This is a true story of a goat - a reminder that Iraq is not all war and terror, but people living their lives with heart-warming stories... written by one of our guys on the ground.
Story of the goat
The goat was originally bought so that we could do advanced medical training. What I wanted to do was shoot him and then practice our first aid skills and keep him alive as long as possible. Well you know what they say about the best intentions of men and mice?
For some reason the training was postponed and I promptly forgot about the goat. A couple of days later I was asked by the Gurkhas what they should do with my goat. Now you must understand that a goat is a valuable commodity here in Iraq and apart from costing a not inconsiderable sum, forms the main ingredient in the weekly Buphat (traditional curry) every Friday evening. I told them they could have the goat, that he was my contribution to the Buphat and once again took no further notice. That Friday at the curry I noticed that the goat was still in the camp and thinking the Gurkhas had misunderstood me, once again told them to use the damn goat, which by now was becoming a nuisance, in the next weeks Buphat.
That Monday evening I was summonsed by a senior delegation of Gurkhas and informed that the goats name was Boka Boka and that he had been displaying human characteristics; and therefore they were sure that he was the reincarnation of those people that had died in the rocket attack of 25 November last year. My scoffing at this suggestion was met with stoic stares and silence. Realising that my leg wasn’t being pulled I asked them for proof of his human disposition or he would end up in the Buphat.
This flummoxed them for one day, until I was urgently called from a meeting at the Palace to come to camp Kau Bahadur (Gurkha camp) the next morning to witness proof of Boka Boka’s humanness. On arriving at camp I found a huge crowd surrounding Boka Boka who was merrily tucking into a bowl of curry. Now you tell me if you have ever heard of a goat eating curry? Let’s quietly ignore the cannibalistic nature of his meal at this stage; then to further prove himself to me, he tackled an ice-cream cone as well for desert. Since then, despite the normal cardboard, paper and trash which he digs out of the rubbish bins and relishes on a daily basis; Boka Boka has bacon and eggs for breakfast, curry and Ice-cream for lunch, followed by a Buphat for dinner each and every day. Oh – and before I forget the most important confirmation – he loves beer and enjoys a tipple every night with the boys! Sometimes he has more than one and then performs amazing human-like endeavours, such as standing on his hind-legs and jumping onto tables before staggering off into the night.......
He has the total free-reign of the camp and is allowed in every hooch, where he normally adds a mouthful of blanket or preferably a bite out of a novel carelessly left around to his diet. He sports a snazzy double pony-tail and despite getting bathed once a week, stinks to high heaven. He has mood swings and sometimes attacks people for no reason, on other days he is playful and his best friend is the camp dog. He definitely has favourites amongst the Gurkhas but for some reason doesn’t always like me very much, which just goes to show that he doesn’t fully comprehend my role in his continued existence.
One morning Bahkta Mani, who is tasked with the daily care of Boka Boka, smartly marched into my office and informed in the gravest possible tone that Boka was ill and needed medical attention. Being rather busy and sure that the goat probably had worms I called Frans, the dog handler and asked him to administer all the same injections he gives the dogs thinking this would remedy all ails Boka had whilst at the same time showing that I was concerned and had sympathy for his woes. Things are never that simple in Iraq.....
I was met by a rather irate crowd of Gurkhas that demanded to know what the hell I thought I was doing to Boka Boka – did I not comprehend that he was HUMAN!!! How dare I administer dog vaccinations to Boka and how would I feel if I had been injected with anti-rabies vaccinations and the like? Well that is a pretty difficult argument to win, so to humour them and remedy the situation whilst retaining some dignity, but more I suspect to avoid being subject to the same vaccinations that a grinning Frans was ready to administer to my posterior; I called the medic and explained the situation to him. To cut an even longer story short, the medic went to town, he checked Boka’s blood pressure, inspected his ears, took his temperature, checked teeth and throat, and listened to his heart. It was too good to be true, the goat was bemused, the Gurkhas were happy and my butt had been saved; but then Murphy stepped in: In his enthusiasm the medic’s assistant decided to check the goat’s prostate!!! I ask you - if you were the reincarnated spirit of 4 Gurkhas and someone suddenly and unannounced checked your prostrate using the traditional method – well what would you do? Boka Boka’s eyes bulged as the assistant inserted his finger – this lasted all of one second before he let out an enormous bleat, lashed out at a grinning bystander with his hind legs and stormed out of the clinic amidst much chaos.
Being my goat, I am saddled with the responsibility of getting him home to South Africa and insuring he lives comfortably into his old age according to the standards he has become accustomed to. The Gurkhas have informed me that they will check on him from time to time which put paid to my intention of a spit-braai once everyone had left in a couple of days time.
Now how much more proof do you need I ask you?
Anon
Baghdad, Iraq
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