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10/19/2003: "Kandahar Chronicles #30 - 18/10/2003"

Ya, das iz gut! Kandahar Oktoberfest Party 2003. Mein Got, what a party it was. After a day off spent sunning ourselves, Bertein and I headed over to the UNHCR compound to eat infidel food and drink tankards of beer. Big Herbutus, HCR Security Officer was the driving force behind the party. We walked in the gate, ducking a barrage of German/English as Herbutus barked at the cowering chowkidors for not organizing the car parking to a Teutonic standard.

“Dumbkopff! I vant ein wehicle here unt von here!” Well, you couldn’t argue, he managed to fit two more within the gates. We left the chowkies to scramble for cover and made our way through the crowd to some familiar faces. Loud music, hoots and hollering greeted our arrival. Shit, how long had these people been going, it’s only seven pm. All the old regulars from Tearfund, ICRC and the various UN agencies clutching locally made clay steins called us over. Herbutus caught up with us with a fistful of white paper slips.

“Kom, schnell, take zis paper vor beer unt meat!” he commanded. ” Real German beer!” he said, unconsciously straightening his posture. Excellent. Bavarian beer in the middle of an Afghan desert. It’s amazing what these UN fellas can get hold of when there’s a party involved. Each stein holds three regular size beers and I knocked back the first one in the first ten minutes. Bertein was happily off babbling in Dutch with the two crazy Tearfund boys and I found myself talking rugby to a Kiwi, an Aussie and a South African running the barbeque. Giant Boer worst sausages, pork ribs and Bavarian wieners cluttered the grill in a smoky, aromatic jumble. Herbutus hustled past ticking off one of the spaces on the slip of paper and handed me another litre bottle of beer. Tonight cultural sensitivity was left at the gate.

I left the grill with a plate loaded with charred meat and scoffed it down. Salads and fruit sat untouched on a sideboard. The guys from the Italian NGO, Intersos, showed up and dropped some more beer beside me. They had been over to our compound for drinks the night before but that seemed like a tea party compared to this. Another couple of steins and I was getting as loud and giggly as the rest of the people. I got drawn into the rugby talk again but slipped over to talk with the Afghan cook turning chicken on the grill. I asked if it was okay for him to prepare, you know, gesturing toward the pork. He laughed. “Me, chicken and beef. Him…” nodding toward the South African UN rugby buff, “the other things.” Good on you man, I turned back to the rugby talk.

“Now the Canadians, bleddy big lads!” the South African was saying. Great, I got caught up waving the flag for a bit until Bertein came over looking a bit rosy cheeked and pointed out Herbutus dancing with a good looking blonde. Moves pretty good for a big man. She had transformed herself from a no-nonsense, professional Protection Officer to a dancing beauty. It’s good to see this side of people I usually only meet when discussing serious, work related matters. He caught my eye and roared with laughter. “Iz gut yah!? Drink beer, ve have plenty, plenty. Too much vor dis night, ve have more party tomorrow!” I was already pretty cut and the mad Kiwi was topping up my stein. Why the hell not?

I’m off to watch the England / South Africa rugby game on a big screen this afternoon with these guys and it looks like it will blend into another feasting, drinking session. Well, maybe cut down the booze a bit. Back to work tomorrow.