies vibrating with deep purrs as you ran to greet us every morning. It was an honour to rest on the rocks you called home and visit with you awhile.

Unconditional love knows no boundaries. And so it is with Carol. Her unbridled compassion extends to all living creatures, not only to cats. During a holiday in Dubai, she told me the true story about Nelson, the seagull that became a part of her family’s lives for a few months. My friend’s story touched me so deeply that I promised to write it. Which I did.

So now, onto the tale of Nelson.

CHAPTER ONE

An Introduction to Nelson

I stood at the tip of a pier of massive roughly hewn granite blocks jutting out into the Arabian Gulf.

A sweltering late spring breeze, thick with humidity, dried the perspiration on my back, giving some small relief from the heat. I threw my arms wide and my head back, welcoming any other stray breezes that could fight their way through the moisture-laden air. Above me, huge black-backed seagulls hovered noisily overhead, greedy for any scraps that a lone pier fisherman may let drop. I watched in awe as they wheeled and turned, rose and dove again, their great agile bodies as sinuous as fish in water. Their magnificent wings, measuring almost the length of my body, scythed the great sky as they battled each other to get close to the fisherman.

I wonder if one of them is Nelson, said a voice from behind me. It was my friend, Caroline. She clambered over the rocks towards me, a troupe of the colony of cats she fed every day daintily picking their way beside her. They were hungry for their breakfast, but hungrier for affection. They knew she would sit on the rocks for a while and give them cuddles before she went home.

Nelson? I asked, puzzled.

Didn’t I tell you about Nelson? She was now standing beside me, her tanned willowy frame making me feel like a stodgy doughnut.

No. Who was he?

My friend sat down on a rock and was immediately inundated by cats, all mewling and vying for her attention. She idly stroked Big Daddy’s sinewy body as she continued. He was a huge black and white bruiser, his fur tough from the harsh conditions on the pier. True to his name, he was the ruler over all he surveyed. The other cats hung back, waiting for their turn to be petted. Ying Yang yelped as Tyson gave her a gentle smack for trying to jump the petting queue. Big Daddy’s pale green eyes narrowed into slits as he enjoyed the ecstasy of her hand running over his back.

I sat down beside her and immediately the stragglers formed a pool of fur around me. They knew a cat lover when they saw one. Beano, the second in command, lay next to my leg, his head resting on my thigh. He had been a hard case to crack. The last time I had seen him a few years before, he had been a combative thug, wary of people, his white face and ears riddled with the scars of many street fights. Caroline had managed to trap him and had taken him to a friendly vet who charged minimal fees for neutering. So, one snip later, Beano had become a soppy old man. His deep purring next to me told me he had forgiven humans for the unkindest cut of all for males, of any species. He glanced up at me with dreamy eyes as if to say: This was worth losing an important body part for.

Nelson Caroline continued, was a seagull that Dave and I found on a beach about ten years ago she replied, referring to her son.

D’you mean here, in Dubai? Caroline and her husband, Mario, had been living in Dubai for about eleven years but they owned a beachfront house in a quaint village in South Africa.

Uh huh, in Dubai. D’you see the Burj Al Arab? She pointed to the landmark hotel in the distance, its glorious sail-like facade rising out of the smudge of humidity enveloping the city.

Yip.

Well, just beyond that is the beach where we found Nelson. Meanwhile Charlie, disappointed that Caroline had stopped scratching his head to point at the hotel, stood on his hind paws and rubbed his head against her outstretched hand. She smiled at him absentmindedly, then bent down and kissed the crown of his head. She loved all of the cats, but he was one of her favourites. If she hadn’t already adopted three of the colony cats and taken them home to South Africa at teeth-grinding expense, she would have taken Charlie home with her too.

Dave was only about twelve years old then, she continued. He has an affinity with birds, you know. I must also tell you about him and Spartacus one day.

Spartacus? Unless the heat had melted my brain, Spartacus was a movie. And I didn’t recall her mentioning Russell Crowe dropping round for a cup of tea.

