Born of the Pyramids, Rocky's Story

CHAPTER 1

Get up! Come on boy, I know you can do it! As I lifted my heavy head, I saw two eyes gleaming at me, full of hope and fire. You’re a fighter; you can’t give up this easily! Her little hands pulled desperately at the collar around my head, willing me to find the strength to get up. It had been such a long, long day, and I was so desperately tired.

My story begins many years before this. I was born into a crowded and noisy world, under the shadow of the last remaining ancient wonder of the world, the Great Pyramids of Giza. My mother was a working horse; she was born and raised in the hard streets of Cairo working day in and day out carrying tourists up and down up the ancient sands.

It was a hot night in September when I was born. The air was heavy with humidity, and dust swirled in the slow moving air. My birthplace was a small, dark and dank stable. It was just my mother and I in there, I couldn’t even see the world outside. But I could hear it. Hoof beats, hundreds of them, thundered past our doors. Bells and whistles rang through the air with choruses of Let’s go, faster!

As I lay in the sand, I felt my mother’s gentle touch, nuzzling me all over urging me to my feet. Her hot breath blew over my face, and in those moments I felt that everything depended on getting to my feet. It wasn’t as easy as you would think though; I’d never stood up before! Trying to balance on my wobbly legs, I fell backwards onto my bottom. Again! I lurched forward, and stood proudly for a few seconds before falling back to the floor. This time I took a minute to collect myself and gather my strength. With one giant heave, I was up. My mother ran her soft, velvety nose all over my body, nickering encouragement. She willed me strength and trust.

The effort of standing had left me very hungry. Instinct urged me forward, and I found the sweet taste of my mother’s milk, filling me up. Once I had drank until I couldn’t drink anymore, I curled up next to my mother and slept.

When I awoke the next day, it was to a strange face of a young boy peering around the side of the stable door.

Dad, Sugar has had her foal, come and see! the young boy shouted out.

I could hear the heavy footsteps as his father, who was also the stable Master, sauntered over. A dark face turned toward mine. His eyes were gloomy and heavy. He grunted.

Just what I need, another mouth to feed, he said to his son. I could feel his eyes taking me in, sizing me up. Looks like he’ll at least be tall, that’s one good thing. You see his long legs? his eyes glanced over my legs; my white socks shone like freshly spun cotton. His eyes moved on, frowning when he looked down at the stable floor. Go on boy, fetch the towels and clean that mess up in there. As boy turned to retrieve the items as requested, And while you’re at it Kal, tack up Sugar, I have customers coming in half an hour, his dad bellowed after him.

I watched bemused as the boy rushed forward to grab a bucket of water. He was thin, wearing trousers that were two sizes too big for him with a dirty T-shirt on top. His hair hung in long, black curls around his face. He ran barefoot through the dusty stables struggling to carry the big bucket of water and towels.

The little boy grabbed my mother’s head collar and led her out of the box. I followed, still unsure on my long gangly legs and tripped forwards. He let out a huge guffaw. You’re a funny one aren’t you? I’m going to call you Anter. Kal set about cleaning up our stable while my mother and I watched. With his bare feet he kicked out the dirty sand, creating a small yet growing pile outside the door. Once the floor was bare of any sand, he set about cleaning. His small hands worked quickly, plunging the towels into the water and throwing the water onto the floor. As he scrubbed, he mumbled to himself.

I hate this place. I never get any respect. That fat old man, all he does is shout and storm around like he’s the big boss man. One of these days I’ll show him....

A few minutes later, Kal was abruptly startled back to reality, leaving his daydream behind. His dad had stormed into the stable area. Aren’t you finished yet? he demanded. I told you I had customers in half an hour, these are very important people! They have travelled all the way from Saudi Arabia to come and see our Great Pyramids and our legendary Egyptian horses. Get that horse ready! As he turned away, he raised his hand and belted Kal across the top of his head.

Kal hurriedly put the bucket and towels aside, wiping his hands on his already dirty trousers. My mother stood quietly as Kal placed a large leather seat on her back, and pushed a long metal bar into her mouth. But she wasn’t scared, so I knew I had no reason to be. Just as he was finishing up, Kal’s dad returned with his important client.

