Afghanistan Journal: My Trip to Kabul
Last Friday, I took a trip to Kabul. Kabul lies some 63 miles southwest of Bagram. It was a convoy of SUVs that got us there.
First, let’s talk about the rules of the road in Afghanistan. There are none. There are no traffic cops, no state troopers, and no Law Enforcement whatsoever outside the cities (and inside the cities, the local constabulary has weightier things on their mind than insane traffic maneuvers). Coalition forces follow two rules when on the road: Don’t lose the lead SUV (because he knows where he’s going) and don’t hit anything. There are quite a few things available to hit including garbage and stray sheep, goats, camels, and donkeys. Garbage could very well hide an Improvised Explosive Device (or “IED”). Hit one of the stray animals and you can bet its handler will materialize in a heartbeat demanding compensation. This is typically handled by Civil Affairs who give out the payments. It seems in every road kill incident since the coalition first set boots here the animal is tragically the finest stock of its breed (as well as a favorite of his six sons, five daughters, and three grandchildren) and far, far more valuable than the typical market value. Once the payment is made, however, all is forgiven and forgotten.
Once you get into downtown Kabul, stray animals are no problem; it’s the stray cars that give you the headache. There are no stop signs, no right of way, and very thin streets. You do what you must to keep up with the lead SUV and avoid a traffic accident. Typical maneuvers include weaving (accompanied by a few blasts of the horn) and cutting folks off. Some folks advocate the waiving a pistol, but you’re being enough of an a**hole on the road already in my point of view. Of course, if you hit a vehicle, civil affairs are called in to sort things out. Naturally, the vehicle you hit will probably be a one-of-a-kind Aston Martin whose value cannot be measured; never mind the fact that it’s a Toyota Corolla, plain as day. Oh yeah, nine out of every ten vehicles you will see on the streets of Kabul are Corollas. Apparently Japan dumped a bunch of old ones on this country as part of their aid package (hey, they’re in a recession). Now if only they included instructions with them.
One of the many places we visited were the training sites of the budding Afghan National Army (or ANA). As one person put it, we’re teaching them American tactics using Soviet weaponry. They’ve got a long way to go before they could be considered a trained and professional body. One of the most glaring problems that I saw is the fact that they have no real NCO corps. Sure, I’ve seen some Afghan NCOs (they wear American rank, for crying out loud), but they are nothing more than higher paid buck privates. The officers run it all. Officers plan and dictate every single part of their mission to the smallest detail. The enlisted corps just does without question or input. Man, this is going to take time. As far as the quality of the officers goes, there are two extremes with no middle ground. They are either bullies, extortionists, and thugs or they are the very pinnacles of professionalism that would put quite a few American officers to shame. I have yet to see any middle ground.
We drove out of the city to take a look at the old King’s and Queen’s Palaces. A bunch of kids came around shouting “Aroof! Aroof!” (“Water! Water!”). These kids aren’t dying of thirst. You see, a lot of these kids have gained a taste for the bottled water that we carry with us and have become rather jaded toward the local refreshment. The kids are friendly, but be careful: they can go from normal to feral in under a second. Make sure that you have enough for everyone or they will start to fight each other for it. When we started handing out water, there was a pause as we opened up another case. The kids started fighting. We broke it up (and I got a nice bite for my trouble), and finished handing out the water. The smaller kids would guzzle it down, because the bigger kids would go for their bottle, once we leave. After the scrum, an armored Bundesweir patrol drove up. I know a little German and the squad leader spoke a little English and we somehow managed to have a conversation. He told me that he stopped giving kids free stuff because the kids have started running in front of his LAVs.
The city kids are not so much feral as businessmen and women. They will try to sell you gum, Japanese snacks, boot polishing (never mind that they’re suede), and their services as a bodyguard. Common words you learn very quickly with them are “lay” (“no”) and “boro” (“scram”). Some of them are astonishingly fluent in English and use slang and hand gestures correctly and eloquently. Some of them have taken to western names as well. Arguments do not typically result in a fight. One girl wearing a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt was arguing with a boy in Dari over who had what corner. She seemed to have stated her point quite eloquently. She did have a stick in her hand but the size of that thing would cause no more than a scratch. The kids have also taken to wearing US military rank – the higher the rank, the more sales space.
When you hit the local bazaars, you can get things quite cheaply and buy DVDs of movies that are still in the theaters. The common indicator for a bootlegged DVD is misspelled covers. Sometimes you don’t even get the movie that you paid for. Some dark little voice in the back of my head is telling me that over the next year, SOMEBODY in this battalion will accidentally buy a snuff film. Stuff is cheap, but haggle anyway. I bought myself a very nice marble chess set for 23 dollars. According to one of the kids, I got screwed.
The architecture that is still intact is very nice to look at and aesthetically pleasing. Their buildings range from the complex and fantastic to simple but sturdy. They’ve even built their homes carved into the side of the mountains themselves.
Well, there you have it. A little taste of Kabul…
