At this time of year, please accept
my heartfelt thanks for your support (especially for trudging through my blog)
and good wishes. Being here during
the holidays certainly makes me long for the warmth of family and friends, so
please know that you are in my thoughts. You have my most sincere hopes for a
happy holiday and a healthy and safe new year!
Merry Christmas!
Ben
PS – I know, I’m still MONTHS behind.
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Suspicions
I started to
get more accustomed to my role in the right front passenger seat, and looked
forward to the convoys. If nothing else, at least it was a chance to get out of
the camp. The trips offered me the
opportunity to see what was “outside the wire”. The drivers had no objections to my taking pictures as
long as I took only the minimal amount of time to click away, then immediately
returned to scanning the roadway and beyond.
Taking alternate routes gave me the opportunity to view some of the less
traveled parts of Kabul. In the
more desolate spots, away from the commercial areas, I saw some of the severe
conditions in which people lived.
What instantly struck me was the miserable poverty. I saw local residents drawing water
from a community well, suggesting that many of the homes had no running
water. Several people still
transport goods and foodstuffs by donkey-drawn carts. People cooked over open fires; and families scrounged
through trash heaps, often in the same ones that goat herders allowed their
flocks to feed. Steep dirt roads
led to mud and brick homes. It reminded
me of illustrations that I used to see in my religion books as a kid. Except for the glass windows, they
looked like buildings from biblical times.
As the
convoys passed, most people continued to tend to whatever they were doing,
seemingly unmoved by our presence.
There were, however, a few who, either through curiosity, boredom, or
otherwise, were attentive to us.
Occasionally, as I peered through the tint of the double-paned window of
bullet resistant glass, I caught brief glimpses of the faces along the
road. The speed at which we
whizzed by allowed me only flashes of eye contact. In those brief instances, I wondered of the thoughts behind
their eyes. I had so many
questions: Were they glad that we were there; or were they tired of covering
their faces with their scarves from the dust and diesel emissions that we
spewed as we sped past them? How
much did they know of our true intention to help their country sustain itself;
or did they think we were there to control them and sack whatever resources the
country might possess? Did they view us as an occupying army, as were the
Russians? How many knew of our goal to leave their country by 2014; and if so,
were they happy or fearful at the prospect of our leaving?
Sometimes I
saw looks of contempt. Again, my
mind raced to make some sense of such a response. Was it because they were disappointed with the security
situation that seemed to be getting worse; or perhaps they preferred a more
strict form of government like the Taliban had provided? These were some of the questions to
which I would try to seek answers.
I think you
will agree that I tend to be a friendly type of guy. I try to keep an open mind, and would like to give people
the benefit of the doubt. In a somewhat contradictory manner, I also tend to be
the suspicious type; so I’ve noticed that, especially since being here, there
seems to be an on-going battle developing within me as to how I would or should
conduct myself. Other than those
at the camp, I haven’t had much contact with the locals. Some with whom I have interacted (such
as the “Taliban widows”) have been very reserved. I attribute this to the prior status of women, as well as
the language barrier. Others have
been quite friendly. At this
point, however, for the sake of self- preservation, I’ve chosen to let my
suspicious nature take the lead.
That being
said, I can tell it will be somewhat of a struggle to maintain a healthy state
of distrust. Perhaps it’s similar
to the complacency a cop must fight to avoid after the job becomes routine. It
is difficult. One of the most
troubling things for me has been witnessing the kids growing up in such harsh
conditions. I remember seeing two
young boys playing with what looked to be toy trucks in the sand. They could have been kids on a
playground or beach back home, lost in their make-believe world. As we got closer, I realized that their
“toy trucks” were nothing more than boxes in their small hands. In other areas,
young boys walk through congested traffic, motioning with their hands for
something to drink. But perhaps
the most heart-wrenching circumstance is that of a boy who is always found at a
dusty, dirt road intersection, begging for whatever motorists will give
him. His family, a mother in a
burka, and two other small children, sit in the shade of a wall, well off the
side of the road. Even though his
legs are deformed and mangled, he remains in the hot sun, steadying himself on
sticks that serve as crutches, waving and showing the broadest smile. The cars and trucks that rumble by him
as they try to maneuver past the large ruts and potholes send up clouds of dust
and dirt that cake on his skin. As we drive by him, he gives us the “thumbs
up”, as he sports his big smile.
Yeah, the
kids can break your heart. After
having had driven in a number of convoys, I had become accustomed to (and took
pleasure in) the number of kids that were giving us the “thumbs up”. On one
such trip, while taking the same route on which we were towed a couple of weeks
back, I saw a boy up ahead, with his arm extended, and thumb up. I returned the
gesture. As soon as I felt myself
smile, he one-upped me by changing from the thumb-up, to extending me the
middle finger. Little brat –
probably a member of a Taliban or al-Qaida youth group! I guess it’s time for a healthy dose of
suspicion…
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