Mirwais was great, don’t get me wrong. But, as I said, we basically got off the base to get onto another base.
Not that being on-base is so bad - there are tons of interesting people to talk to and the whole concept of being in the army still hasn’t lost its mystery for me.
But it does feel a little strange to come all the way to Afghanistan to stay in a place with no Afghans.
Or close to no Afghans - there are Afghan army guys around the base, a few translators, and a number of cleaners/laundry guys.
But, without translators, we can’t talk to them and they can’t talk to us.
And even if we did have translators, it still wouldn’t be the same.
Without leaving the protection of the military it’s just not possible to get the feel of the culture, the family life, the community… the people.
In fact, that was one of the most frustrating things about being on Mirwais - because the closest quala (Afghan home) was spitting distance. Really. The closest Afghans were living about as far away as the people across the street from me in the Netherlands.
And still we couldn’t go and say hello. Or invite them in for coffee and cake.
Instead, Michel and I were confined to the base… and the guys who did go out went with flak jackets, helmets, and weapons.
What a difficult way to meet your neighbours.
In the foreground is the top of one of the compound walls with barbed wire. In the background you can see qualas stretching off into the distance. So close... and yet, so far...
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