Mmm, an Egyptian goose he raised. At home, in Cape Town. A cat walked past her and swished its tail gently across her face.

Sounds interesting, but I’d like to hear about Nelson first.

Sure. But you must be getting really hot. Want to have a swim first?

I was used to the heat of the African sun, but it was a mere candle flame compared to the blast furnace desert sun that had begun to claw its way into my skin. I stood up, eager to cool off in the sapphire blue waters of the Arabian Gulf. Beano gave me a baleful glance and, realising we were leaving, slipped down amongst the rocks. Most of the cats would spend their day in the shade of the bowels of those granite boulders. Occasionally they may surface to greet a visitor to the rocks, hoping for a friendly pat or maybe a treat from a curious tourist.

Okay, come on, let’s get wet. Caroline grabbed the bags and stuffed them with the empty water bottles. She scrambled nimbly down the side of the pier towards the beach. It always astonished me how sure-footed she was in flip-flops. I, on the other hand, crawled down nervously on all fours like a drunken crab. I didn’t fancy spending my holiday in a plaster cast. I loved sightseeing in Dubai, but I wasn’t that keen on seeing the inside of a Dubai hospital A and E ward.

Oof! I jumped off the slab onto the soft sea sand, relieved that I wouldn’t be adding to the collection of Band Aids on my elbow and knee. At least not today, anyway. Not too shabby for an-out-of-shape fifty-odd year old, I thought.

A few of the cats followed us down the rocks and flopped down under the shade of Caroline’s car parked on the beach. Their dozy stares followed us as we slipped off our beach dresses and stepped into the warm, calm water. The look on Mama Cat’s tortoiseshell-puzzle face seemed to say: Don’t play with the seafood!

I sank gratefully into the glassy surface of the salty water and turned to face the city. Behind me, I could hear the deep, dull roar of luxury yachts as they glided by, their occupants draped on their decks, long cool drinks in hand. Above us, an omnipotent light aircraft rose high into the sky. It took off at regular intervals from a neighbouring pier with a group of skydivers on board.

On the shore, hundreds of locals and holiday makers lay spread-eagled on the beach. I could well have been in the south of France and not the United Arab Emirates.

In the water around me, tiny ladyfish danced around in small schools. I closed my eyes and held my face towards the sun, my body gently swaying with the ocean’s soothing current.

I heard splashing as Caroline waded towards me. I opened my eyes to find her standing next to me, her sun peak pulled squarely down over her eyes.

This could never get old I remarked, with a sweep of my arm. If it does, send me to the glue factory.

Mm, we love living here, she agreed. I mean, just look at the place. I didn’t need reminding. Tall buildings crowded closely together rose out of the desert just past the shoreline. Way out in the distance I could just make the tip of the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world, its slender spire straining its way through the murky humidity.

Off to our left Palm Jumeirah jutted out into the ocean, the incredible Atlantis Hotel at its tip. Dubai is a man-made phenomenon. Every single nut, bolt and bag of cement has been imported; not to mention the massive amounts of food, cars and household goods. Dubai is, after all, situated in the Arabian Desert. Its only natural resources are, seemingly, dates, camels and an inexhaustible supply of sand.

We stood silently for a while, taking in the view and reveling in the balmy water. Around us were hundreds of other bathers, standing, as we were, up to their necks in water. It was a peculiar sight - hundreds of disembodied heads bobbing up and down in the calm water like corks.

My writer’s brain, rejuvenated by the swim, kicked into gear.

I want to hear about Nelson. C’mon let’s sit on the sand, I suggested.

Caroline smiled. She knew I couldn’t resist a good story. Especially a story about an animal.

Good idea. I packed breakfast for us. She loved feeding people almost as much as she loved feeding cats. Her fabulous cooking, not to mention frequent visits to amazing restaurants in the city, had expanded my waistline generously during my time in Dubai. I’d had to ditch my bikini for a sedate one-piece to hide the newly added embarrassing bits.

We walked out of the water and sat down on our towels. Caroline reached into a bag and handed me a bottle of laban, an Arabian dairy drink. I could almost feel my derriere expand as I took a deep swig.

