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BASHIR BINLADEN

THE OLD-OLD SOLDIERS, ones thirty an over, they loved strong liquor too-too much: gin, vodka, Johnny Walker, White Spirit. It's top chief brings back that stuff. Fat rich Arabs and Hindis, they give all that free for the patriotic effort. No lies that. Label say so. Établissement Fratacci, El Gamil Supermarket, Borreh & Associates, Idriss Driving School, V. D. Singh & K. S. Vijay, Coubèche and Sons, etc., see what I mean? Rebels they love doomo too much (that, Wadag palm wine). Us young draftees, we like liquor not too-too strong. Heineken, Kronenbourg, Tuborg, plus pink pills plus hashish. woww! After that, sleep flee from your eyes. Belly stop fussing, that's all. You can't fish up pity for nobody, not even for a small-small little child. You pick up rebels’ girls to make slave honeys in military camp. All the girls, they're for us, they gotta show their ass, that simple. Some girls they even come on purpose, they leave the mountain, they too-too hungry. They say: I wanna stay with soldiers, there's army food. They love soldiers for that, or else it's hunger too much. Rebels, when they gain ground on us, they catch their sisters. They knock em off quick-quick. Yah, you were with soldiers. You traitors, you cooked for soldiers, you screwed all the time. Bitches, I'm gonna fuck up your life: here, take that in the ass and bang! And you after that, you go crazy. You don't give a shit; you throw the old mamas old uncles and all in holes in the mountain singing Tupac Shakur. You burn camp; you poison water. You spray the animals bang-abangbang. It's funny, camel stuffed with bullets falls, gets up on long-long legs, falls, gets up, falls, up again. You come in bang bang bang salaam-an-bye-bye. Who gives a shit? Cows, they too stupid, they got big white eyes, moo moo moo, they wait for the bullets, they looking for death. Sheep, they run all over. Goats, they run-run fast. I saw soldiers rape donkey going ee…ee…ee. You have a ball.

When work there done, you burn your hash, you breathe in hard-hard till your eyes pop out of your face. After that, you calm, you cool with your Walkman. You can't stand tiny-tiny noise. So you sleep. Not for long. Two hours max; after, it's sentry duty. The others they sleep two hours and then, sentry duty. That way, you get used to it. You just take little nap cept when you smoked too much, grazed too much khat. But OK, that your own business. When chief he ask, Bashir you been smoking again? No Sir Sergeant, I give answer all ready. Always deny that stuff-there. Chief, he can't do nothing, he needs draftees to go on details too much. To get the prisoners together, bury wounded quick, burn rebel corpses covered with white clay (must be their grigri, that), it's the rule here. And soldier, he follow rules an that's that.

The night after, you have nightmare plus nightmare all night. Once, I had mean nightmare. We were trapped in ambush near Kallafi. Aïdid, Ayanleh, Haïssama, they dead. Me, I hid behind acacia. The rebels, they look all over. They don't find me. Then, at the last minute, a smart little rebel he found hiding place. Now four rebels coming in, their finger on trigger. They come up slow-slow like Clint Easthoud in movie (shit, this is serious, man, I can't remember what movie). They keep coming at me. OK I got my Kalash; I keep cool. They come closer. They look lef-right; they come closer. Shit, my Kalash, it stuck, don't wanna work. The four rebels, they see my Kalash it screwed. Me too.