Durba’s Delight

“There is a thin line between entertainment and war” – Zack de la Rocha

For the most part, I have a pretty good time here in Kandahar. You tend to forget that there is a war going on all around you. Sure, I see the soldiers and the jets and all the other impressive tools of destruction on a daily basis, but you find a way to compartmentalize everything. Either you deal with it, or you don’t. Every now and then though, something will happen around here that brings everything back out of the dark compartments of your mind and puts it square in your face.

There is nothing like a retro fitted 107mm rocket to do just that. I’ve been through 40ish rocket attacks now and only a few have been close. Well that is, what I consider close, remember my definition of close calls and dangerous situations are probably much different than yours. There was the one when I first arrived here back in the spring, it didn’t hit anywhere close to us, a few thousands yards away, but it did fly right over where I was standing. That was a little eerie. A butt pucker moment if you will.

I was joking when I said it, but it rings completely true; things around here don’t go bump in the night, they boom. The mind set for most folks around here is that if you get hit, either by the rocket or some lateral shrapnel, then it was your unlucky day. Too bad for you, right? Right. I like to compare it to a plane crash, they happen, not often but they do, if it happens to you, that sucks. All in all though, most of the rockets around here, I would venture to say 75% or better don’t come near anything or anyone what-so-ever. It’s the other 25% you worry about; all it takes is a simple twist of fate. I’m no good with percentages and statistics and most statistics are trash anyway, they fit into whatever agenda someone is pushing.

Like a lottery that everybody plays but nobody wants to win, for a second the other night, I thought I was cashing in. I was on the deck with my buddy Luis and we were enjoying the mild, quiet evening. We hear the sirens go off and before we can even flinch, we notice blue sparks flying directly overhead. This is significant because the last time a rocket went over my head; it was high enough that I was unable to see the rocket or the fire from the engine. This time however, it was low enough that I knew, without a doubt, what it was. In these, what easily could have been the last fleeting moments, I have always thought, or at least hoped, that I would say something awe inspiring, you know famous last words. In reality, people don’t say anything worth repeating when they are, or think they are experiencing the last seconds. For Luis it was “Oh F#!K.” All I could muster was “damn.” Neither of which I would like to see carved into my tree.

But alas, it was not to be. This plane crash was not ours and the rocket sputtered on by overhead. 400 yards to our rear came a thunderous concussion. It landed with enough authority, that I felt it in my knees and in my gut.

Think what you want of this war, that is your right and your duty to voice your opinion. That is how democracy works. It’s not by any means a perfect system, quite flawed actually in my opinion. Thomas Jefferson once said: “A democracy is majority rule. This means that 51 percent of the people have the power to take away the rights of the other 49 percent.” Even though, this flawed, imperfect system is still the best system in the world. You can sit back and blame the government and the dirty, greedy politicians all you want, but we put them there.

Our apathy is what empowers the corrupt to run this country. Just as our apathy toward this war, is what the Taliban are banking on. Don’t be mistaken either, however unconventional this conflict is, it is a war. You see, these people know that if they continue to hit and run, killing a few Americans here and a few more there, that eventually, America will grow weary of her sons and daughters being killed and pull out. They are touching their head to the ground five times a day praying that we do leave. If America leaves here without accomplishing her goals, things will only get worse around the world.

The bleeding hearts may cringe at that and no, I’m not a leftist or a rightist, I like to think of myself as a truthist. I’ve said it a hundred times; it pays to know your history. A lot of things factor in here, but why do you think they hate us so much anyway? Spend a few hours some night and watch Charlie Wilson’s War with Tom Hanks. It’s Hollywood-ized, but it will give you some insight. While you’re at it, brush up on the Crusades. You can think what you want, but most of the locals here believe without a doubt that what is happening now is just another in the long line of wars between Christians and Muslims.

Taliban 107mm Rocket - This is how they do it

Vector Wars

I saw a mouse in my bathroom the other day. Not your everyday, run of the mill, fuzzy, cute little field mouse. No, this was a big, bad, kangaroo looking, AK sporting Taliban super mouse.

Maybe I embellish a little, but refer to the Blue-Cheeked Bee Eater blog, these critters over here mean business.

I was sitting on my bed watching a movie, as I usually do in the evenings and I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Those of you that know me pretty well, know that I have freaking eagle eyes, I got eyes that make eagles jealous even. So I set up slightly, because I was lounging quite superbly that evening, I sat up and I saw it again; a quick darting movement. I leapt from the bed and in a split second I was at the bathroom door, ready to squash any intruders. Spiders here can be and usually are, bigger than the common mouse, so I wasn’t real sure what to expect. I got there just in time to see the hairy devil bounce back into his hole. Yes, a classic cartoon style, Tom and Jerry hole in the wall. This little bugger used his razor-sharp, infidel hating mouse fangs to chew a hole in the caulking around the base of my shower. Where the shower meets the wall separating my bathroom from my neighbor Luis’. Not only did he chew up the caulking, but he also chewed and bent, I say chewed and bent the metal frame around the base of the shower.

