From Afghanistan

Today’s mission takes us south to a town where the Afghan National Police have been under constant harassment from the Taliban. They have a police station and a few sub stations that have been hit by the Taliban either by rocket-propelled grenades or direct fire from a machine gun. When we finally arrive, we can only see the aftermath and our presence is nothing more than show. Yet what we can do for them is advise them on things they can’t think of for themselves. Such as patrol around your area instead of staying inside the whole night or taking shifts to lighten the load. Another piece of advice given is for them to mark potential places where the enemy has good cover and direct line of sight to the police stations. That way they can either remove those places or make sure they patrol them. I ask one of the interpreters why the police didn’t do this in the first place. The answer is shocking: in Afghanistan, the educated people get jobs as doctors, engineers, teachers or any other trade that requires thinking. Those who are uneducated and can’t read or write join the military and police. So the simplest tasks that require a little common sense mixed with knowledge are overlooked.

As we drive through the towns I look into the eyes of every Afghan I can to let them know that I don’t think they are beneath me in any way because of the way they live or because of the way I live. In a way, I have more respect for them for the way they have persevered through time. Often the men stare wondering if we are going to do anything with our weapons, but most stare because we are an oddity and they don’t often see Americans. This is awkward and takes a little to get accustomed to but just like anything else you become numb to it. The women are not to be looked at and in return they don’t look at any man. The culture here perceives women as property and bearers of children - nothing else. They cover themselves with Burquas, a form of dress that covers the top of their heads down to their feet; they are not to be seen. If a man looks at a woman and is not related to her, it is an insult to the family’s pride and retribution is sometimes required. The irony of this treatment is the people live their lives through the Koran, yet the Holy Scriptures say to treat women completely differently. Women should be able to own land, have a job, get an education, and even divorce if they wish. The Prophet Muhammad’s wife was older and owned her own business before he married her and he saw her as his equal.

One of the biggest personal adjustments I have had to get used to is that Afghan men do not believe in personal space. In America the average person has a comfort zone of an arm’s length. Think of when you hug even a relative hello - they hug you then they put you at arm’s length to get a good look at you and to regain their comfort zone. Well here, the comfort zone does not exist. The Afghans also are a tactile people; they see new things and the first thing they want to do is touch it and put realism to the object. As I stand waiting for my teammates to conduct some mentoring, a group of Afghan National Police men come to inspect me, the American. The men range in age from 14 to early 30’s. As they inspect my gear, they immediately start touching and trying to beg for the trinkets hanging on my chest. They want my flashlight, eye glasses, knives, even something as small as my pens. I respectfully deny their requests even when they go from begging to bartering for my shiny new objects. Again I politely refuse because I need my gear for the next year, and I really have to draw the line at my cigar. My wife has sent me hand rolled cigars from home and the Afghans have never seen such an odd cigarette. They wonder what type I am smoking since they have little white ones and I am puffing on a large brown cigarette. One particularly curious Afghan man tries to touch it. I grab his hand at the last second, not thinking he would dare invade my personal space but never imagining that he would go as far as touch the mouthpiece of my cigar. Here I am smoking the cigar and my saliva is on the end, yet he is about to touch it with his hands which haven’t seen soap and water for days. Everyone gasps and takes a step back not knowing what the American is going to do. I turn to my interpreter and have him explain that under no circumstances is anyone to touch me anymore and especially not something I put in my mouth. Seeing that a line has been crossed, they all stand there in a long awkward pause looking at each other for support. To break the tension, I take out a bag of candy and share the sweets with my new friends. As if nothing happened, we are best of friends again and they resume asking questions and bartering. Hey, if it is can work for Willy Wonka, it can work for me.

On the ride back we pass a couple of abandoned Russian bases and airfield, which still have a number of empty fighter jets. It appears as if the Russians literally had to leave in an hour and if you couldn’t carry it on your back it stayed. Unfortunately, the surrounding landscape is filled with hundreds of thousands of land mines. The Russians planted more mines in Afghanistan than any other country during their reign to gain control. So every once in a while you will hear a large explosion and know that a child or animal tripped a mine. One sport of cruel children is to throw food in a minefield to see animals run into their death. The minefields are generally outlined with markers to identify if they have been cleared or not. The Taliban have been known to switch the markers to lure soldiers in. As a rule of thumb, if you see a goat herder using the land you know it’s safe to drive through. Another tragedy is the unthinking U.S. Soldier who sees a minefield and throws rocks to see an explosion – thinking it will look like fireworks. Unfortunately some mines have a killing radius of 300 meters, so even if private quarterback throws his hardest, he is still in the circle of scrap metal. Mother Nature also plays a cold trick when it comes to the mines. The average Afghan knows where the mines are located, but over time the rain and snow has caused the ground to shift and the mines move to different locations. Often the river beds are notorious for such mine displacement. Even with the danger, the cunning bomb maker has an array of explosives right in his backyard, but that’s another story completely.

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