Kal finished tacking up my mother, and pulled our out into the open space in front of the stables. When I turned to follow her, a pair of hands grabbed me harshly from behind and pushed me back into our box. What was happening! Where were they taking my mother! I could still faintly smell her, and frantically called out to her. I begged, I cried, but no matter what I did, her scent faded away. For what felt like days on end I stood there, praying that she would return to me. When I did finally pick up her smell again, it was like a breath of fresh air.

I called out to her as I heard her hoofs hit the ground outside of our stables. Kal led her past our box and kept on walking. I was barely tall enough to see over the top of our box, but my little nose sniffed and puffed as I traced her scent. After a long ride in the hot desert, she was sweaty and in need of hosing down with cold water. When Kal had finished, he put her back into the box with me. Hungry from all the exertion of waiting for her, I demanded my lunch. When I was finished, my mother lay down for a rest. I pushed myself close into her, feeling the warmth of her body and the slow pace of her breathing.

CHAPTER 2

Once I was a few months old, I was well used to the stable routine. My mother is what was called a working-horse. Hours on end she would be taken away from me during the day, carrying one person after the next after the next. Some days if it was hot, she would come home so tired she barely had the energy to let me have my dinner. On these days, we would spend hours trying to cool down in the sand of our box. Some nights, Kal was allowed to let us into a small open area where we could roll together and have a little play.

I wasn’t the only foal in the stables. Two boxes down from us another foal had been born just a few days after me. He was black as night and called Karim. A few times a week Kal would take Karim out of his box and spend countless hours brushing him and his mother until they were gleaming. I later learned these are what are called straight Egyptian Arabians. They are the real money-makers for stable owners. Many stables cannot afford the hefty price tag that comes with owning a purebred Arabian, but for those that do, they are treated like royalty. Karim, being a black Arabian, was expected to fetch quite a sum when he eventually grew up.

On mornings when there weren’t many customers, Kal and one of the other stable boys would be instructed to exercise the horses. It was in these rare occasions that the foals were allowed to accompany the mums into the desert. Getting out to this wild expanse of freedom was no easy task though. More than once Karim and I were found galloping back to the safety of our stable after someone had lit a firecracker on the corner we were just about to turn. The small and winding streets and alleys were never clear of traffic. Old women could be seen hanging up their dripping washing or making the traditional Egyptian bread, kneading away at the dough with age-worn hands. Men would sit at make-shift cafes with big glass pipes they would pull smoke through, sometimes scented like strawberries, or apples, or peach, with their traditional cup of tea never far from their reach.

These small streets were all we knew of reality outside the desert. Horses, camels and donkeys would travel the beaten path with their human compatriots. Many times there would be loud and boisterous parties that went on all night outside. Herds of horses would go winding and racing through the streets and up the road running along the pyramid’s wall, faces full of glee all raring to make it to the great expanse of the desert.

Once we had made it through the crowded streets, the open expanse of the desert spread out in front of us, with horses on every horizon possible. To our right stood the pyramids, their shadows following the blistering desert sun on its march across the bright blue sky. It was freedom. I would race with Karim to the tops of the tabletop sandbanks that stood to the side of the Pyramids. We never wanted to stray too far though, as there were many groups of riders in the desert and it was easy to get lost.

On the hot and humid mornings, Kal would decide he wanted to stop and take a break at the top of a sand dune. We would always go to our regular spot where a herd of horses and their riders would stand around idly, buying warm Pepsi and drinking cups of chai as the locals called it, which is dark tea. Some of the men there were regulars in the desert and would all jovially catch up on the top of the dune, talking about their week and their customers.

Occasionally while standing idle at the top of our desert mountain, you would see a rider pull their reins on their mount down so far it would choke the horse they were riding. Unable to breath, the horse would writhe in discomfort, struggling to gain control of its head. In an attempt to escape the horrific pain in their mouths, the horse would rear upwards, striking out in anger with its front legs, to the delight of onlookers who would snap the poor horse’s photo with their cameras, trying to capture the desert expanse or pyramids in the background.

The journey back to the stables always seemed longer once the anticipation of the wild running had worn off. Horses would prance next to me on their way out to the desert, while other working horses would walk dejectedly back in, their eyes hardened and blank. Their riders would often shout and scream, smacking them on the neck or backs to move them forwards.