There is a big lip in the door way of my room and my bathroom. The walls in the bathroom are all hard plastic, kind of like you would see in a janitor’s closet or something. I’m able to keep the disease carrying, metal mauling, mini monster out of my bedroom by shutting the door. At least for now, he hasn’t eaten the walls or the toilet yet. The very next day, we found a wee lil’ baby mouse in a trash can in the office. By using my unworldly amazing powers of deduction and logic, I concluded that the Taliban is using these cheese mongers as weapons. Not only are they small enough to pass through the base defences unnoticed, but once inside they can spread disease, mouse poo, and terror; ingenious plan on their part I thought. I told Luis that we need to prepare for all out war against this threat, Luis thought it would be a better idea to call Vector Control. (the critter gitters)

So the next day, Vector Control shows up and I show them the areas where we have been under attack. They put out some poison and some glue traps. I told the guy about General Mousenegger that lives in my bathroom and he gave me some extra glue traps. The day after that we all felt pretty confident that the invaders would be dying and suffering in heaps all around us. The morning check of my bathroom turned up nothing. None of the traps had been sprung and none of the poison looked as though it had been munched upon. To further prove my point that these are no ordinary mouses that we are facing, one of the glue traps was chewed and shredded all around, except for the glue part. The glue trap that is in my bathroom has been moved on several occasions. Not just scooted out-of-the-way a little, but moved to the entire opposite end of the room. The other day it was flipped over. These stinking demons are taunting me, I know it.

For now, the battle continues. One day, I hope to proclaim VR day. (victory over rodent) But until that day comes, I cannot take a dump in peace. Until that day comes I will always be watching for the metal chewing beast while I drop the kids off at the pool, or see the man about a dog. Always looking over my shoulder while I answer nature’s most sacred call. Will I ever again find a peaceful poo? Only time will tell, only time will tell.

Seriously, Serious

Well, here we are. The leaves have changed and most have begun to fall from the trees. The annual traditions have begun; bagging/mulching leaves, hanging decorative wreathes, good ol’ boys are headed to the woods, all the old ladies are checking the newspaper inserts for black Friday sales, college football is heating up, it is one of my favorite times of the year. Well, at least that is what is going on back in the real world, here; it’s more of the same, just at a more comfortable temperature. It’s still been 6 months since the last drop of rain fell, but the temperature is roughly 50 degrees cooler than it was when I left here at the beginning of October. I’m not complaining, just commenting.

During the time that I’ve been here, I’ve shared with you my readers some of my experiences here in the wonderland that is Southern Afghanistan. We’ve laughed, we’ve shared ideas, we’ve witnessed my grip on sanity slip as each month goes by, only to be regained and lost again.

With this current installment, I’m not going to spend much time, if any, explaining the ins and outs of the day to day at Kandahar Air Field. The people, the ideas and the everyday occurrences here that I encounter are much too ludicrous and mind boggling imbecilic for me to even attempt to explain. People, in general, are stupid. That is all you need to know. If you deny it, then you further prove my point. I will however, give a little taste of my own little world that exists when I’m alone in my room. My wife, with the help of her Aunt, made me a kick ass quilt (thanks) so I was able to find another use for my Tiger blanket. I’m not sure if I have mentioned my Tiger blanket before, but just a quick catch-you-up, it’s a super sweet, fleece-ish blanket with a tiger on it. Since I now have this most excellent quilt that my Old Lady gave me, I have found an alternate way to utilize my Tiger blanket. (I capitalize tiger in Tiger blanket, because the Tiger is sweet) You ever see Castaway with Tom Hanks? Sure you have. Well, Tommy had Wilson, I got Tiger. He’s folded up in a nice, neat square and he resides in various locations around the room (depends on what kind of mood he’s in) It’s nice to have someone to talk to at night, or yell at when I’m doing poorly in my video game, but he’s a poor conversationalist. All he says is “Roar,” so you can imagine my dismay when I try to carry on a conversation. Example:

me; “Hey what’s up Tiger?”  

Tiger; “Roar”

Me: “Oh man Tiger, did you see that? I totally got screwed right there, stupid game”

Tiger: “Roar”

It pretty much goes on like this all night long. I guess in hindsight, after reading what I just typed, it would be pretty strange if he said anything other than “roar.” Even stranger, I’ve just told all of you that I talk to my blanket and he answers me back. Yeah I talk to my blanket, you wanna fight about it?

