Letter from M:
Sunday, April 6, 2008
One of the things about setting up camp right next to an airfield, a military airfield no less, is that there is a constant – and I do mean constant as in 24 hours a day, 7 days a week – roar of helicopters, cargo planes, and jet fighters taking off and landing. Off in the distance, we can hear automatic machine gun fire. Who knows if it is merely a group of troops training or if it is real? The easiest way to tell is when we drive by one of our coalition partners’ compounds and see their national flag at half staff. It drives home the reality of where we are and why we are here. That reality becomes even more stark every time I walk out of my tent and am confronted by a massive concrete bunker, put there to protect us from mortars and rockets. At the foot of my bed sits my body armor and my Kevlar helmet. The interesting thing is that despite all of these elements of warfare, we all go about our daily affairs as if there was no threat. We are all acutely aware that a very dangerous force exists that seeks to do us harm, but that the best way to combat it to give fear no quarter. So, our inherent desire for normalcy drives us to act…um, normal.
Yesterday, I went to the main part of the base for a training class. The class was scheduled for 2pm, but I got there at around 11am, so I had some time to kill. I went down to the bazaar, which is held every Saturday. The local merchants come onto the base with their black-market DVDs, Afghan rugs (probably made in China ), and all sorts of little trinkets. I had some hours to burn, and I was by myself, so I took my time walking around and observing the true international nature of the place. Here was I, a half-Chinese, half-American US Marine, walking around a bazaar in Afghanistan, amidst a crowd of Dutch, British, Australian, Canadian, French, Belgian, Danish, UAE, Kenyan, and American troops. Fortunately, language is no barrier since everyone speaks English, and the almighty US dollar is the international currency of business. I came across some interesting items, such as a marble carving of the Last Supper. I thought this was supposed to be a Muslim nation. Apparently, the Taliban didn’t eradicate all remnants of Christianity, although they infamously destroyed the reknowned Bahmian Bhuddist statues in central Afghanistan . I’m not even Bhuddist and it makes me sick to my stomach to think that those statues stood for centuries and some Islamic zealots decided that they should be destroyed.
There are lots of Afghan rug merchants. I have been trying to learn how to tell the authentic, hand-woven rugs from the machine woven rugs from China . They also have these beautiful scarves that come in just about any color. They are very thin, but very soft and warm, or so I am told. Another merchant sells traditional Afghan hats, which most of them wear themselves, removing any doubt as to authenticity. Perhaps I’ll get one. Probably the most interesting merchant was one that sold relics of the war with the Soviet Union . There were old Soviet belt buckles, replete with hammer and sickle. There were old (very old) muskets that looked like they were from the Civil War, but were probably used within the past half-century. I like to collect knives, and this guy had lots of cool looking Afghan knives, so I will probably go back for one of those. They also sold brass sextants, used by seafarers to find their way across oceans. The sextants are engraved with the name of some company purporting to be from London , England , dated 1917. I have no idea as to authenticity, especially given the fact that Afghanistan is a land-locked country. Don’t know how land-locked hillsmen use sextants, but they sure look cool. Every price is negotiable. The young Afghan quoted me a price of $90 for the sextant, but within a matter of minutes, I had him down to $55, simply because I expressed disinterest in the item. That’s the key, if they think you want it, they’ll stick to their price harder. If they get the sense that you aren’t really interested, they will really bargain with you. There were some other little kiosks that sold some neat things. One little shop had a crowd, so I went to explore. It turned out to be a precious gem dealer. Apparently, the foreign troops were impressed with the quality. I don’t know what kind of precious stones Afghanistan is known for, but the Afghan merchant had all kinds of devices that measure the quality of a particular gem. Maybe they are real after all.
If anyone would like me to buy them something, please let me know and I will do what I can. As an officer, I can go to the bazaar whenever I like, and it’s not much trouble for me to mail stuff home.
Work has been steady, but relatively light. I am fast becoming an expert on all fiscal law matters. I think our ability to pour money into the local Afghan economy can be an invaluable tool, and even a weapon, that can garner favor with the local Afghan populace. Most of them are relatively neutral with respect to our presence. They don’t like the Taliban, but they don’t like us that much either, so they remain on the fence. If we can improve their lives, even for a temporary time, by enabling them to enjoy a bit of economic prosperity, then perhaps we can win a few hearts and minds. Perhaps it will mean the difference between friendly passage through a particular town versus being hit by IEDs along the way? I always stress to the young, junior Marines that their individual actions can, and do, have strategic impact at a very high level. If one 19-year old Marine does something to offend a local, that local may in turn report to his village elder, who will then declare that his village is off-limits to Americans. In a matter of moments, we have just lost what could have been a strategic foothold, all because some kid wasn’t thinking about the consequences of his actions. Generally speaking, however, Marines are well-trained and want to do the right thing. It is always that 10% who allow their emotions to control them and ruin it for the rest of us.
Today is Sunday, which usually means a day of rest for the Marines. Of course, in a combat zone, this merely means that we slow down. We never stop. Inertia and momentum are important. But I enjoy Sundays because I can go to church services. It is the one thing that reminds me of home more than anything else, because no matter where I am on earth, worshipping God is the same. Everything around me disappears for a short time, and I can be alone with God in my mind. There is no roar of jets, no threat of mortars or rockets, no physical enemy. It is a place of peace.
I hope everyone is enjoying springtime in America . I miss you all and think of you often.
Love,
M
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