Hugh Message

A "message" from Message - A Canadian Soldier's Letter from Afghanistan

Lots of excitement to report in the past few weeks; some good, some horrific, some just plain boring. I'll leave out the boring.

A several weeks ago, we learned that one of the members of our cell was going home. He was extending his tour from the end of February to the end of July, but through some administrative screw-up, his extension was not approved and he went home, with about two days warning. And just like that, I had two jobs. Unfortunately, his departure coincided with Alex's departure on leave. And just like that, I had three jobs - the fun never stops.

Now, there seems to be an unspoken rule over here that states the following: If any person or group demonstrates a capability to take on extra tasks, extra tasks will be relentlessly shoveled in their direction until said person or group burns out and collapses. Our cell is one of those groups. This explains the vast range of tasks I have found myself doing in the last month. To name a few:

1. Participating in Convoy operations; 

2. Coordinating reconstruction and development in Kandahar province.

3. Tracking down the parents of a 6 year old girl who was basically eviscerated in a failed Taliban scumbag suicide bombing and returning her broken body to them for burial.

4. Attending a New Year's party at the Governor of Kandahar's Palace in Kandahar City.

5. Writing several novella sized reports on our operations in Kandahar Province for dissemination in Canada.

You'll have to fill in the blanks on your own.

Before I get too far, I want to establish that the little girl story actually had a bittersweet ending. Her 12 year old brother was also seriously wounded in the suicide blast, and was rushed to our field hospital at the same time as his sister. Our excellent medics were able to save his life. A few days after telling the parents that their daughter had been killed, I was able to report that their son was going to be fine, and return him to his grateful family. After all I've experienced here, I still find it unfathomable that anyone can even tacitly support this crew of immoral foul mouth breathers who kill children, oppress and terrorize women, promote suicide bombing, and oppose education and progress of any kind. To quote the Director of the Provincial Council in Kandahar, "What other country burns brand new schools to the ground? What other country lays IEDs on roads built for our use and destroys them? What other country kills its teachers?"  A bullet in the head is too good for these sub-human, gene pool polluting scumbags.

As I mentioned earlier, somehow I have also become involved in the reconstruction efforts over here. I must admit I have serious reservations about how some of it is done. Essentially, we are being forced to bribe the local population into good behavior. Not directly of course, that would be un- Canadian. Instead we come up with simple maintenance tasks that the village elders need completed, then hire local villagers to supervise and do the work, then hand them a wad of cash on completion. What's wrong with that? Imagine that your front lawn is strewn with garbage, and your driveway is cracked and barely usable. You sit around in a lawn chair surveying the wreckage until Mr. DoGooder from down the street walks by. He takes a look at your yard and says, "My you've got an awful mess there!" You shrug apathetically and go back to your cigarette. Mr. DoGooder presses on. "Tell you what, call all your friends and have them come over here. I'll pay you to supervise them while they clean up your yard, and then I'll pay them for helping you clean up your mess. Now, don't you feel empowered?" You make a show of thinking it over carefully, and then begin to dial your phone, chuckling to yourself at the extent of Mr. DoGooder's idealism. The result of this and similar scenarios is that the answer to any question along the lines of: "Why don't you fix this irrigation ditch? It's full of rocks and garbage" is answered by, "...but who will pay me?"

Let me temper that last little tirade by saying that there are in fact many important redevelopment projects going on, billions of dollars are being spent, and there is a coherent plan to rebuild critical infrastructure and institutions in this country. However, it is little projects like the one I described above that I find immensely frustrating and comical all at the same time. Perhaps I have an overly cynical view of the situation - I must admit this place has that effect on people.

Another project I have become embroiled in is the rehabilitation of the Kandahar International Airport. (Yes, they have an "international" airport) As part of this I had to negotiate contracts with locals (some of which ended in shouting matches and contractors being fired). Of course, before any work can start, one must "grease the skids" with the local security force. In the case of the airport terminal, it is the Afghan Border Police. So, the first step was to pay a visit to Colonel Nasir, the commanding officer of all ABP at the airport. Colonel Nasir is pretty much what you would expect:  a middle-aged, hardened fighter, with a gnarled and horribly burned hand from battling insurgents, dubious intentions. He is also as crooked as a kid with Polio. As my boss would say "I don't trust him as far as I can throw a piano with my left arm..."  However, he still commands the respect of his subordinates, and the unspoken rules of this country dictate that I should deal with him. So, my interpreter and I headed to the airport and knocked on his office door. When he opened it, it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Colonel Nasir, leader of men and killer of insurgents, is wearing Adidas track pants, flip-flops, and a sweater he clearly received from a UN clothing distribution. It is dark blue, two sizes too small and is covered in multi-coloured hearts, with a large pink heart across the overstretched chest with the words "Patches of Love from Grandma" printed inside of it. Temporarily at a loss, I improvised and barged into the room, quickly saying "Salaam Alay'kum" a little too loudly cast about, desperately looking anywhere but at his ridiculous sweater. I recovered from my bout of mirth, and we carried on with the meeting without incident. As it turns out, Colonel Nasir has been an ally ever since, and he has never worn that sweater again - maybe my facial expression gave it away.

Gutted. That's the best word I can think of to describe the feelings of an entire Task Force when we learned that we lost six of our best to another Improvised Explosive Device laid by cowards. I have already been to three ramp ceremonies and seen nine outstanding men draped in flags since I've served here. As far as I'm concerned, one is one too many.  One hundred dead scumbags are not worth the life of one our soldiers. However, this only strengthens our resolve to succeed, if for no other reason than to ensure that these men did not die for nothing. We are here because it's the right thing to do, and we should never lose sight of that.

I apologize for ending on this note. In the past I have tried to keep things as light as possible in my emails, however, it just didn't seem appropriate to gloss over such an immense loss.

Paul

Published Thursday, April 12, 2007 9:57 AM by Hugh Message