by Bryan Wood
The fun part of the bazaar is the bargaining. Central Asia is believed by many to be the birthplace of trade and commerce, and the Afghans love to haggle. I found a marble and hand carved wood chess set that would easily sell for three to four hundred dollars in America. I asked how much, and the merchant punched “40” into his calculator. I responded with “15,” and he shook his head while typing in “25.” I typed in “20,” and the merchant shook his head and retyped “25.” I turned to walk away and within five steps I heard him shout, “My friend!” I returned, and the merchant humbly accepted the twenty dollar offer.
The day was filled with similar encounters. There may have been a few deals at the bazaar, but most of the stuff was just trash. It was just fun to be outside and interacting with people in a positive manner. Yeah, it was a good day.
March 8, 2003:
During the midnight shift, a German ISAF team was traveling down a main road near Camp Eagle when they were ambushed. A bomb was placed along the road, and as the ISAF vehicle was passing by, the bomb was detonated. Two German soldiers were killed and three seriously injured.
After OP shift, my squad was assigned to provide security for a Colonel who was going to a meeting in a notoriously dangerous area of Kabul. We went to a new school for children ages five through twelve. The school is scheduled to open soon, and an American military civil affairs unit is making final preparations with desks, paper, pencils, and other supplies.
The ride to the school was a little unsettling as we drove by the scene of last night’s bombing. You never know when you are next.
As we approached the school, I was in an area that words alone could never describe. It was a neighborhood jam packed with apartment buildings so close that a car could not be driven between them. This place can only be described as pure slum. Each building was between five and ten stories and shaped like a shoebox. Very few of the windows still had glass in them, and a makeshift clothesline hung from every window. Each and every building was so dilapidated that it seemed impossible they were still used as housing; however, the clothes hanging from each window told otherwise.
People were everywhere, fighting to swarm our vehicles, and many tried to open the doors as we crept by them. I was shocked to see how many people were very obviously high on something. Massoud, who came as our translator, told us this neighborhood is infested with opium and heroin. Robbery, murder, and squalor are all a part of daily life for everyone living in this area. Massoud said the children are particularly vulnerable in this area because of this crime. As with every other part of Kabul, there were lots of children. The difference here being that these kids were not playing and making the best of anything; their lives are beyond horrible. Looking at this was gut wrenching.
When we parked, there was a row of several shops on our left side. These are not the typical shops you would think of in an American plaza; instead, they are just a row of barely covered shacks offering some service or another. One guy was fixing bicycle tires while another was doing metal work. One of the shops is blown to shit, and the burned out car that carried the bomb is still in front of the shop. Violence is everywhere in this place.
I think that is all that I really want to write about today. I could go on for hours about that shithole, but I am getting very tired. Since I am still writing, it goes without saying that the day ended safely. All ten fingers and toes are still wiggling.
Earlier this morning, as we drove through the scene of last night’s bombing, and then later when I was looking at the remains of the other car bomb, I could not help but wonder how many times you can tempt fate and still walk away. How many times can you keep pulling straws before you finally pull the short one? I wonder if I am really going to get through this.
March 9, 2003:
Lately we have been noticing a lot of suspicious people, all just hanging around in the streets surrounding the compound. Just the other day, dayshift soldiers in the OPs reported seeing Afghans in the street taking notes as they walked the perimeter just beyond our walls.
Tonight, at the start of my shift and just a few minutes after midnight, a minivan drove around the streets of the compound a few times. I got out of the OP and laid flat on the top of the wall, using sandbags as cover. As the radio lit up with chatter, I could hear the Sergeant on duty telling us all to be ready to hit the van. I saw the van turning from the south end of the compound and traveling north on the street along the west wall. I had my M249 aimed dead on the driver’s side, just waiting to kill every fucking thing in that van. As I watched the van coming towards me, I heard the sergeant yelling, “Get someone with an AT-4 on that west wall.” An AT-4 rocket launcher will take the whole van out, but not before me and my machinegun could do the same fucking thing. I could hear the engine of the van revving as it sped along the street towards me. I rested my finger on the trigger and began to gently squeeze, waiting for the order to take out the driver. The Sergeant then ordered us to stand down. As the van passed the south gate, the guards saw the passenger holding a video camera, and the Sergeant wanted to have patrol units outside the gate go after the vehicle rather than us engage.
I can still hear the engine screaming as that van was speeding towards my location on the wall, and I still feel the anxiety of wondering if I was going to kill the driver or, even worse, if the god damned thing was going to blow up near me.
We have recently been getting a lot of information suggesting local Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters are planning an assault on the compound. The plan we have been hearing is they intend to simultaneously detonate multiple car bombs along the exterior walls and the main gates, and then use the chaos to have fighters armed with small arms rush in, killing as many as they can. We thought it was all bullshit, but tonight really tells me there is something to it. It might actually happen. The passenger with the camera was videotaping our reaction to the van. They will most likely analyze the video and identify the most vulnerable points. This shit is real.