Right I said, I’m ready. Tell me about Nelson.

She lay back on her towel, adjusted her peak cap and propped herself up on her elbows. She squinted up at me.

I can’t remember where I left off. What’ve I told you so far?

You said it was something that happened about ten years ago. Something about you, David and a seagull.

That’s all?

Yup. That’s it I replied, eager to hear the full story.

She chuckled. Then you better grab a samosa. She pointed at her bag of goodies. This is going to take a while. I did as I was told and sank my teeth into the scrumptious curry-filled pastry. I made a mental note to go on a diet as soon as I got home.

She took a sip of laban, then began her story. My body was on the beach, but my mind took flight with the images she began to paint.

Before we meet Nelson, I must add that I know this family will forgive me for intruding on their memories and allow inspiration to take over their story in parts. We share a common bond of love of animals and if this story inspires another person to help those who have no voice, we will be thankful that an injured gull’s influence stretched beyond Dubai.

And so it begins.

CHAPTER TWO

Finding Nelson

The lanky young boy splashed through the shallows on the beach. His long brown limbs cut smoothly through the crystal waters of the Arabian Gulf, its calm water so clear he could almost make out every grain of sand on the seafloor. He was leaning forward, his head moving slowly to and fro, searching for something. He suddenly stopped and reached down.

Mom! I’ve found another one! he shouted, waving a shell in the air. His mother, Caroline, strode towards the boy, her slender frame and curly hair echoing her son’s. She took the shell from him and smiled.

They’re so beautiful. And dainty. The delicate pansy-flower shaped shell was the size of the palm of her hand.

We’ve got enough shells now. These will fill the bowl on the coffee table. But we better get back to the apartment. Mario will be home in half an hour and I’ve still got to make supper she said, referring to her husband.

Ah maaa David complained, "it’s too hot to eat."

"It’s getting late and... what was that?" she asked, cocking her head.

"What was what?"

"That sound."

"What sound?" All David could hear was the gentle lapping of waves on the beach.

"There! There it is again!"

It was a muffled ow-ow-ow sound, high-pitched and plaintive. Whatever it was, it wasn’t being made by a human.

"I heard it! exclaimed David. I think it came from over there!" He pointed to an old, upturned rowboat lying on the beach, its scuffed blue paint a fading reminder of forgotten fishing adventures and careless skippers. Small crabs that had taken up residence in the dried seaweed snarled between loose boards scuttled into the shadows at the sound of his raised voice.

The young boy darted across the hot sand and threw himself onto his knees in front of the boat. He twisted his head sideways and peered through the gap between sand and boat.

Mom! You’ve gotta see this! he shouted urgently. She flung her bag of shells onto the sand and ran towards him. The anxious tone in his voice told her that something was wrong.

Look, whispered David, just look at him. She was surprised to hear the catch in his voice, a rare sign that meant he was close to tears.

Oh, no she whispered, as she followed her son’s bidding. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

It was a huge black-backed seagull, a magnificent example of his breed – the trademark smooth, snow white feathers covering his majestic body, with the sheen of tar-black pin feathers over his enormous wings. The bird lay very still, his rib cage barely moving as he took sharp, shallow breaths. Every breath wracked his body with pain, his exhalations so shallow they barely stirred the grains of sand beneath his bill.

The gull’s powerful wings were drawn close to his sides, his head bowed so deeply that his large bill had burrowed into the sand, almost submerging the red spot near its tip. His eyes told Caroline the great pain he was in as they flickered with the slightest movement of his frail body.

He’s hurt mom. Look. He pointed to the gull’s back. But it had been the first thing Caroline had seen. A two-centimeter-wide track of skin on his back lay bare, devoid of the sleek feathers that covered the rest of his body. The wound was raw and bleeding, almost to the bone. Dozens of hungry flies buzzed around the gaping injury, eager to feast off the fetid, weeping sore. Irritated, David reached out and waved them away.

