Little Uzbekistan

The other day we were driving through Kabul on our way back to the compound and decided to try and circumvent the rush hour traffic by taking the road less traveled by. This can be a big mistake in any major city, but Kabul has a particular lack of deliberate urban planning once you leave the major thoroughfares. So we wound up in this mud-brick barrio of winding alleys which is entirely populated by asiatic Afghans. Afganistan is supposed to be a place of incredible ethnic diversity, but I hadn't really seen any illustration of that before. I think the people there were a little surprised to see us: four white guys with guns in a ford Excursion which was almost larger than the streets on which we were driving. In retrospect the stares were not hostile, those people were just unacustomed to seeing us in their neighborhood. Feeling ourselves to be on the verge of being hopelessly lost, and with the walls literally closing in around us, we found a wide spot at an intersection and turned around. When I climbed out of the truck -gun in hand- to assist the driver in turning around a young man on a bicycle gave me a little nod as if to thank me for being careful of the houses on either side of the narrow street. Throughout this adventure I was reminded that we are precariously situated among these people, and it is only with their consent that we are suffered to remain here. As a former marine I am used to having a lot of strength behind me; air support, artillery, reaction forces. Here we cannot afford the same level of arrogant detachment that our more heavily armed brethren often demonstrate. Today the kids brought us T-Shirts with Afghani hero Ahmed Shah Masoud on them. For six shirts they received sixty dollars, which is a reasonable monthly salary around here. I don't mind getting hustled though, because at least these children smile at us when we roll down the street.