Impossible Odds

in their bloodshot paradise.
    And by this point I also had no illusions that this bought Poul any extra favor with them. They might have been willing to “entertain” him in this fashion, but they had no more feeling for him than that. One of them could just as easily have an attack of paranoia, decide Poul had insulted him in some way, and shoot him for his trouble.
    By the time January 24 rolled around I was still sick. It had been eight days since our last proof-of-life phone call, and the Somalis merely handed me some antibiotics they got somewhere and which didn’t seem to be right for my infection. I’d been through two rounds of them and was still weak and in pain, but at least it was a little easier to move around instead of spending all my time on the mat curled into a ball.
    They were doing a pretty good job of “punishing” me and Poul for not providing their expected millions. I felt certain the only reason they gave me any medicine at all was that if they let me get any sicker I wouldn’t be able to do the proof-of-life calls. That wouldn’t play well for them. So there we were, at a standstill.
    Over the past two weeks, Poul and I had been subjected to a second “punishment” of forced separation and virtual solitary confinement. So it was good news when Dahir the Helper took advantage of the fact that the Colonel and Jabreel were away and let the two hostages get together to have a meal.
    I had long since been forced to abandon my vegetarian diet, because the men were convinced I was only getting sick because I wouldn’t eat meat. They refused to allow me enough nonmeat items to survive on, and I was forced to begin ingesting whatever they let us have, just for the calorie value. I had already lost too much weight.
    The men responsible for bringing in that day’s khat supply also brought along a live goat. It caused a major stir in camp. For these men, this was a significant event.
    Helab! Helab! (Meat! Meat!) the men cried with the joy of combat troops getting a visit from the Dallas Cheerleaders. My revulsion at the slaughter of animals was part of my reason for being a vegetarian in the first place, which made it hard to stand there while the animal was killed, and impossible not to notice that the few seconds needed to cut its throat and let it bleed to death were all it would take for them to do the same to us.
    When one of them passed a severed goat leg to me and Poul, I knew better than to refuse the food; there might not be anything else. The knife Abdi had at my throat earlier was the only cooking knife in the camp, so we used it to cut the meat into pieces. We fried the goat bits in oil over Poul’s cooking fire. My body was so starved for protein that the meat actually tasted very good, even though I wasn’t used to eating it. But for the next few hours, my stomach felt as though I’d swallowed a big ball of dirt.
    Although Dahir the Helper had brought a watermelon into the camp on the previous day and let us have some, there was no way to get enough calories from the few fruits, vegetables, or grains they provided to prevent us from starving. Our problem in that regard was that they didn’t need for us to be healthy; they only needed us to be alive.
    Meanwhile the others cut up the rest of the animal’s carcass and threw it into a big pot to boil over the fire. As soon as it was cooked they all fell on it, sucking marrow from the bones, drinkingthe fat floating on the surface of the pot, and spitting bits of gristle into the fire. The camp went quiet except for the sounds of a dozen men engaged in a rhythm of eat, suck, smack, spit. Poul and I had to turn away.
    We knew it wouldn’t be long before they returned us to our isolation, so we tried to quietly talk while the men were occupied. After three months, there was nothing new to talk about, but any interaction bolstered our spirits by reminding us we weren’t completely isolated there.
    I think Helper was trying to make up for the fact that in December he had confided to us that we were to be released by January 1. When that date passed, he then came with the news that it would be done by January 15. Now, nine days afterward, it was obvious he was either lying, which would be odd for Dahir, given his normal behavior, or he had genuinely thought he possessed inside information. I told myself the date could have been changed without his input and without any notice, because of his low rank. Either way, I was touched that