A Stroll Around the Compound

In the days following the departure of the Afghan kandak (battalion) and the corresponding marines, we began to prepare for the incoming group.  We were introduced to our new military counterparts with whom we would be instructing.  The new marine team was led by a gunnery sergeant, “Gunny”.  He was from Georgia, and a die-hard Bulldogs fan.  In comparison to the previous marine lieutenant’s personality, Gunny’s was more easy-going, seemed less concerned with his rank; but definitely in charge.  Having witnessed the relationship between the previous commanding officer and his men, I was curious as to this new unit’s group dynamics.  Upon the completion of the training mission, they would ship out to the country’s more violent southern region.

Another view of the compound. Tents in the foreground serve as student housing.

As we acquainted the new marines with the compound, I encountered a nice surprise which took me totally off-guard.  As we made our way along one of the interior roads, I noticed a small boy accompanying (someone whom I assumed to be his father) around the site.  The elder’s uniform was that of some type of technician or laborer.  The child, who couldn’t have been more than 3, bore the look of innocence.  When I motioned to the father in a request to take his son’s picture, he was very obliging.  However before he would allow me to do so, he wanted to ensure that his son was presentable.  As the dad wiped the remnants of the morning meal and dusty grime off his pliable face, first in one direction and then the next; the son’s grimaces made me smile.  It reminded me of any number of times that I had done the same to my own young sons many years ago.   After posing for pictures, the little guy wasn’t shy about taking whatever candy the team collected among us.  He seemed happy to be getting it.  

Dad's little helper

Son and proud Dad

There were other surprises as well.  As we became more accustomed to traversing the compound, we began to get more attuned to the finer details of the site.  On one stroll across the grounds, two of my co-workers, Greg (from Oregon) and Brooks (from North Carolina) stopped abruptly to do a “double take”.  Upon closer inspection, Brooks uttered, “Yup. I thought so!”  They had come upon a marijuana plant in all its glory, taking in the rich Kabul sun.  After learning that growing marijuana isn’t illegal in Afghanistan, I slowly began to recover from the shock of weed growing on a police training site.  What a country! 

Greg and Brooks (in the foreground) - "Yup, I thought so."

In order to save some money on cab fare, one of the LA’s, Saboor, would often ask to ride in our truck for part of our return trip to Camp Phoenix.  As company employees, LAs were permitted to travel with us.  This presented me with the opportunity to ask whatever questions I could conjure up.  I learned that during the time of Taliban rule, most of the LAs had immigrated to Pakistan or other counties with their families.  This left most of the younger interpreters (or “terps”) with only vague memories of the strict rule imposed by the Taliban regime. 

Me and Saboor

When I asked what the men standing on the roadside were selling, he told me that they were selling phone cards – not lottery tickets, which I had previously thought.  There is no lottery in Afghanistan!  That seems to be one of the ironies here – amidst the poverty and blight, there is no shortage of cell phones.  I suppose their presence represents both a blessing and a curse.  On the one hand, it’s good to see that technology is available to help people communicate; but on the other, I constantly find myself asking. “Could the guy on the phone be calling in our position and route of travel; or perhaps getting ready to detonate an IED?” Certain things about this mission are going to make the little hair I have left, gray a bit faster.