Living in Afghanistan...

[Javaman]

I have a friend who's brother is serving in Afghanistan and someone wrote him what looks like, tastes like, smells like, sounds like....

here's what he says...

Looks like: Someone dropped a bunch of tents and metal boxes in the
> middle of uninhabitable, arid, high-plains desert, connected them all
> with gravel roads, dug out some sewage tanks that I call the "shit
> farm", threw some barbed wire, basketball courts, a concrete hockey
> rink, a ring of shops called "The Boardwalk", hundreds of pick-ups, 18
> wheelers, buses, helicopters, and airplanes into it and said, "Live
> There."
>
> Tastes like: Sand. 24 hours a day. Sand like talcom powder. In your
> mouth, on your tongue, between your teeth, in your ears and under your
> eyelids. The food tastes bland, unsalted, generic contents strewn
> together in quasi-familiar-looking dishes, on paper plates with
> plasticware. You get the name brands for drinks like Coke, Sprite, V8.
> But, Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew, and A&W Rootbeer are rare and valued
> commodities. Some of the foods are genuine, like the bleu cheese
> chunks and Swiss cheese. This being a NATO base, some of these items
> are more cheaply brought in real form, rather than generically.
> The cigarettes are produced in Europe, so more arsenic with a lemony
> twang and drying aftertaste. The coffee is strong, the lattes flavored
> with artificial sweetener, the milk is re-hydrated. The fried eggs are
> nice, true tasting. Don't eat the sausage.
>
> Smells like: Sewage from the shit farm, especially when they drain and
> turn it. TCNs (Third Country Nationals - brought in as labor) from
> India, Nepal, Kenya, and the Phillipines: it's a distinguishable smell
> like dirty teenage boys after a sleepover with barefeet and farts. It
> is as recognizable to the group of them as is a chicken coup, cow
> pasture, or goat farm. The Kenyans are more musty. The Indians are
> more ripe and saturated with a heavy cab-driver-butt smell. The
> Nepalis are more twangy, tangy, fermented, bubbly still with the hint
> of buttcrack. The Phillipinos are actually not as bad, as they have
> perfected the art of being lady-like. Homosexuality is rampant among
> them---outwardly, without shame, or for that matter dignity...at
> night, in the same bed, and in the same pants. Sometimes it smells
> like grilled meat from the Kabob Shop, then a wave of the shit farm
> drifts by, and then fresh coffee, and then diesel exhaust, and sand,
> and the shit farm again.
>
> Sounds like: Generators, truck engines, groups of foreign language
> chatter, roaring jet engines taking off, passing over, landing,
> helicopter blades all night on patrol. Rocks on the gravel drives
> "pop" under the weight of five-foot tall rubber tires on Hemits and
> forklifts. The coffee shop at the boardwalk plays familiar music over
> loud speakers and people cheer on the hockey match and the basketball
> game, while .50 caliber gunfire goes unnoticed outside the wire.
> Gravel crunches under feet with every step of every soldier and
> civilian; somewhere an MPs siren hoots at someone for probably no
> particular reason. On the windy days, when the sand blankets the
> surrounding mountains, the artillery units train and bring back the
> familiar thuds and thumps and bu-fumps of explosive dirt mushrooms.
> You can't see them though. You can only faintly hear them past the
> choppers and planes and chatter, but you can always feel them in your
> stomach. And, if your stomach had bones they would rattle.
>
> Feels like: Sand, grit, filth, and human oil. Feels like unsettled
> stomachs from the unrefrigerated food, the mineral-rich bottled water,
> the caffeine, and the anxiety. The temperature swings 40 degrees from
> night to day to night. Last night it was 29. Today it was over 70.
> Skin feels dry, crisp, raw, and flaky like rubbing a fish the wrong
> direction. If I had hair, it would be dusty, the oil trapping sand.
> Nostrils are choked and chaffed, hands scabbed and ashy. Sand abrades
> everything, even eyeballs are sore, swollen, blood red. The nights
> feels sharply cold. The days feel stagnant, motionless besides the
> rise of temperature. You can almost feel the shit farm fart up your
> nose and collide with your brain. Feet are always sweaty, chapped, and
> itchy. Showers are either melted ice or molten lava. It is impossible
> to be comfortable (as a foreigner to this place.) It is about 70
> degrees now, with the sun just touching the horizon. In an hour it
> will be 50 degrees. By midnight, 30. It is a relaxed environment on
> Kandahar Air Base, being a NATO establishment. Rules are relaxed,
> soldiers have beards, women wear shorts, civilians wear hats indoors,
> and everyone has a cell phone. It feels unnatural, to be so calm and
> at war. But, this is Afghanistan, where war has bonded with the sand
> and there are no surprises. Nobody cares about this country, even the
> locals who quickly migrate with the politics. Only those who have
> power love this land. To others, it is either a mountain pass or a
> heroin fix. It feels like a wasteland....a land that might otherwise
> be beautiful, but instead has put up with eons and eons of bullshit.

[babydollhead]

1. great writing

[Cid_B]

2. Sounds like a bit of a whiner actually...

nt

[Sinti]

3. Sounds about right

He's in a safe zone. It's the easy life - by comparison. I certainly hope he comes one all in one piece soon, and never has to go back.

[excess_3]

4. the sand

why is sand in the ME different
than anywhere else?

[Javaman]

5. It's older?

:shrug:

[babydollhead]

6. kick