As Time Passes

For the most part all the snow has melted, I can still see some mountain tops capped with it but other than that it is gone. The past few days have been sunny and the weather has definitely warmed up. I suppose if I wasn’t the domesticated bear that I am today and was born and raised right here in Afghanistan I’d probably be waking up from my hibernation about this time. It seems that spring has come early this year and no I’m not a fan of Al Gore.

In most parts of the world an early spring would most likely be excellent news but in war tattered Afghanistan spring translates directly to an increased amount of death. You see the first inkling of winter is when most of the Taliban fighters, especially the foreign fighters, take some time off. Most of them go back to their villages or homelands to be with their families, kind of like our R&R or mid tour leave. Winter is the ideal time to do this because the harsh weather makes mountain passes impossible to cross. So, the fighters return with the departure of winter to wreak havoc on the spring or as we call it in the Army the fighting season.

Time is a funny thing. I wear a watch here but I’m not sure why. Monday is no different than Friday. Saturday and Tuesday are exactly the same. I basically have nothing to look forward to except for maybe my departure from this place in 7 or so months. My grandma use to tell me that boredom was all in my head, and at the time I guess I kind of understood what she meant. However, my grandma never did a tour of duty in a war zone either. Boredom is real and can drive a man crazy!

Anyway, I’m located in a bowl surrounded by mountains. There are several small villages around me as well. Looking out in any direction can really make you feel insignificant. The land here makes keeping track of time seem kind of silly. The mountains, sky, sun, snow, birds, rocks, animals, and even the Afghan people do not seem to be concerned with time. I think to myself that if I could go back a 1,000 years everything my eyes are currently looking at would look exactly the same, including the people. Their houses are made of dried mud and their roads of dirt. Electricity and plumbing are nonexistent. Old men can be seen barefoot, humping large bushels of hay on their backs. I’ve seen women fully covered riding donkeys carrying over-sized packages, or children as young as two years old walking shoeless and alone in a puddle of ice cold water. 

These people are hard; I don’t think the average American could last one week in an Afghan’s shoes or lack thereof. From sun up till sun down these people seem to be occupied with some type of work.

I often watch the locals eat and this is one part of their culture that I think highly of. Sure, the food is simple but eating it makes me wonder if this is what my grandparents felt like when they were growing up. Breakfast for the local workers consists of a round and sometimes rectangular piece of bread called Naan. The locals bring several pieces of this bread to work in the morning wrapped up in an old piece of cloth. Sometimes, they will add honey or jam to the bread but most of the time they just eat it plain. Every now and then if they are lucky their boss will bring in a bag of hard boiled eggs. Watching them eat hard boiled eggs and fresh bread and then wash it all down with a cup of hot tea makes me envy them in a way. They definitely eat to live here and not the other way around. While eating they converse and laugh, it is almost like being together and talking is the priority and eating comes second. Their food does not come in cans or boxes; it’s not loaded with preservatives either. For snacks I’ve see them pull small reused bags from their pockets filled raisins or some type of seeds and their always eager to share.

The guys I work with think that these people live miserable lives and often make jokes about how backwards they are. A lot of the guys will call them primitive. I don’t feel the same as most Soldiers feel when it comes to the people here. Maybe, it has something to do with me being a bear but I’m not 100% sure these people are miserable. One thing I find extremely interesting about them is the fact that most of them have no idea how old they are, they do not have birthdays here. When I first heard this I chuckled but after thinking about it I realized that not knowing how old you are really means nothing when you look at the big picture. It goes back to the whole not keeping track of time thing and actually makes perfect sense to me.  The people in the village next to me are interested in tending to their land and feeding their families. The issues that these people are concerned with involve life and death and therefore are meaningful. Children fly kites and throw rocks and spend most of their time outdoors. I’m not saying that I would want to trade places with these people but when I think about the state of my country and my people I’m in no position to say the world, I know, is better. 

g/b