Goats, Rope Beds and Bad Mornings

Being awoken by the sound of singing birds, opening your eyes to see your partner lying beside you or awakening to the smell of fresh pancakes are all traditionally great ways to start the day. Waking up on a rope bed with an angry goat gnawing on your trousers is a far less pleasant way to start the day I assure you. Nevertheless, in the summer of 2007, this was the situation I found myself in.

Confused, hot and restless, from a sleep interrupted by the sound of gunfire and screams, I slowly awoke in the middle of the vast Pakistani countryside in a small town within the region of Gujrat. My head lulled back on to the edge of the bed and I gazed up towards the sky – I say bed but in reality it was no more than a broken old wooden frame held together by a series of pieces of rope bound together, although the patterns on the rope may have had some aesthetic value, the notion of comfort had clearly not been considered in the design. With no mattress, sheets or pillows, I lay with my head tilted back gazing at the sky above. Blue. Just blue. With a big yellow circle in the middle of it. Not a cloud in sight. Just a big boring sea of fucking blue. Bleary eyed and confused as to why someone had decided to throw a blanket over me during the night, even though the temperature in Pakistan during the summer rarely drops below 32 degrees Celsius, I attempted to kick the half ripped piece of tat off my “bed” but felt a strange pull on my right leg. Naturally, sharing the residence with about 10 other children I knew one of the kids was playing some stupid game. “Ah not now” I mumbled in Urdu whilst closing my eyes. I tried to roll over but again felt the same yank on my trouser leg as I did before – “I’m not in the mood” I grunted slightly more forcefully this time. Once more I pulled my leg away, once more I felt the yank on my trouser leg. I snapped. I jumped straight up and sat bolt upright so I could confront the little shit face to face. As I opened my eyes I roared “I SAID I’M NOT IN THE FU-”. Silence. My eyes were certainly wide open now. There was no cousin at the end of my wood-rope contraption but rather a grey old goat, with a mouth full of my trousers. I find often in moments like this time has a tendency to slow down, the relentless march of the clock slows to a gentle trudge, as if to give you the opportunity to realise how fucked up this moment really is. Shocked, confused and utterly silent I stared blankly into the goat’s eyes, it stared back (whilst still chewing on a mouthful of my trouser leg might I add). My head lolled slightly to the right and then back again whilst maintaining perfect eye contact. I had just woken up in the middle of the remote Pakistani countryside on a bed made of rope with an old grey goat chewing on my trousers. There was only one thing to do in this situation “MUUUUUUUUM HELP A GOATS TRYING TO KILL MEEEE!” admittedly a slight exaggeration but then again I do like a sense of theatre. The goat rather than being frightened by the scream, seemed tired of the old chewing the trouser routine and decided to meander off to find its next garment to ruin. So there I was left in the courtyard of a broken old house in a derelict area of Gujrat. I gazed around my surroundings trying to find some semblance of Western normality in this strange menagerie, around me I saw children chasing chickens around a withered tree, old women sat cleaning clothes over large plastic tubs bickering over village gossip, grizzled men sat smoking on white plastic garden chairs and in the distance I could see a broken toilet with no door and flies circling above.

“I think this is yours” a young cousin stammered as he passed me a torn shoe – clearly my trouser leg was just the entrée before the main course of a black converse boot. Not even pancakes and bird songs could have saved this morning.