Donkey days

on both sides of the border.

By NOREEN SADIK
A safe haven: Donkeys in the Gan Yoshiya sanctuary (photo credit: NOREEN SADIK)
A safe haven: Donkeys in the Gan Yoshiya sanctuary
(photo credit: NOREEN SADIK)
T he donkey, just one year old, walked down the hill, its concerned owner not far be- hind. It had been rolling on the ground in obvious pain. The hair around its eyes and ears had disappeared, leaving red sores in its place.
Dr. Jaber Kadan immediately recognized the signs of colic and dehydration, and began treatment; two bags of infusion were injected into the donkey’s weak body, while Dr. Ahmad Fareid covered the affected areas on its head and ears with cream.
Treatment completed, the vets graciously turned down an enthusiastic invitation to tea made over firewood. Instead, the owner was given medi- cine and instructions on how to treat the donkey at home, and was sent on his way.
Kadan, from Baka al-Gharbiya, in Israel, and Fareid from the Palestinian town of Jayyous, had taken Safe Haven for Donkeys in the Holy Land’s mo- bile clinic to the Palestinian village of Haris.
Safe Haven for Donkeys in the Holy Land, a charity based in England, is a sanctuary that offers mistreated don- keys a home, safety, love and a fresh start.
Lucy Fensom, the charity’s founder, first came to Israel in 1989, and while volunteering at the Jerusalem Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, she saw a donkey near the gates of the JSPCA tied with wire around his leg. She fed him, cared for his leg wounds, and gave him a name – Donk.
Eventually, she was able to have him moved to a donkey sanctuary in En- gland. Within the year, he died due to heart problems connected to the heavy work he was subjected to from a young age. With the realization that there are many like Donk in the area, she was inspired to open a sanctuary for donkeys. In 2000, her dream became a reality, and not long after, she opened the sanc- tuary in Gan Yoshiya in central Israel. (Fensom has since left Safe Haven for Donkeys in the Holy Land, and has opened another charity, called Lucy’s Sanctuary for Holy Land Donkeys.) A SANCTUARY for donkeys may seem unusual, especially in this part of the world, but unusual is exactly what I was looking for. Donkeys pass through my neighbor - hood every day. They pull carts, carry loads, and stand still for long periods of time. This is all I knew about them. When I visited the Safe Haven, I realized that there is much more to them than I had previously thought.
There is a saying by Anthony Douglas Williams: “When I look into the eyes of an animal I do not see an animal. I see a living being. I see a friend. I feel a soul.”
Sometimes all it takes is one moment, one event, to change a way of thinking. I looked into their eyes and realized that these hard workers that are often taken for granted have beautiful souls. Safe Haven chairman of trustees
George Russell and I walked around the sanctuary, which sits on almost a hectare of land.
Over the sound of loud braying, he talked about the donkeys, and the goals of their work. They work in two main areas: caring for the donkeys at the sanctuary, and the running of a mobile clinic, main- ly in the areas of Nablus and Kalki- lya, and Khirbet Jbara, near Tulkarm, where they offer free treatment to injured or sick donkeys and horses. They also work with adults and chil- dren, teaching them the proper treat- ment of donkeys, and they offer farrier (hoof care and horseshoe) courses.
Each donkey in the sanctuary has its own story of suffering from injury, abuse or abandonment. There is 13-year-old Burnie, who wandered into Immatin, in the Pales- tinian Authority. A boy poured petrol on the donkey, causing severe burns. He has been at the sanctuary for close to nine years. Burn scars are still visi- ble on its dark brown flanks and he will always need special care. Afraid that his sores will be bumped by oth- er donkeys, he is usually protected by his stall. In spite of that, Russell says, “He welcomes the newcomers and has been such an inspiration to our sup- porters!” Then there is Mace, a six-year-old fe- male rescued from Nablus in 2010. She was orphaned when her mother died after being bitten by a snake. Salaam, who has been at the sanctu- ary for almost 13 years, was hit by a car in the Israeli-Arab city of Kalansuwa, and his front leg was broken. A man spotted him and took him to his car garage, where he tried to make a wood- en splint for his leg. The sanctuary was called. They considered euthanasia, but the animal’s obvious determina- tion to survive made them decide to amputate the leg instead. He is doing well now, but is carefully watched. Each donkey has a name: Noah, Sal- ma, Toffee, Murphy, Philippa, Toby, Queen. With 220 donkeys in their care, there are many names and many stories to tell.
