Call of the Wild. Graeme Membrey

I got my driver to bring the car into the playing field and tried to explain to the gathered group that this was serious and life threatening. If badly damaged, a femoral cut can cause you to bleed to death in just ten minutes. Once the car arrived, we put the boy on the back seat, had two of the friends jump in with me in the back and another in the front as we sped off to the ICRC. My driver called the UN radio room and told them about the incident and got them to call ICRC. When we arrived I was still forcing my fist against his upper thigh as the doctor and attendants ran to our car. Blood was everywhere. The doctor asked me a few questions in English then said, “Well done,” and took over the treatment of the boy. I never even heard the boy’s name, but I know that he had his leg amputated right up against his hips with the smallest stump you can have. He survived, but it was not a happy ending. I also found out why he had been shot. As he and his friends were playing soccer, three Taliban drove up in a car. They got out and said to the boys, “This was no time for playing when you should be answering Allah’s will to fight.” The young victim had said something to the effect that this was just for fun, and so they shot him. Nothing more than that.

      Anyway, my chowkidar in Nangarhar in 1991, was apparently always eager to see me exercise even though he wished he could also do what I did. Well, I thought, I can assist here. I noted that his leg no longer fitted his prosthesis and jotted that to my memory. I had recently been told of another NGO which was using the soft rubber from the inside of run-flat tyres from old Russian armoured vehicles to create new forms of prostheses. This could possibly help this guy I thought, but at the time I told him he could join me during my exercises any time. He patted his false leg and said in Pashto, “Maybe four years ago, but not now,” and laughed. But I persisted and said I understood he couldn’t run, but he could do the strength and stomach exercises almost the same as I did. We spoke about this for over an hour. In the end, he was really keen to join in and to learn what he might and might not be able to do, though he had basically done zero exercise since his accident.

      Early the next morning, my one-legged chowkidar greeted me with a look of suspicion and concern. I indicated through simple hand signalling that I would do my run first and then we could do some strength exercises. He smiled broadly and nodded his head in understanding. He then sat and watched every meter I ran. Finally, I stopped and grabbed my big rock and bricks and we sat together as I tried to explain our exercise routine, as I saw it. First, we needed to check if he could do some of the exercises, then once we were happy, we would start. He eagerly agreed and I admit he really looked keen. So, I went through the chest presses, the shoulder presses, some bicep curls and some triceps exercises and push-ups. He could do each one easily and he seemed to gain confidence. I then indicated the sequence for the exercises, chest, arms then abdominals, and we started. I admit that once I start a series of exercises, I usually lose all knowledge of what’s happening around me as I slip into my personal ‘zone’, but with this guy bursting with enthusiasm I was spellbound. He had removed his shirt and he pushed and shoved those rocks and bricks like there was no tomorrow. I kept thinking he would stop and so I kept going at my usual standard and encouraged him to keep going and to work harder. He did, and I feel he forgot about his handicap for the next 45–60 minute as we both sweated and strained that morning. I was as proud as could be to see his effort and his desire to get himself fit once again. When we finished, I was really beat and clearly so was he. At that moment one of the administrative assistants walked around the corner and I grabbed him to help me translate what I was saying. I told Mohamad, that not tomorrow but the following day he would be very sore all over. We both laughed at that and he said he’d be fine, but I knew better. I told him even if he was sore the next morning, he must do some more exercise to get rid of the lactic acid that will be creeping into his system even as we spoke. I then had to leave to get ready for the day’s business at the demining sites so we shook hands and promised to meet again the next morning.

      The next morning he was ready again, though after a bit of a laugh he admitted his arms and chest were already sore. The administrative assistant also came out to join us. I did my run with him as Mohamad exercised with the heavy stone and bricks and when we had finished running, we all did more chest, arms and abdominal exercises together, including countless push-ups. Although Mohamad was already very sore from the previous day, he clearly forgot about that once he started and really worked hard once again. I showed him some more variants of those exercises and by the end of that week, he was really looking bright. Together the three of us designed and built a chin-up bar that Mohamad could use. His arms had gotten very weak and he could only do five or six chin-ups at any one time when I left, but I am sure he could do plenty these days, if indeed he kept his exercise regime going. I was overjoyed to have been part of this young man’s renewed interest in fitness when he had once thought his life had finished. Certainly, that’s not the case if you put in the effort, have the interest and a little bit of luck on your side. I also made inquiries about the new rubber prosthetics at the NGO but was told there was a year-long waiting list already. Nonetheless, through constant bartering, I got Mohamad’s name put on their register. Although I never heard if he got his new leg, I am sure he would have at least been contacted once his name came up.

      Since those days, I have watched with interest as people make do with what they have or don’t have. I sometimes think about how my life would be, had I been shot in Afghanistan or if what happened to this chowkidah had actually happened to me. I still pray I would be energetic enough to start an exercise regime if it had. I recall being badly injured at football in Australia, unable to join in the training and exercise, and how that pained me in those days. I had an operation on my hip back in 2008 after damaging the cartilage covering the head of the femur bone after a long hard run. The operating doctor told me at the time, that I would never be able to run again. I asked about running on the soft sand of the beach and he said, “Listen carefully Graeme, if you want this resurfacing to last you for the rest of your life, don’t run. Walk as hard and as fast as you can, but don’t run.” I have basically kept to that and haven’t run much. Though on occasion I can’t help it and if I am down the beach, I almost always fall into the trap of going for a 2–3 kilometre run. I understand the concerns and the realities of my hip, but it is just too much to bear, never being able to run for fitness or enjoyment any more. I nowadays work out on the cross trainer machines that really do make you suck for air, though there is almost zero pressure on the hip joints. At times, I hate to admit, I actually have dreams when I go for long and tough runs. But, I guess life is far too short to sit, worry and dwell about the negative impacts that hit all of us, at some point in our lives, in one way or another.