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01/22/2004: "Kandahar Chronicles #60 - 21/01/2004"

Rumour of the Day…four men dressed in women’s burquas discovered carrying explosives around the bazaar. Great, Al Queda has sent in its transvestite battalion. You think these guys would learn, but they must get away with the old burqua ruse quite often to keep trying it. There are always stories of men attempting to escape detection under the blue shroud that are exposed, and these four sound like they were up for some mischief. I’ve just spoken to the PC and it seems like it is a true story. Too bad, it goes against the grain of the last two weeks. Perhaps the fellas used up all their bombs and made the long trek to their hidden depots in the hills to restock. Yesterday the Americans detonated a series of massive blasts that went on for most of the day. These were all controlled explosions to destroy old munitions, but still they rattled the hell out of the office windows. I often wonder how much these controlled blasts are also a signal to these AQ and Taliban elements in the city. A not so subtle reminder that if push comes to shove, the Coalition can pick their spot where to set off similar explosions. I watched the last few while enjoying a vodka tonic on the roof.

Regardless of any of this speculation, it is a good time to receive our window anti-shatter tape. I got two large rolls of the stuff that I ordered from France. I’ve spent the last couple of days removing the old useless MSF packing tape stripped across the windows and fitting the new full size sheets. It will take a few days more to finish the office and house but it’s good fun working with the logistic guys. Biscuits and chai, music on the computer and talking shite.

“Who is this singing?” asks Rohullah.

“What? This is Bob Marley. You guys must have heard of Bob. Reggae music? ‘Natty Dread it in a Zim-bab-we.’”

Blank looks. “Is he a black man?”

“Yeah, well he was. He’s dead now.”

“Who killed him?” asks Sharif.

“Nobody, he died of cancer about twenty years ago.

“The African people are strong, like Mike Tyson, but always killing each other. I fear if I would go there they would kill me as I walked down the street.” Adds a stern looking Hamid from the radio room.

“Look who’s talking, Afghans are nuts at the best of times. Especially you bloody Pashtuns.” Chuckles of pride around the room. “Anyway, he’s Jamaican and Tyson is from the US.”

“We will play you some nice music from India after.” Yikes, well fair enough.

Aside from reinforcing windows, we didn’t get a bit of work done in the office. I left for a bit to deal with some other matters so we don’t fall too far behind. I’m happy to see the guys responding well to my barking at them yesterday. I’d walked around the office like Stalin kicking the guys in the ass after a week of them taking the piss. Dirty vehicles, sleeping in the store room, coming in late, sneaking out early, jobs left half done for days, all the usual shit. The nice thing about these guys is they are proud, and the first to admit they goof off and need a strong reminder occasionally. The next day there’s no sulking, they just work hard as if nothing had happened, which is great because scraping old tape off glass is hardly inspirational work.