I want to take a minute here to talk to you about something very serious, no kidding around here okay? If you don’t want to take a minute for some serious time, then stop reading now and go back to watching SpongeBob. This is something that I, personally, have put a lot of thought into and it is very near and dear to my heart. I’m very, very serious here mmkay? What could I be talking about you ask? Well I’ll tell you, I’m talking about the coming Zombie Apocalypse. I’m serious, don’t laugh. It’s real and it’s coming. If you can’t grasp that, then I don’t know if I can help you. Don’t get caught up in all this movie Zombie mumbo jumbo either, like the pure genius that is Romero, the absolutely treacherous and blasphemous Return of the Living Dead crap (Zombies don’t talk and say things like “eat your brains, that movie set the Zombie Survivalist Movement back a decade) I’m not even talking about the newly released, and by the way, totally kick ass movie Zombieland. No, I’m talking serious here. I’m talking real. I’ll say it again, the Zombie Apocalypse is real and it is coming. Hopefully for all of your sakes, it won’t be in your lifetime. Sure, go ahead and laugh if you want, but rest assured, when I see you shambling around the street aimlessly, I won’t waste my ammo on you.

What I want you to do is take some time and think of what you will do when it happens. If you’re planning on raiding a gun store, I would suggest you think of all the other people that are planning to do the same thing, not to mention the gun store owners that, if they are still alive, are possibly hold up in their store to fight off the hoards and the looters. If you say, we’ll board up the house and wait it out, I won’t say that’s necessarily a bad idea, but you better be prepared. Have you thought about food stocks to last for months, a year plus? Have you thought about water? What about antibiotics? It would really suck to die of the common cold while holding out against the Zombie hoards. Speaking of the hoards (it is widely known among Zomboligist that Zombies will most likely “herd” together) will your house hold against a hundred, a thousand Zombies trying to get in? Just remember that by boarding up yourself in your house you are essentially preparing for siege warfare, except the Zombie’s will does not break. They do not rest, they do not stop. The siege will not end. Just remember that no place is safe, only safer. Food for thought, serious, deadly (un-deadly) thought.

For example, in my garage, I have hanging on the wall a couple of machetes and a hatchet. Easy to grab melee weapons, in case when it begins I’m caught off guard. I would suggest that everyone put together a “bug out” bag. A back pack or duffle bag that is easily accessible, that contains a first aid kit, a few days worth of food and water, a compass, a map of the surrounding area that you live in, flash light, batteries, a change of clothes, and if possible an emergency radio. (crank type) Who knows, if I’m wrong about the Zombie Apocalypse, and I’m not, but you never know when a “bug out” kit like that will come in handy. When Zack does come moaning and banging on the door and you’re caught off guard, you’ll thank me. (Zack = Zombie, i.e. Charlie – Vietnam or Ivan – Cold War)   

Laugh if you want, but I just hope for your sake that someone is around to say “told you so.” Heed my warnings, and there be hope for you yet, at least for a while.

Enough serious talk for now, I’ve got some video gaming to get back to, and Tiger won’t shut up.

Hillbilly Manifesto

A friend of mine left a comment the other day that got me thinking about the reason I’m here and life and all that good stuff. I’ll paraphrase it for ya; “get back to running with the deer and swimming with the fishes to improve your bleak outlook on the world.” Well yes, I do suppose I have a somewhat bleak outlook on the world, at least this world; I’ll get back to that in a minute, but in order for one to understand the enigma of a mountain man that is John, one must first see that the trail is long and the wood is deep.

Running with the deer and swimming with the fishes actually happened and it was like this:

I remember all of this like it was yesterday. (Cue Scooby Doo flash back)

Many moons ago, I was camping in Erbie with some friends of mine. I remember that they had decided to go to town for a while and that I volunteered to stay behind with the camp. It was early spring and the trees were just beginning to turn green. It was still cold and it was soggy that morning with a cool breeze coming down the river. I don’t recall having much in store for food to eat but I do remember that I had me a jug of fine sipping bourbon and few cans of coke, so I was set and happy. I sit in the tent for a while with my jug and then decided I’d get out and have a walk. As I said, it was early spring and that morning I had the entire Erbie valley to myself. I figured I’d head down the Buffalo River Trail toward Ozark and have myself a look about, so me and my jug headed off. The trail headed to Ozark was on the opposite end of the camp ground and Erbie campground is pretty big. I made it about a quarter of the way to the trail and I decided that as much as I enjoyed that jug it was much too cumbersome for the journey. I devised a hell of plan though, I opened me up a coke and drank half of it, I filled the can back up with my sipping bourbon and viola, travelling beverage.

