One Dog at a Time (24 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Dinner Invitation

OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH
the ANP was growing more and more comfortable.

Most afternoons, if we had no pressing tasks, Dave and John and I would sit with the blue-shirted policemen for an hour, either in the garden or around the entrance to their living quarters. We would sit there, drinking chai tea and generally talking about everything and anything, as long as Harry was with us to do the translation honours (Abdul la Tip’s English wasn’t quite as good as his). Luckily Harry liked his tea as much as we did.

As the tea flowed one afternoon we all watched amused as John, holding himself in a press-up position, tried to demonstrate to Tin Tin just how exactly it was meant to be done. The ANP lads couldn’t grasp why we took part in physical exercise during our downtime. John’s demonstration wasn’t making it any clearer.

Through Harry they kept asking: ‘Why? Why?’

As this had been going on I noticed Jena quietly trotting along behind the row of closely planted trees on the far side of the small garden. She was on her way to the galley. Since having her pups she was becoming a master, or was that mistress, of escapism. We should have renamed her Houdini. Somehow, and we still didn’t know how she had done it, within days of giving birth she had moved all of her puppies into the next-door run occupied by RPG and AK.

At first it had taken us a while to figure out where she had gone. We had feared a rerun of the storm drain episode. But as we’d looked in to see RPG we discovered a happy Jena staring out from RPG’s cardboard box surrounded by her six puppies. RPG and AK were curled up together in the remaining box.

‘How the …?’ Dave had asked as we looked on in disbelief.

‘Don’t ask, I don’t know,’ I replied as we just stood there. Some things were best left a mystery.

I excused myself from the tea and jumped up shouting after her. Moving quickly I managed to intercept her and take her back to the run.

As I walked by the ANP garden with a bemused-looking Jena in my arms, the Afghans were all staring and laughing.

‘What’s up, Harry?’ Dave asked, looking bewildered.

‘They are laughing at Pen and the dog,’ Harry smiled.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked too as I detoured over to the garden and put Jena down, leaving her to start sniffing the tall plants along the border.

Rosi spoke to Harry who then translated for us, a big grin on his face.

‘You name the dog and chase it like it is people,’ Harry explained.

‘Yeah, I suppose I do,’ I replied. ‘Don’t Afghans name their dogs, then?’

Harry turned and spoke to the commander and Rosi. They listened intently before bursting out with laughter.

‘No,’ Harry said, ‘they call a dog a dog.’

He then started laughing too.

I turned to John and Dave; they were both stifling laughs. We couldn’t hold it in. We all burst out laughing along with the ANP.

I stood up again and grabbed Jena.

‘Come on dog, let’s go.’

*

The air felt cold and dank as we were led towards the low glow of light somewhere inside the ANP building. The beams of our head torches cut through the darkness to reveal plain grey walls. As we moved sideways we were careful to avoid banging into several cold metal bare beds that were stacked on top of each other and had been shoved to one side to allow access.

Eventually Abdul la Tip stopped by a basic wooden door and knocked politely, obviously waiting for permission to bring us in.

A gruff voice answered on the other side.

I looked down by the floor and noticed four pairs of neatly stacked scuffed leather shoes. I turned to Dave and John.

‘Boots off, fellas.’

We bent down to start untying our long bootlaces but Abdul la Tip immediately grabbed my arm.

‘No no, Penny Dai, it is good.’

‘We will take them off, Abdul; this is your house, my friend,’ I said.

Abdul la Tip backed off and waited patiently for us to ditch our boots unceremoniously by the dark leather shoes.

As the door was pushed open we found ourselves in a room that was flooded with bright light. Having been in the dark of the winter night for the last hour or so, it was a shock to the system and my eyes winced.

It was as they focused again that I noticed what was left of the goat hanging from the wall behind us. Bloodstains formed a large heart shape down the dirty wall, where the gutted carcass had been suspended from the soft mud wall by a hook. Not that health and safety played a large part in life out here but they had killed the goat nearly a week ago.