Running an animal sanctuary is a large job. Abed Battah, the live-in farm manager, is one of five staff members.
“Every morning we go through the same routine,” he explains. “First a tractor comes in and scrapes off two inches of the old food and the donkeys’ waste. Then we cover it with fresh sand and sawdust. Then we clean the donkeys’ eyes, and groom them.” “The standard of care is very high,” said Russell. He invited me inside a pen, and there I was, squished between don- keys. Some approached me with inter - est, nudging me with their soft nos- es, nibbling my clothes, while others shied away, their trust in people influ- enced by the treatment they experi- enced before arriving at the sanctuary.
“Donkeys are curious, intelligent, social animals. They tend to group together in pairs or groups of three,” said Russell.
“They have a high sense of self-pres- ervation, and if they feel something is not safe, they will not do it.”
Donkeys face problems that are not conducive to life outside of the desert, their original environment. “Their desert origins have a big im- pact on their hooves. In their natural environment, they usually walk many kilometers per day on sand searching for food,” Russell explains. “Sand is a natural abrasive so, under normal cir - cumstances, as quickly as their hooves grow, they wear down. When they are taken out of that environment and walk on roads, their hooves grow fast- er than they wear down, so every three months they need the attention of a farrier.”
It was with this knowledge about the personality and needs of donkeys that I went with the vets of the sanctuary’s mobile clinic to a small Arab town 24 kilometers southwest of Nablus. Haris, with a population of approx- imately 4,000, is inhabited mostly of farmers. About half work in agri- culture, growing mainly olives and wheat, and residents are heavily de- pendent on their working donkeys. In 2012, the unemployment rate reached 40 percent. Most affected were agricul- tural workers and laborers. An air of festivity surrounded the donkeys, horses, their owners, and cu- rious spectators, mostly young boys, as Kadan, the head of the mobile clin- ic, Fareid, and Nour Badran, the farrier from Nablus, transformed the middle of the street into a clinic, and quickly got to work. Kadan’s connection to the donkeys, sharp eyes, observational skills, and of course expertise, help him make a quick diagnosis of their ailments. While Kadan and Fareid dressed donkey after donkey in new nose chain covers and treated wounds, Badran trimmed and cleaned their hooves. “Usually we treat the donkeys for skin diseases, deformed hooves, nail penetration in hooves, worms, prob- lems with teeth, gaping wounds, har - ness wounds resulting from carrying heavy loads, and poorly fitting chains across their noses,” Kadan says.
Every once in a while, an operation must be performed. “This donkey is temperamental. The owner can’t control it,” Kadan explained. “He needs to be castrat- ed.” He prepared his equipment, and as the anesthesia quickly forced the donkey to stumble and pass out on the ground, to an audience of boys, he performed the operation. According to Kadan, 80% of the ani- mals are worth treating and returning to their owners; 20% of them are taken to the sanctuary or are euthanized. “If a donkey can’t be used for work, we do not expect its owner to keep it,” Kadan explains. “The socioeconomic level of the people is so low that it is better to take them to the sanctuary than to leave them untreated.”
“We have no rights to confiscate the donkeys; we prefer that they come to us with the blessing of their owners,” adds Russell. That afternoon, as Kadan expected, they treated more than 40 donkeys and horses. In a one-week period, approximately 100 will receive treat- ment. The charity places an emphasis on educating the owners on how to work with their donkeys. “People are amazed because we are strangers to their animals but we know how to get close to them,” says Kadan. “The owners are often too tough with them, and we show them that there is another way.”
“One cannot blame the owners,” Russell concedes. “They are living a hand-to-mouth existence. They really do love and respect their animals, but they are caught in a matter of circum- stances.”
As for Safe Haven’s work: “It’s a priv - ilege to be able to help the people and their donkeys,” he says. “Let’s make what we are doing bet- ter, and from there, let’s expand.” • For more information on Safe Haven: www.safehaven4donkeys.org