I made it a few miles down the trail when about 20 yards in front of me I noticed some feral piglets, that’s wild baby pigs if you didn’t know, I stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn’t worried about the litlen’s, I was wondering “where’s momma at?” I stood still as stone and took in my surroundings. I caught her out of the corner of my eye about 15 yards to my right just off the trail; I took a few steps back and had a quick look around. I was bound and determined to see what lay around the next bend in the trail, but I was not about to tussle with a momma hog. I picked up a few rocks and decided to press on. (in hind sight, those rocks wouldn’t have done diddley against a mad mamma pig, but it worked out anyhow) I took off the left side of the trail. Went into the woods a few dozen yards and then aimed back down the way I was headed. For most folks, heading off the trail alone in the woods is not a good idea but to a man such as me, one with the heart and soul of Jeremiah Johnson, I was not concerned. I knew that the river was to my left and that the mountain was to my right and the trail moved on along somewhere in between, I didn’t need no stinking trail.

After a while moving through the brush, I came to a clearing at a bend in the river. The water was clear and calm and deep. There was sand on the bank and the sun had peeked out and the rays were warm. I couldn’t help myself; I was going to have a dip. Now I was smart enough to know that swimming in my clothes would have led to shivers later, so I got down to natural and had my swim. I’ll never forget how peaceful that was, just me, the fishes, the hills and the river. That is living my friend. After a while I headed back to camp, this time no piggies but I found me a hell of a stick. Everyone knows how important a good stick is and this one was one of the best. About 5ft long and a good fistful around, it was fine stick.

I got back to camp and stoked up a fire and sat with my jug for a while. I figured it was a good time I go have me a sit and think; I went to a picnic table that was about in the center of the campground, climbed up on top and sat down Indian style, me, my stick and my jug. I sat there a good while listening to the wind and feeling the sun, I was tuned in pretty good that day and the woods told me it was time to have another walk about. I had a few more pulls off my jug and decided that my clothes were making too much un-natural noise, so again I shed down to natural.

This time I went down the trail that headed back up river toward Steel Creek. This trail was more open, cutting through meadows and meandering away from the river. It wasn’t long before I jumped a deer. I stood there surprised for a moment and watched as she went a ways and disappeared into the grass. I remember thinking “man that looks like fun”, so I took out. Fast as I could go I ran and ran after that deer. I jumped her up again after a ways and me and that deer ran all over that field. She never really tried to get away; she did like most doe do and ran in large long circles. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and we parted ways.

 Back at my picnic table I had me another sit and think with my stick and my jug. I’m not sure what time it was but the day was wearing on pretty good. I sat there a long, long time with my eyes closed until I heard a car coming down the road. I watched the one section of road that I could see; I remember it didn’t sound like my camping companions car. A nice little town car appeared and pulled into the camp ground. I was relieved to know it wasn’t a ranger; I was in no condition to speak to a ranger. I watched the car as it went down every road all over the campground and finally pulled up toward me. The car stopped and I stood up there with my stick, my jug and my naturalness. Some of you knew me back when I had dreads, so imagine if you will the expression these blue hairs had when they took the sight of me in, long dreads full of sticks and leaves and rocks and whatever else I could stick in em, standing there all natural like with a stick and a jug of whiskey.

They asked me if I was ok and if I needed help. I decided to have a little fun with them you see and with my best hillbilly draw I said, “naw I’m good, I live here.” They were amazed that I lived there. I said, “Yeah, I got me a place back there in the cane, folks come from town sometimes and bring me sipping whiskey and what not.” This carried on for a while and then I asked them if they were lost. These blue hairs where on a Sunday drive and they were a long, long way from home and they were looking for elk. I said, “yeah there’s plenty of elk around here, but you on the wrong side of the mountain.” I told them how to get to Steel Creek and Ponca and they left. Imagine the stories they had to tell of the nappy headed local they met that day.

I remember my friends coming back, but for the life of me I don’t recall if we went back to town or if we camped another night. I don’t remember anything really before or after that day, around the time of this day that is. I don’t remember what led us to camp down there that particular early spring time and I don’t remember what we did after. I will however remember that day for as long as I live.

Now, I’ve told you all of this so that I could tell you this; it is true that my natural habitat is back in the woods. I belong with the hills and the river. I know myself well enough to know that.

This world I’m in now could not be further from my home. This world is bleak and ugly but this is not my world. My world is back there in Washington County with my wife and boy. My world is back down that Buffalo and back down deep Newton County. My world is down Thompson Cut in Madison County on the White River.

Right now though, this is where I need to be. Not just for the money and not for any other reasons, but I know that here, now, this is where I am supposed to be. Just like I knew that that the river was to my left and the mountain was to my right. This trail I’m traveling now heads on down that way between the mountain and the river. I’ll get where I’m going as long as I know where I’ve been.