Lost Photographs

I think that much of my experience here in Afghanistan will consist of lost photographs. I don't mean the ones I've taken, those can be seen here. I'm talking about all of those moments which could have been a perfect National Geographic picture, if only I'd been able to stop. If only I'd been able to get out of the truck as the image flew by. Like the girl standing on a mud wall, the desert contrasting with her purple dress and too-old eyes. Or the camel standing on the side of a hill doing a passable impression of an oak tree. The village nestled in a canyon with desert all around, but full of trees and water, looking much the same as it must have one thousand years ago. The narrow dirt trail, almost impassable for our trucks, with the musky scent of cannabis coming from acres and acres of fields on either side. The little kids waving-little kids always wave-while their more circumspect fathers and older brothers regard us cautiously, but not with real hostility. Beautiful young girls who will soon disappear into chadderi. The curious detritus of old wars, crumbling mud castles next to burned out T-55 tanks and BRDMs. Tunnels that the Germans dug in their precise, inexorable fashion through the Hindu Kush. There are many more, of course, but these are the ones I remember. The thing about this country is that we can be driving through absolute desolation, and then within a kilometer the most incredible scenes unfold in front of us. At the end of the day we return to what passes for civilization out here, and I almost wish I were still out there, camera in hand.

Kabul is just like any other city, only more so.....

Kabul is missing certain things which one would expect from a modern city. The restaurant scene is still in its infancy. The fact that many of the restaurants double as brothels does noting to improve the level of cuisine. However, progress is being made on this front. Of course we can't leave the compound after six, and this has seriously hindered my best efforts to become an authority on Kabul-gastronomique. I've been told that there is a soccer team, but there are no soccer hooligans vis a vis Manchester United. Which reminds me, Manchester aint doing so well this year. Of course, the prohibitions against alcohol and public drunkenness severely limit the possibilities for sporting enthusiasm. There is an active nightlife, which I see occasionally out the window of my landcruiser. However, most of the nightlife in the states is centered around courtship. Afghans have a ways to go before women will be allowed to go out to clubs at night for the purpose of picking up guys. I leave it to others to argue the relative merits of scantily clad, assertive women running around all night trying to get laid. Ok, enough exposition, I'll leave you with two things.

First, I want to hear from all of you on the following subject: What makes for a worthwhile occupation? A note of caution, any responses that sound remotely like "Whatever makes you happy" will be dealt with severely. Beatings are not out of the question. Nikita, don't even think of using this as an expedient for getting me back stateside. Secondly, if any of you need a really cool radio station, check out livestream from this Rochester, NY college station. Livestream radio is better than sliced bread.

August 29th 2004

It is hard to know what to tell people sometimes. I encountered this when I came back from Iraq (where I did nothing). When a story is told, the teller loses control of it. He loses control because the listener interprets the language, changing the story from the teller's reality to a different perspective. I never wanted to lose control of that experience. Any violent act which takes place halfway around the world is going to be subject to extreme interpretation. This doesn't mean that my perspective is more accurate-it may not be. Still, I am reluctant to put this event out there for scrutiny. I didn't witness the destruction of the DynCorp house down the street. We had just come back to our own compound from the gym at Camp Phoenix, a multinational base in Kabul. The bomb went off as we were walking from our car to the house. I thought it was much closer to us-I could feel the concussion and debris started falling down on us. We all got down next to the cars and tried to figure out what was going on. I remember thinking that there could be another bomb right next to us, but luckily I was wrong. We heard a few shots fired, so we kept our heads down for a few seconds. We all realized that we had to seal off the street to prevent any cars from approaching and possibly detonating in front of us. One of the guys grabbed a vehicle and drove it down the street about 100 meters to block traffic. The rest of us just ran down the street, found cover, and waited for someone to try and run our little impromptu barricade. No discussion occured, no-one issued orders, we all just reacted together. There were a few tense moments with taxis and Afghan police (in that situation its hard to trust people), and there is one reporter who has a very unfavorable impression of American hospitality. The kids, Fuad and Omed and others, were standing on the street, watching the whole spectacle until we started screaming at them to leave. None of us wanted to shoot them accidentally, and they were in our line of fire. After a while we realized that things were probably going to be okay. After about forty-five minutes some security personnel came out and relieved us. We went inside, still dressed in gym clothes. There are images from that afternoon which are fixed in my mind, like my friend Paul aiming his rifle at people over the front of the car, or the U.S. Humvees speeding down our street to get to the bomb site. Generally speaking, our experience of the event was peripheral. I think that most of those who came out unscathed would probably have to say the same.