‘Don’t look at the back wall guys, it might put you off your dinner,’ I motioned in the direction of the goat.

‘Euuurrgg,’ was John’s only comment.

Abdul la Tip held the door open for us as we entered the
extremely
cosy room. The difference in temperature between the draughty outer room and this was astonishing. I immediately noticed the gas-powered fan heater that was blasting out hot air from the far corner.

The commander and Rosi were waiting to greet us. We all shook hands warmly as if we hadn’t seen each other for years, which was a little bizarre as we had spoken only a few hours ago.

Harry had been invited, otherwise it would have been an extremely quiet meal and besides I think he was striking up a fair repartee with a couple of the ANP.

‘The commander would like to welcome you to his house and wishes that you enjoy the meal he presents you,’ Harry said, standing between us.

‘Thank you, Commander, we feel very honoured that you have invited us,’ I replied.

It had started as a simple question over tea a few afternoons previously. We had asked what they normally ate for a meal. We hadn’t realised that it would turn into a full-blown dinner invitation.

We sat down on the carpeted floor, each choosing one of the oversized cushions that had been laid out around the outer edges of the room.

The walls were neatly painted in two colours, grey on the lower half with a dull yellow orange on the upper half. The thick padded blue jackets that constituted the uniform of the ANP hung along the wall using the same type of hook that was used to hang the goat outside.

It was slightly amusing to see their AK-47 assault rifles hung on the walls as well, the muzzles pointing down towards the floor. Jemel with his basin-style haircut and his wispy trimmed beard entered the room with a bowl of water and a cloth. He bent down towards us offering the bowl.

‘To wash your hands,’ Harry said, recognising the uncertainty in our faces and chuckling along with the police.

Sporting embarrassed grins we took the opportunity to
rinse
our hands as Jemel moved around the room. Abdul followed him with a tray of just washed cups and a scalding hot silver pot of chai tea. A bag of British-looking sugar had found its way on to the tray.

Abdul la Tip served the commander first before moving round to us.

I had John on one side and Harry on my other. Dave sat next to Harry with an even more bubbly than usual Rosi to his left. The remainder of the ANP sat either side of the commander who remained quietly staring at the three of us.

No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t figure out how old the commander was. He was a hard one to read.

His tanned face gave little away; his eyes were the only source of emotion. He clicked his fingers at Adbul la Tip who was waiting patiently by the door. We still hadn’t seen Tin Tin, who was obviously tonight’s cook.

Abdul la Tip disappeared out of the doorway, detailed to chase up the meal I imagined.

The commander spoke to Harry. The three of us waited politely to discover what they were talking about.

‘The commander would like to know how long you have been a soldier,’ Harry translated after he had finished nodding to the commander.

‘I have been a Royal Marine for seventeen years,’ I replied. The commander on hearing the translation nodded his approval.

‘And he asks where have you fought?’

‘Before we came to Now Zad we fought in Gereshk, before that we have all been to Iraq,’ I replied. Again the commander nodded his approval, I guessed.

‘And how many Taliban have you killed he would like to know?’

I looked at Dave, who just shrugged his shoulders back at me.

‘Tell him I do not know as we have only heard the Taliban go quiet on the radio after we have attacked them.
I
can only hope they will not be around to fight another day,’ I replied.

This caused an exchange between the commander and Rosi but before I could ask Harry what they were saying Dave piped up with a question of his own.

‘Harry, please can you ask Rosi how many Taliban he has killed?’

Harry spoke to Rosi and immediately Rosi let out a warlike cry and waved his arms in the air as he excitedly described what I assumed were his numerous battles.

‘He says he has killed many, many Taliban. He says they fear him when he is on patrol and run away.’

The ANP in the room all burst out laughing as they gave Rosi a round of applause. The three of us couldn’t help but laugh with them and started to clap as Rosi continued to wave his arms around and shout in the air.

With all the chatter and laughter the room was becoming extremely warm. We would definitely feel the cold when it was time to venture outside again.