You poor thing whispered Caroline, not wanting to alarm the injured bird. What happened to you? The gull’s powerful bill curbed her natural instinct to stroke his pitiful white head. No matter how badly wounded he was, fear may give him just enough strength to strike out and claim a finger.

He’s dying, ma said David turning to Caroline, his dark brown eyes moist with unshed tears.

But she already knew. She had enough experience with wounded birds to recognise the signs. You’re right. It doesn’t look like he’s got long to live. We should put him out of his suffering. She couldn’t get herself to say the words. She knew the way to end a bird’s pain - wring its neck. She shuddered inwardly at the thought of killing the beautiful creature in such a brutal way. But she knew she didn’t have it in her to kill any creature, let alone this proud bird.

David’s dark brown eyes widened in horror. "No! Never! We can’t do that! We have to try and help him!" He rolled off his haunches and flopped back onto the sand, staring at his mother with a challenging look.

Caroline put her arm around him. She knew his heart was breaking, but then so was hers. But what can we do, Dave? We can’t keep him. We live in an apartment, and we’re not allowed to keep any animals. Besides, chances are he’ll die tonight.

"I don’t care! he almost shouted at her. We can’t just kill him! We can’t!"

Ow-ow-ow the gull mewled pitifully, as if pleading for help. Caroline felt her heart break a little more. She knew she had no choice. She would have to help the gull. Her heart told her so.

Okay, we’ll come back tomorrow, she suggested as a compromise. In the meantime, we’ll try and find a place where he can be cared for. This would at least also give her time to convince her husband that they might have an illegal visitor taking up residence in their apartment. The mere thought of that discussion made her stomach gurgle noisily.

"But we can’t leave him alone all night! He could die. And he’ll die all alone!"

Dave, it’s the best I can do, said Caroline firmly. I’ve got to talk to Mario about this first. I promise you we’ll come back tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll have found a bird sanctuary for him by then if he’s still alive. If there isn’t another home for him... well, then we’ll see if we can convince Mario to let us keep him.

Thanks, ma said David with a choke, throwing his arms around her. The two curly heads rested together for a moment.

Now, come on. We’ve got to get back home.

Caroline rose and reluctantly walked away from the gull, grabbing hold of the bag she had tossed aside.

Come on, Dave. It’s very late.

The young boy scrambled to his feet, but instead of following her he began running towards the ocean.

"David! What’re you doing?" Caroline yelled in irritation.

I want to give him some water before we go home, he replied, gathering seawater in his cupped hands.

Okay, but hurry up! Caroline watched her son as he walked back to the boat. It was no good arguing with him. In fact, she wished she had thought of it herself. The bird was going to need all the help he could get to survive the long, tortuous night ahead of him.

David squeezed his fingers tightly together, desperately trying to save every drop as he carried it to the bird. He gingerly offered the precious water to the seagull, but the bird didn’t move. He was either in too much pain or too exhausted to notice the offering.

Is he drinking? Caroline asked anxiously. David shook his head in reply.

Then pour it over his head. Maybe that’ll help, she suggested. She didn’t know what on earth that would achieve, but it was all she could think of.

David lifted his hands above the bird’s head and slowly parted his fingers, letting the water slowly dribble onto the seagull’s head and neck. The droplets slid off the bird’s body; only the faint rolling of the seagull’s eyes beneath its lids giving an indication that it had felt the cool water.

"David! We’ve got to leave, now!" Caroline knew that the longer her son spent with the bird, the harder it would be for him to deal with its death. She was certain the gull would be dead by morning.

Hang in there, boy. I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise. David cautiously reached out and stroked the smooth white feathers on the bird’s bowed head.

Ow-ow-ow the bird answered, this time with a lighter note to his voice. It was almost as though he understood David’s words.

"David!" Caroline called urgently. She had to get them back to the apartment. But she knew that she and her son wouldn’t get any sleep that night. Their thoughts would be with the dying bird crying out in pain, and alone.

The boy rose and purposefully strode past his mother. Let’s go, ma. He glanced back at the boat one last time and headed towards the city. Caroline ran to catch up with him,