closely cropped beard that was obviously dyed, and a Chitrali cap. He came over and embraced and hugged Kefayatullah warmly as we got out of the vehicles. Others from our cars were embracing friends and the warmth of the reception was amazing. The senior gentleman, whom I later came to know well and greatly respect, was engineer Habib. He spoke no English but it made no difference to him that I was neither a Muslim, an Afghan, nor that I could not at that time speak Persian. He was a very smart and broad-minded gentleman who was, surprisingly, a well-known and highly respected mountain artillery commander from his mujahideen days prior to becoming a demining supervisor. Engineer Habib shook my hand and embraced me and I immediately knew I had met a man of great interest.
In Afghanistan there are two major and official languages: firstly Dari (or Persian which is very similar to Farsi from Iran) and Pashto, which is the language of the Pashtun tribal people of the east and south of the country. Those folk from Kabul city typically know Pashto but speak and write Dari as their day-to-day language, whereas many Pashtuns may not speak fluent Dari, particularly those who hail from near to the Pakistani border where Urdu is the official language. In the central and northern areas of Afghanistan, Dari is common, but so too are many other languages such as Turkmen and Uzbek (based on Turkish) and Tajik, based on Dari. But a collection of tribal languages that date back into the millennia also permeates the land, including Balochi, Pamiri and Nuristani. Some forty languages have been recorded as spoken throughout the country and yet that still doesn’t include English! It all sounds a little complicated and indeed it is. Though to make it easier, Dari and Pashto are officially the two national languages with all the others being just part of the diversity and complexity that makes up Afghanistan.
By now it was about 5.30 pm, or perhaps a little later and we all went inside for the ubiquitous formal greeting and cups of chai. I was placed beside Kefayatullah and he beside engineer Habib, the three most senior spots on the carpeted floor that I quickly became used to sitting at. The other staff sat to our left and right largely depending on their seniority.
As the general banter and standard complimenting continued, three huge, somewhat scary looking men entered the room. However, to my surprise they displayed the most humble of manners and started to lay out plate, after plate, after plate of wonderful local foods. The men trod gently across the matting on the floor in front of us, always bent down to maintain their humility, as they placed out the food and poured each of us cups of tea. They didn’t look at anyone in the eyes, except if they were spoken to. They appeared, whilst performing these acts of submission, to be extremely humble and accommodating. This type of behaviour, from grown and mature fighting men, never ceased to amaze me throughout the country although it was a cultural issue for them and never seem to be demeaning in any way.
As this wonderful loading of food was laid before us, I admit I was starving as we had left Peshawar at about 10 am and I hadn’t eaten anything of substance all day. There was roast chicken, meat (I foolishly thought was lamb, but as would become usual, was goat), rice, more rice, tomatoes, onions, and flat bread the size of a rugby jumper. After a quick Islamic prayer, we began to eat. As was to become the norm, I was encouraged to eat by all those around me. If I paused to catch my breath, another leg of chicken or a pile of rice was pushed in front of me. Now, please understand, I’m not so tall, but I can be a big eater and this late afternoon or early evening, I really ate my fill. I washed down the goat meat with green tea (chia subz), chomped on the chicken pieces and swallowed rice like water. The cooked potato and the salad dishes all took my fancy as did the kabab meat, the flat naan bread, the local yoghurt and the fruits.
By now I was pickled and more than a little bloated. I had eaten my fill and now felt ‘fat and happy’, which is an old saying of a great friend of mine, Geoff Long, from my home town of Frankston, Victoria. However, the time was now around 6.45 pm and it was very dark outside. The plates and the uneaten morsels of food were removed by the ‘scary men’ acting as waiters and we all smiled at each other contentedly. The talk now was only in Dari and as I didn’t understand it at this time, it was a bit boring and I was feeling somewhat sleepy, though I needed a wee. I asked for the toilet and was duly shown the outside. Toilets are nightmares in Afghanistan as anyone who has travelled deep into the outback areas of similar countries can attest. The stench and the practice of squatting is not something I have ever gotten used to, even though I have served in similar conditions for many years and continue to do so. But, I ventured into the WC and was at least successful, if not comfortable.
After my little ‘toilet adventure’, I thought I’d have a quick walk around the compound to help let my stomach settle and perhaps work off a few of those first 5,000 or so calories. As I walked down beside the river that I had heard clearly from the main building, it was dark and I realised the compound had no eastern walls, or perimeter fencing, for the most of it, as the river made this boundary itself. I guess after 15 minutes by myself, two armed men quickly came out of the darkness and startled me. They came up quickly in the darkness and began talking rapidly to me in Pashto as neither of them spoke English. They were guards for the compound and kept indicating for me, through gruff sign language, to go back to the main building. I kind of took this as being a bit overzealous, but as they seemed quite agitated, I duly walked back with them. At the main rear door, Kefayatullah and one of his men were standing and looking out towards me as I returned into the light of the porch. Kefayatullah appeared somewhat nervous and told me quietly and off to the side that I had to stay indoors. Once inside I asked him why, and he explained that there were a significant number of Salafists in this village area and more close by. As you may be aware, Salafists are known to be highly fanatical and religiously intolerant groups of people, often from outside Afghanistan. They had been responsible for the killings of many internationals in the past two or three years. On that note from Kefayatullah, I very well stayed indoors!
By now I was starting to feel tired and sleepy, as again we all sat in the central dining area on the floor. I was almost ready to ask where I would be sleeping, when in came the scary looking guys again, together with more plates of chicken, rice, salad, fruit, goat meat and more rice. “Ummm, what’s going on,” I asked with some in trepidation and the simple answer from Kefayatullah was, “Dinner!” Unbeknownst to me the earlier feast I had gorged upon was the belated lunch and now, only about two hours later, we were expected to eat again. I told Kefayatullah that I was totally full and couldn’t eat another thing. But once he explained the rituals of local custom, I was somewhat forced to sit back down and again eat. To be honest, I did remember Kefayatullah telling me before we ate ‘not to fill myself up too much’ (sic), but I obviously hadn’t listened. So now I had to feign hunger as my stomach was almost ready to burst. I did eat a little bit of meat and a little bit of salad to be polite, but no bread or rice could again enter my mouth. Of course, others at the dinner kept encouraging me to eat and I had to bluff my way through the affair. What an effort! Then, after these plates and trays had almost been cleared and the chai was being served, I realised that I had to take another serious look inside the fearsome toilet. My stomach was overextended and I needed to release its burden. Oh dear, it was not a happy time out there is the putrid, dark and cold toilet. My stomach ached from the over-consumption and I started to feel quite ill. But, eventually I made it back after several deep rumbling and echoing burps … and a lot more.
Back inside the main building I was soon shown my bedroom for the night and nobody seemed to notice, or be interested in my rock hard and swollen tummy. With very little delay I soon stripped down and lumbered into bed. My first thoughts were of a very difficult night of potential stomach problems, though the excitement of actually being inside Afghanistan and now fundamentally on my own as an Australian Army officer, quickly absorbed my mind and soon I had drifted off to sleep.
Surprisingly, that night I actually had a blissful sleep. I’m not a good sleeper at any time and with a gooey tummy, I was sure I would be up half the night visiting that horrible toilet. But not so, and in fact I had a great sleep, wrapped in a Persian blanket on a thick bed of carpets, on the floor in a small room by myself. Most of the others were in the larger rooms collectively where the snoring was dreadful, although no-one seemed to mind.
I woke up early the