Afghanistan has been hit very hard by a drought for the past several years, but the rain has returned this year. The growing season is right around the corner and, with the recent rain, the season should be very productive. We are all hoping that people will be more concerned with growing crops and ending the famine than with fighting and attacking coalition troops.
Another hope for peace in Afghanistan is the recent surge in the economy. The locals here live in a poverty that is beyond comprehension for most other people, but it is showing signs of improvement. With troops from around the world in Afghanistan, money is flowing in, and it is starting to trickle down to some people. There are public works jobs starting to appear, some people are working directly for the American military, and others are starting small businesses. Granted these small businesses might be along the lines of repairing bicycle tires, but at least it is some type of work. The problem is far from fixed, but I think some people here may see a glimmer of hope, a hope they have not seen for a long, long time.
I just hope the rain, along with a new sense of hope for many Afghans, is enough to curb the violence that is ripping this place apart.
March 10, 2003:
Massoud and I were talking at the main gate last night and just killing time. Massoud has been trying to teach me Dari, the language people speak in Kabul, but I am not really very interested. When I leave here, when will I ever need to speak Dari? Pretty useless, but he has taught me a few useful things: “Show me your hands,” “Get down on the ground,” and “Don’t move or you will be shot.”
Massoud was also telling me about Islam and Islamic prayers. He really seems intent on us being as safe as possible, and he wants us to constantly look for specific things when we are on patrol in the city. One of the things he wants us to watch for is prayer. Massoud said Afghan Muslims have a very specific set of rules to follow just before and just after someone’s death. Massoud said suicide bombers very often follow some of these rules, and these can cause them to stand out in a crowd. Massoud tau
ght me a few key prayer phrases to listen for. If we see someone sitting in a car or walking in the street praying, we want to be somewhere else and fast!
The night was very quiet, and there was virtually no activity on the streets. Everyone thinks that being in a war is nothing but non-stop action and fighting. I thought that too before I came here. It is actually ninety percent boredom mixed with ten percent shitting your pants, and there is absolutely nothing in between. You are either bored crazy or knee deep in some shitty mess.
We have been trying to change that and find little ways to have fun. We managed to find a TV and some bootleg DVDs for sale on Chicken Street, and one of the guys had someone from home send a DVD player. When we do have down time, we have been watching movies lately, and it is actually a lot of fun. We’ll grab a bunch of snacks from the care packages we received, throw on a movie, and crowd around the TV. It’s funny how something like watching a movie can be so much fun when you stop taking it for granted.
A few of the other guys are also into Jiu Jitsu, so a few of us chipped in and bought a couple of sets of heavy gloves to start our own version of a training center. That is actually some of the most fun I have had here in Afghanistan; however, we do not get to do that very often because we need to keep it very quiet. If the command staff ever found out we were beating the shit out of each other for fun, they would put a stop to that very quickly, and I think that is half the fun of it.
Another activity we have found to pass the time is gambling, and we gamble on everything. We bet on coin tossing, on cards, and on anything else which we cannot control the outcome. Some of the guys have started a new gambling pastime that is very popular with everyone. We will all start looking under rocks and old boards until we find one scorpion and one camel spider. Camel spiders are very large, hairy spiders that are creepy as can be. Once they have one of each, they will put them in a box. The two will fight, and everyone bets which one will win.
I have the worst luck in the world when it comes to gambling, so I just hang on to my money. The only time I gamble is when I eat the food from outside of our compound. The food usually goes down and comes out just fine, but other times not so much. Sometimes the food here gives you diarrhea so bad you need an I.V. to replace all the fluids you have lost. Everyone calls it the “Hajji blowout.”
Supplies come and go; sometimes supplies are good, and sometimes they’re slim. When supplies are slim we still get food on the compound, but when we’re out on missions we need to do what we can to eat. When that situation arises, we are usually left to survive off of the local economy. We will buy meat or live animals from desert nomads, and it is usually not that bad. I use the phrase “not that bad” quite loosely. Sometimes it gets rough, and you end up with a case of that Hajji blowout.
March 11, 2003:
Today was only day eighteen in Afghanistan. In some ways the time seems to be flying by, but in others it is going so slowly. Before we got to Afghanistan, my unit was in upstate New York for over a month of training. I have been away for about two months now, and I am really missing home. I hoped that as time went on I would get used to it, but I really have not. I know I still have a long road ahead of me, and I probably should not even think of being home. It is easier said than done, and my mind drifts back there a lot.
It seems like every day is the same thing, over and over again. Nothing pleasant ever happens here, and no news is ever good news. Every day there is some new threat against us, or there something else to be worried about. Every time we leave the relative safety of the compound I see something else that makes me sick, and I possibly come one step closer to my card being pulled.
I have this weird feeling of emptiness inside. It seems as though everything good in my life has been replaced with something bad. Everything that I used to look forward to has been replaced with something I either fear or loathe. Everyone I loved has been replaced with feelings of sadness, and they need to be bottled up and never shown. I have a job to do here, and I am going to do it. I can deal with these feelings some other day, but for now they just need to stay locked away.
Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one who feels this way, but I know I see it in some of the other guys as well. We will come back from a mission and guys will say things like, “I just want to leave this place alive.” Never did I imagine it would be like this.
I think I had it in my mind that we would be in the middle of nowhere, twiddling our thumbs all day. The reality though, is we are a combat unit, attached to the Third Special Forces Group, in the most dangerous place in the world, and it scares the living shit out of me. Sometimes I am very afraid. I never show it, and I always do my job, but sometimes I think the fear slowly chips away at me. Every time we leave the compound, either something happens or we see something that just makes my heart stop and forces me to pray it is not about to happen. Then I breathe a sigh of relief when it turns out to be ok, and I wait for the next thing to happen. It is never ending, but every night I do my duty on the wall, and almost every day I go out on patrol in the city.
The patrols are not physically demanding; in that aspect, they are easy. We patrol on foot, in three or four man teams, just walking around the streets and looking for anyone or anything suspicious. I am a machine gunner and I always carry my M249. I just wish I was able to carry more ammunition than I can fit in my rucksack. I worry that if we get locked down in a fire fight, I will run out of ammo far too quickly. I sent an email to my wife asking her to send me a plain black backpack that I can wear in reverse on my chest, to carry a few more drums of ammo, but I still have not received it yet. Every email she sends says, “No haven’t sent it yet, but I will tomorrow.” It was tomorrow five days ago, and I need that thing now.
I also asked her to send me a new holster for my 9mm, because the issued holster basically sucks. She emailed back saying she cannot find one, so I am guessing that means I am not getting it. From the sound of things, I probably will not be getting the backpack either. Sometimes I am not sure what to say besides, “Whatever.”
March 12, 2003:
Tonight seems as though people are getting ready for something. All night long, cars have been driving past the compound, with people yelling from them and honking their horns. A convoy of vehicles circled the compound four or five times. The vehicles were old pickup trucks with people crammed into the back of each truck. Someone in the lead truck was waving a Taliban era flag.
A little later, less than thirty minutes after the trucks circled the compound, I heard three rapid explosions within a half mile of the compound. Within minutes of the explosions, I heard an exchange of gunfire. The volley of gunshots lasted for about thirty to forty-five seconds before they stopped. Our radio lit up with reports that another unit’s security patrol was taking sniper fire from an unknown number of hostiles. Within minutes the situation was over, and the other unit was reporting one American casualty. Then it was dead calm for the rest of the night.
An Afghan guard, Khalid, speaks broken English, and I asked him why some Afghan people are so hostile towards the Americans, when we are only here to help this country.
He said the causes of Afghanistan’s problems are very complicated. He said the vast majority of Afghans want the stability that America is trying to bring. He explained how the Afghans, young and old, fought to the death to drive the Soviets out of Afghanistan, and would have fought until every last Afghan was dead. He then said, “If we didn’t want the Americans here, we would fight just the same. We don’t fight. Most of us don’t fight, anyway.” He told me that if the Afghans did not want us here, we would be constantly engaged in battle.
The Afghans want freedom just as much as we enjoy ours. However, Afghanistan is not made up of one single group of people but several different tribes. Every tribe has different ethnic, religious, and cultural beliefs, and they rarely see eye-to-eye. Each tribe wants the entire nation of Afghanistan to be molded around their own ideals, and because of this they fight constantly.
The warlords take advantage of these rivalries by stimulating fighting between these groups for their own benefit. The fighters are essentially the warlord’s personal army, and they become pawns in a greater game of chess. If one particular tribe or warlord benefits from the people fighting with the Americans, they shift their anger towards us and get everyone riled up. To stop this, a lot of these warlords have been offered positions in Afghanistan’s new, emerging government as well as top police and military positions. This game creates a power struggle for everyone trying to come out the victor, with as many spoils as possible.
When you take all of this and add in religious extremism, you have a breeding ground for terrorist activity. Groups like the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and the Holy Islamic Jihad have used this power struggle along with misinformation to turn people against America and the new Afghan government. They have turned this country into a powder keg that is set to explode.
These fighters hide and blend in among Afghanistan’s population of thirty-four million people. They come out to fight very quickly, and then melt right back into the population. They wear no uniforms, have no insignia, and they are very hard to find. The area between Kabul and the Pakistani border is filled with these fighters. Fighting one second and gone the next. Their weapons of choice are improvised roadside bombs, car bombs, explosive mortars, and rocket attacks.
These people who are against the ideas of the western nations are now seeing a light of hope for many people in Afghanistan. New schools and hospitals are opening all the time, and there is slowly a new way of thinking in Afghanistan. They want to crush that hope and attack any target they can.
This place is very complicated and has many issues, with extreme violence often being the result of those issues. It is to the point that violence is the only way of life many Afghans now know. Like Sean said when I first got here, this place is fucked up.