Abdul la Tip and Tin Tin came through the door followed by a blast of cooler air from the outer rooms. Both Afghans were carrying a large plastic tray that they placed down on the floor in the middle of the room to more clapping.

On one tray were two full bowls of white rice and about ten large flat breads. The other tray contained two large steaming bowls of ropey-looking meat chunks that floated in a watery sauce and a jug of thick white liquid.

I snuck a quick glance at Dave. We had thought long and hard about accepting the invitation for the meal. We were extremely touched that they had asked us. The problem wasn’t that we were ungrateful, but we knew how and where they prepared their food. I had watched the younger members of the ANP making the flat bread and cooking their evening meal out on the hot stones near the rear gate.

The dough for the bread was mixed in two large mixing bowls before being laid out on an enormous flat charred
metal
plate. The rice, which they seemed to eat every day, was cooked in a large thick pot that was baked black from the naked flames along the outside. But the problem lay at the end of the cooking. When they had finished with the pots and bowls they would be left out during the night to be washed in the morning before breakfast. Maybe it was too dark and cold for them by then? But what I did know was that at night I would sometimes see the compound’s stray cats having a field day licking the pots, glasses and bowls clean. I had even chased RPG and Nowzad away from the stacked pile of dirty utensils during the early days when I had attempted to give them a nightly leg stretch.

The ANP version of washing up in the morning would involve cold water along with the palms of their hands. It was their way of life and I assumed their stomachs could take it. But I doubted ours could or would.

For the last two and a half months we had religiously wiped our hands with an alcohol-based gel before handling any food. Any pots or pans that were used for preparing meals were washed in hot soapy water almost immediately. We couldn’t afford to get ill, not with the vital jobs we had to do. Running to the toilet pit every ten minutes, especially when the Taliban were attacking, would not be fun.

I was probably doing the ANP a total disservice but I had only to think back to the time I served on board RFA
Sir Galahad
during a deployment to Egypt. Over 90 per cent of the ship’s company had gone down with diarrhoea and vomiting at the same time. The experience of being in a cramped environment during an outbreak like that was not something I wanted to repeat.

It was too late to back out now. We had decided it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience a meal with the ANP. Just to be on the safe side, however, the three of us had each stockpiled a tidy stash of toilet roll.

The commander indicated that we were to help ourselves. I looked around for the serving spoon but I couldn’t see one.

‘Use your fingers, Penny,’ Harry laughed as he mimed scooping up rice with his right hand.

Fingers it was then. I reached for the bowl of rice and lifted two large clumps of soft rice on to the plate that had been placed before me on the floor. I then passed the rice to John.

I scooped two pieces of the goat out on to my plate as Harry used a large ladle to scoop up some of the thick white liquid, which he then passed to me.

‘What is it Harry?’ I asked.

‘Milk of the sheep,’ he replied.

‘You mean goat’s milk,’ I corrected him.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘It is milk from a sheep.’

Dave chuckled away as I took a sip from the ladle. I tried my best not to curl my lips as the bitter-tasting milk hit my tastebuds. I didn’t do a very good job. The police had been watching intently and one burst out laughing. I handed the ladle back. Harry dipped it into the jug and took a mouthful of the milk. He didn’t pull any faces.

‘I am sure Dave would like to try this,’ I said.

Dave shot me an ‘I’ll kill you later’ look.

The meat was chewy and fatty but it tasted like it had been cooked in onion gravy. We were all wary of dropping bits of rice on to the carpeted floor. The police seemed to be shovelling the food away without dropping any scraps.

As the plates became empty Abdul la Tip served out the remainder from the large serving bowls. He seemed to be favouring us as he shared it out. I felt guilty having seconds but the commander insisted.

As the plates were cleared away, the faithful tea was poured and we started to talk. The commander wanted to know more about England and how long we would spend there when not in Afghanistan. The police all chatted excitedly when they discovered I was married to a Wren. The commander could not understand how a woman was almost
as
senior as I was and could tell men what to do. It took several minutes for the discussions to die down.