Femi was a 12-year-old boy from Egypt. His name, in Arabic, means “love.” True to his name, Femi gave love to many things. His family; his dust-brown dog, Bella; his treasured stash of books; and his favorite extra-soft-and-cozy shirt.
But mostly, Femi loved horses. He’d loved them for as long as he could remember, and in Cairo, the city where he lived, he saw them everywhere. Proud Arabians and Baladis pranced up the narrow streets, their necks arched and their tails flagged high.
Some were riding mounts, some pulled carts of clover, wheat, and garlic to market, and some played tour guide for visitors, carrying them through waves of desert sand to look upon the Great Pyramids of Giza.
A Discovery
One day, when the sky was hazy with spring, Femi walked up an empty, saddle-brown street, swinging a bag of vegetables he’d bought for his mother. Bella trotted by his side, her tongue lolling happily from her mouth.
In the distance, he could see the sparkling blue waters of the Nile, winking at him between buildings. Above, rickety dovecotes sat atop many of the buildings and the sound of flapping wings filled the air.
But then, another sound broke through. A soft whinny. Femi was certain of it. Stopping, he looked for the horse but couldn’t spot it. Maybe he’d imagined it. But Bella had her ears up inquiringly, too.
He put a hand on her head and she wagged her tail. And that’s when it sounded again. “Hello?” he said in Arabic and clucked his tongue. “Here boy!”
Another whinny, and this time Femi and Bella knew where it was coming from. A small garage set in the side of a mud-brick apartment building. A space meant for a car, not a horse, tiny and windowless.
Femi pressed his ear to the dented metal of the door while Bella whined. The whinnies grew louder and more desperate as Femi searched for a way to open the door, but it was locked. He threw up his hands with an angry sigh.
“No one should be locked in there!” he told Bella. “Definitely not a horse. It’s like a prison cell. Not a proper stall at all. We need to find the owner.”
Abandoning his vegetables on the street, Femi circled the building until he found a doorway and knocked. When no one came to open it, he banged harder. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
At last, a large old lady in a cream-colored hijab cracked the door open. “What do you want? You’re disrupting the whole building.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a horse locked in a garage here,” explained Femi. “Do you know who owns him? He’s miserable. I can hear him whinnying.”
The woman lifted her chin. “I own him, and he’s too naughty to be let out. He’s escaped from every other stall and paddock I’ve put him in. He can’t go out at all anymore, he’s too wild.”
Shocked, Femi looked down at Bella, who looked solemnly back. “But he’ll go lame if he never leaves that box! He’ll get sick.”
The woman shook her head. “Well, it’s his own fault. If he behaved, he could come out.”
“Please, let me try,” said Femi. “Let me just take him for a walk every day.”
“He’ll stomp you to the ground,” the woman warned.
“I need to try.”
“Fine,” she said, looking none too pleased. “It’s your funeral.”
Producing a key from her robe, she handed it to him. “I won’t come looking for you, boy, if you don’t come back. What happens is none of my business.”
Taking the key, Femi and Bella raced back to the garage. Then, heart thudding in his chest, Femi slowly unlocked and opened the door.
Making Friends
The horse was a black Arabian stallion who’d once been stunning. Now he was skinny and bedraggled. And not only was he locked inside this dark, windowless room, he was tied up as well.
“Hi, boy,” said Femi softly. “Easy. I’m here to help you.” The stallion blinked in the sudden light and snorted loudly, pinning back his ears. “It’s OK, it’s OK,” Femi murmured.
Taking a carrot from his mother’s vegetable bag, Femi slowly approached. Throwing his head, the stallion kicked out, fear flooding his eyes. But Femi murmured assurances of love, his voice gentle, the carrot succulent.
Belal
An hour later, Femi successfully stroked the stallion’s nose while he crunched the carrot. An hour after that, he led him from the garage, the stallion prancing and nervous but listening to Femi’s words of encouragement.
An hour after that, they had walked to the lush west bank of the Nile. Now the stallion eagerly ate mouthfuls of grass, feeling safe with Femi and Bella standing guard.
Every ounce of love that Femi had within him, he poured into the stallion. And there, that day on the riverbank, he named the stallion Belal, an Arabic boys’ name meaning “lightning, bright, beautiful.” Femi promised to come back the next day, and the next, and the next.
“I will get you out of that garage,” he vowed. “I will exercise you and feed you and love you without fail. Forever.”
Enduring Love
Ten years later, a man rode a black stallion along the west bank of the Nile. A dust-brown dog romped happily ahead, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.
Anyone who saw them witnessed love and friendship, marvelous and enduring.
This short story appeared in the May/June 2024 issue of Young Rider magazine. Click here to subscribe!
