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Afghanistan ‘08- Days Eight and Nine

This morning we flew back to Bagram then caught a flight to Jalalabad. This first picture is of the airport just outside the base limits and the second is an aerial view of the first grass I’ve seen since I’ve been here. If you look closely you can see that every section of land is cordoned off by a wall- it’s like that all over Afghanistan. Some of these lots have properties on them but most don’t and I can’t quite figure out why so many barren sections of land have walls around them.

On some flights they ask us what our blood type is. That’s it- passport and blood type. I don’t think there’s any good reason why anybody needs to know my blood type, sort of the way I can’t think of any bad reason why someone needs to know the size of my ring finger. Then when I tell them my blood type is AB negative they say, “Oooh, I never hear that one.” That definitely can’t be good. Whatever their reason is for asking, I’m inclined to believe there’s safety in numbers when it comes to blood type. I guess I’ll just have to hope it’s never essential information.

Last night we were told our departure from Jalalabad would probably be in the afternoon so I stayed up late attempting to get online. Around 2 am I finally hit the sack. Three hours later there was pounding on my door telling me my flight was leaving in a few minutes. The military just loves to keep you on your toes.

Luckily the flight was a short one and we arrived at Salerno less than an hour later and I crashed for the rest of the day. Most of the bases have bazaars hosted by the Afghans on Fridays but I learned that Salerno has a daily one. When I awoke I headed over to it only to find it had closed just 15 minutes earlier. The area was nearly deserted except for one soldier and an Afghan national kicking back on lounge chairs. The soldier asked if I was wearing a pareo, a term that tipped me off to the fact that he’s a Hawaii boy. I joined them and we talked about Hawaii and told the local how beautiful everything there is. I’m sure that’s just what a guy with virtually no hope of ever visiting America, much less Hawaii, wanted to hear. I need to be a bit more careful about comments that could be construed as “rubbing it in.” I do the same thing when I meet mothers who have infants at home. They probably don’t need to hear me say, “Oh- that must be so difficult,” but I haven’t figured out how to put a positive spin on that one. Perhaps I should go the “at least you don’t have to change any diapers” route.

After soaking up the sun for awhile, the soldier and the Afghan invited me over to a bread shop for some tea and non (sp?), which is the local bread. At first they suggested I ride in a car with the Afghan dude but even I had enough sense to figure out that probably wasn’t a good idea for either one of us. Maybe it wasn’t even a good idea to ride with the Hawaii boy but he was pretty good looking so even if he got out of line, I wouldn’t have put up a struggle.

The bread shop is a rickety little building on base that contains a few items for sale and one table where I sat with the soldier and three Afghans and ate some cinnamon non. Once again, it was great talking to some locals. They echoed comments the interpreter made a few nights earlier about how the people feel safer having us (the American soldiers, not the comedians) here and how our troops are rebuilding their communities and teaching them the skills so that they can continue that growth on their own. I’m well aware that the nationals I’ve spoken to are benefiting mightily by the American dollar so perhaps their opinions aren’t representative of the average citizen but speaking with them has reminded me that we’re not just here for war but for humanitarian reasons as well.

When it was time to take off they told me my non was on the house. Normally I’m a big fan of free shit but it’s kind of hard to accept it in a nation where the average monthly income is $45. So I left them some cash and headed out then noticed the sign outside that said, “Eat here at your own risk.” Later I noticed that the Afghan in the picture copped a feel so he made out pretty well on the deal. At least my dad can take some joy in adding to his “Middle Eastern men who have groped my daughters” picture collection. Yeah, my sister also fell victim to some guys in turbans with wandering hands- and her grin was even bigger than mine.

Salerno is located about five miles from the Pakistan border and the soldiers haven’t been shy about mentioning that it suffers mortar attacks on nearly a weekly basis. Because it’s such a hotspot (as is Jalalabad), there are no street lights on at night. I was told that only colored flashlights can be used because the enemy can see white ones. Meanwhile, the tent where we were to perform was lit up like the Fourth of July. All that was missing was a bullseye under the microphone stand. A lot of the guys don’t carry any lights so it’s like Night of the Living Dead with bodies suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Right before the show, the guy in charge told me it might be a short show because they’d just fired a bunch of Afghan workers and that tends to piss people off then he opened the show with an instructional on what to do/where to go in the event of a mortar attack. Way to get the crowd pumped before a comedy show. The show went off without any incident and in the morning we head back to Bagram for our final show.

Tags: aghanistan comedy

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