A Battlefield Tourist

An Afghan Experience Part 2

Feb 26 at 7:07pm by David Tate

Afghan Army soldiers on top of their post overlooking the Helmand River Valley in Musa Qala, Helmand Province.

February 21, 2009 – Musa Qala, Helmand Province

While there hasn’t been a lot going on here lately, I’m not at a loss for things to do. In the mornings I usually write and log video clips in between meals which makes the days go by pretty good. And, as I mentioned previously, I break all of that up with trips to the Afghan Army post on the other side of the helo pad.

Near the end of the day, I made my way over after declining an invitation to play volleyball, so I could get some food and tea and say goodbye to my new friends.

Like usual, we sit around their poorly lit room doing our best to communicate. This time I brought along my computer so I could show the guys my family and the other pictures I had taken on this trip. They all thought my badcha, Davin, was just adorable.  However even more fascinating to them was my wife. Particularly because the only pictures I have of her in the computer show her smoking.  They really thought that was something.

During the conversation it came out that they wanted me to learn all of their names… all seven of them.  Over and over they rattled their full names off, which was impossible for me to remember.  So I asked for their short names and slowly but surely, I got them all:  Mustafa, Ashule, Rasoul, Zeffer, Hamid, Amin and Shakur.

Shakur is the inquisitive one.  Always asking me questions.  Always learning new words.  He is the charismatic one of the group and the one who would always invite me to smoke with him.  They all got a kick out of the fact I got all of their names.  To me, it reinforced a new bond which truly allowed me to connect with them (even though they couldn’t remember my full name, which was fine).  To them, I was Mr. Daud.

Daud is the Farsi name I picked up last time I was in Afghanistan.  All the street kids called me that and now, so did the Afghan soldiers.

Eventually one of them suggested we get an interpreter in the room, and once we did, the conversation became more serious.  I asked all sorts of questions regarding the Afghan Army from issues on prejudice to their thoughts on the upcoming elections.  It was at this time I realized the interpreters do not interpret as good as I had thought.  I also noticed they omit certain things from the conversation, something I picked up on as my ear came into tune with the Farsi speaking around me.

Some things that came out of the conversation included the fact that they do look at themselves as Afghans and not a group divided by ethnic backgrounds. Most were Pashtun, but one was Tajik and another Uzbek.  ”We are all brothers,”said Shakur.

The other main thing I picked up out of the conversation is the realization of just how important Helmand Province is to them.  The general gist was that the people of Helmand are pretty much Taliban and/or sympathizers but that the province is too important to the country to let it go.  They talk about how Helmand is the breadbasket of Afghanistan, a place necessary for feeding all of the people of Afghanistan.  Because of that one simple point, they all agreed that Helmand was worth fighting, and dying for.

As I drank my share of green tea, I realized it was getting late and forgot that I was supposed to meet with their kandak (battalion) commander.  Him and I had met earlier in the day, briefly, but he also invited me back for a more formal meeting; something I had totally forgotten about.

So just as the conversation turned to religion, I cried uncle and begged to be excused for fear of disrespecting their boss.  I could tell that Shakur really wanted to talk religion with me and it was clear he was disappointed that I was leaving.  ”I’ll be back and we’ll finish.  I promise.” 

He nodded and said “ok” in Pashtun, but I could tell he was upset.  Rasoul, who asked the original question, feared he had offended me.  I tried to assure him that wasn’t the case.

Col. Mohammed Rassoul

I quickly made my way over to the British side of the base to try to set an appointment with Col Rassoul.  To be honest, it is a little tough because he is a very religious man and prays as such five times a day.

Regardless, I set the time with the Brits to meet after dinner, which was about an hour off.  There really was no dinner this night, in the sense of a cooked meal, so I went to my room and “cooked” an MRE to bide the time.

After, I made my way over to the Colonel’s quarters and we waited for him to come in.  While we did, various subordinates also made their way in and took a seat.  After just a few minutes, the colonel himself should up and we began our meeting.

Right off the top the colonel said that he had expected me earlier and that he had planned to get a picture with both of us and the rest of his staff.  I immediately apologized, blaming issues that I couldn’t escape from.  He seemed to be ok with that, so we started with our conversation.

More than anything, I wanted to thank him for the short notice I gave him in requesting time with his troops.  I told him about my experience with the ANA, but he really didn’t seem too impressed.  I asked him similar questions that I had asked the other soldiers, but really didn’t get any straight answers.  Once again I feel the interpretation wasn’t clear.  All I really wanted to know was how the army had progressed over the past five years.

One thing that was clear is the fact that there are issues with the ANA regarding money and billeting.  The colonel is quite upset with the fact that Afghan National Police start out making the same as the ANA (about $180 p/month, double the pay of 2004).  The problem this poses, he says, is that when it comes time to re-enlist, his soldiers simply quit and join the ANP.  It bothers his men that they are deployed so far from home, for long periods of time, and make the same as the ANP who get to stay at home.

The colonel also has issues with the billeting process.  Years ago, the ANA was supposed to install a plan that would allow soldiers to bring their families to their duty station, similar to how the Americans work.  He wants to see schools and facilities for his men, that he believes, will greatly decrease the will of soldiers from going AWOL in order to get money back to their family.  This was the plan in 2004.  Obviously it is far from reality because it is still a dream in 2009.

I also asked the colonel about ethnic issues within his ranks, which he denied existed as he quickly pointed around the room toward staff officers that came from different tribes.

Finally I asked about him and his history.  Knowing he is a career fighter, which includes a mujahadeen against the Russians, I was fishing for a story that he would elaborate on.  Instead, I got a simple rundown of his career that lasted for about 15 seconds.  

With that I thanked the colonel and we parted company.  I knew that I needed to make this meeting, because if I didn’t, he would feel disrespected.  Unfortunately, I think he felt that way anyhow:  No tea, no real substance and no real connection.  While he did invite me back anytime, I feel I offended him severely with my tardiness

I hurried back to the US side of the base so I could keep my promise.  In doing so, I grabbed one of the interpreters and we made our way, through the dark,toward the ANA outpost. The door leading into the compound was closed and locked, so I knocked several times.  There was no answer.

Two more times that night I went back and both times there was no answer.  I was unable to fulfill my promise, and worse yet, I was unable to say good bye to my new friends.  As I stood there looking at that door for any sign of life, I just hoped to myself that “Mr. Daud” will be the American they will always remember.