Many of the horses looked broken as they picked their way through the mountains of rubbish that ringed the entrance into the desert and street. Life in the shadow of the Great Pyramids for a working horse wasn’t easy; I learned quickly to focus on the few good moments that I was able to have when Karim and I were allowed to be foals, running and galloping around to our hearts content.

CHAPTER 3

As I grew into a strapping colt, I felt my strength and power increase. Alongside my strength, my mind opened up and I began feeling bored just sitting in my box all day waiting for my mother to return from work. Often I would hang my head lazily over the side of my box, shaking off the flies that would never cease pestering me.

In these moments of quiet, I would watch Kal scurrying around the stable. He never stopped; rushing from one side of the place to the next. His hands were almost always full. Either he was balancing a tray full to the edges with cups of tea, sugar, and coffee, rushing to attend to the steady stream of customers that flowed through the doors. Other times he was dragging heavy buckets of water to the watering station to the horses, heaving around sacks of feed, or one of my favourite activities, bringing us our green lunches of clover freshly picked from the fertile Nile Delta Valley. The rich and moist grass would cause huge excitement in all of us in the stable, as we called out to Kal demanding his attention and to be fed first.

Occasionally Kal would get very energized and run around with seemingly extra purpose in his stride. I quickly learned that these were the days when there were tourists coming to the stable, as they would often reward Kal with a tip for his help. When they would go out riding, he would make sure they had the best horses, that their tack was gleaming, and he was always ready at the drop of a hat to offer a hand. The tourists were always given a choice between horse and camel to ride up to the pyramids. I never quite understood why, but most of the time these tourists preferred the camels to the horses.

Personally I was never really fond of camels. Their intimidating size wasn’t diminished by their smarts. I’ve often heard the expression that an elephant never forgets, but I believe that whoever coined this had never met a camel. It was only made worse by the constant leering noises the camels made, the rumbling sounds that started in their bellies and then belched outwards.

My frequent mornings alone had given me plenty of time to assess the surrounding stable. It was split into five different sections. One section in the back was sealed off from the rest of the stable, and this is where the Master kept his prized showing Arabians and breeding stallion. Karim and his mother were only outside of this section as the token Arabians, the ones that people visiting were allowed to see. But the real beauty was kept locked up in the back away from prying eyes and potential thieves.

Next to the Arabian section was the camel house. Distinct from the rest of the stables, the boxes were open and had no doors. Camels were brought into the boxes and made lie down and tied to their stables so there was no need for any doors. The camels were afforded much larger boxes than were us horses, as well as bedding of straw instead of the sand we slept on. The camels were seen as measures of wealth around here, many invested in camels to show off just how wealthy they were. As a result, they were very well taken care of.

The third part of the stable was across from the camel’s house, and was where Kal and the other grooms would sleep. In here was also where all the equipment for the stables was kept. Row upon row of saddles, bridles and bits met the eye. Stacks of feed rose to the ceilings. In one corner lay a huge pile of fresh green clover that was doled out throughout the day.

The fourth part of the stable was my home, as well as home to the two working donkeys in the stable. I never ceased to feel a little bit sorry for the little donkeys. Their huge hearts and stubborn mind lent for a great working animal. They were the cogs that kept the stable moving, transporting food and waste to and fro up and down the road in a never ending cycle.

The fifth part of the stable was where Karim and I were often put in the afternoon, the open sanded area, or ménage, in the back side of the stable. It was the one area that we were allowed to really play. On one quiet afternoon Kal decided to put Karim and I into the ménage while he set about cleaning out the boxes. As we romped and kicked our heels up in delight, Karim took a wrong step and went crashing forwards. His face smacked into the dusty ground in front of us, and he called out in shock and pain. Moments later Kal ran up to the door of the ménage huffing and puffing. His face was white with fear. Karim lay on the ground, unwilling to get up. Kal sprang over the gate of the ménage and raced towards Karim.

Get up now you stupid horse! he said, tugging frantically. Karim refused to budge. Left with little choice, Kal belted back over the ménage door and ran to get help from one of the other grooms. He returned a few minutes later, with one of the older grooms looking gloomily on behind him. Between the both of them they were able to pull Karim back up.

What were you thinking Kal! the other groom said. "Do you have any idea what will happen to you if anything happens