Herat, Afghanistan

Today, I travelled out to one of he Provincial HQs. I gave a class to some NCOs and Officers of the Afghan National Police. The NCOs looked like boys to me. One looked like he could have been 16. None of the NCOs looked old enough to drink back in the States.

I’ve had several students from this Province attend the course that I give at my home station. While out on assistance visits, I usually run into someone that I know. They are always so respectful. Even those who are years older than I. Today, I ran into several. Zabiuallah Khan, Khoda Dad and a couple more whose names escape me. We stood around and talked about Afghanistan and anything else that came to mind. Some of them are old so they talked about their ailments.

After my class, my two interpretors and I walked outside to grab a smoke. One of my students walked by me looking downcast, so I yelled at him to smile. He replied by saying that it was “too hot to smile.” I laughed and replied; “Never! Never too hot to smile. ” Ya gotta be happy. I stood there and talked to anyone who would talk to me as we waited to depart the AO. I just throw out random “soobha khairs” and “asalaam aleyukkums” and “jor astees” to anyone who looks my way.

Two of ANP soldiers were standing around me and I started joking with them. As we stood there, a fair looking Afghani maiden in uniform walked by us. I think I was the only one who noticed. She was a cute gal. Young, though. She’ll never be more than a tea server here in Afghanistan. No matter how intelligent she might be. It’s a shame. I laugh [in derision] every time I see the publicity for the enhanced rights of women in Afghanistan. It’s a great fairy tale. Women in Uniform. Serving Tea.

I noticed this guy following me around the area. He kept staring my way and edging closer and closer. His act was a bit disconcerting. Made me a bit apprehensive. As I was surrounded by policemen and in a safe zone, I wasn’t too concerned. The fellow was also old and frail looking. Didn’t look like he could carry a bomb much less employ it.

Eventually, the man found the courage to walk up and speak to us.

He was an Irani. From Mashhad. Mashhad is just the other side of the border from Herat. His story was that he was a tourist in Herat. He was attempting to get his VISA extended or something to that effect at the PHQ.

I had nothing pressing going on. Just waiting for my ride back to my present duty location. So I sat there and talked to the guy.

Dave: I wish that our countries were friends. I would love to visit Iran.

Mohammad Alam: It is the Mullahs. They are crazy.

Dave: Well, it’s not entirely their fault. We helped to put them in power with our part in the Mossadegh caper.

Mohammad Alam: It would be good to have peace.

Dave: Indeed, it would. Persians and Americans are natural allies. Not natural enemies. Personally, I think we should shoot all of the Mullahs. Both Christian and Muslim. Then we can all lay religious divisions aside and just get along as people.

Mohammad Alam: Yes. I would shoot them, too. Give me an AK47 and we can be done with them all.

My terps are always nervous when I start conversations like this. Who knows. The guy could have become agitated or someone nearby could overhear and start making noise. We talked further. I’m not proselytizing for Christianity or Buddhism or Zoroastrianism, though. I don’t like any religion. I asked my new friend to trade money as a memento of our meeting. He gave me some Iranian money. I gave him some US money. He kept refusing. But I persuaded him by saying that I wanted him to take a piece of America back with him. But only if it was safe. The taliban have killed several children in Afghanistan for the heinous crime of possession of US dollars. I didn’t know how safe it might be for an Irani fellow to carry dollars in his wallet. After that, we took this picture together. We tried to take one with his phone but his battery was dead. If he was a spy, he was a poorly skilled one and not well prepared either.

So that was my second contact with an Irani in Herat, Afghanistan. The guy may well have been a spy. Information on me won’t do him much good. My terps asked me why I talked to him when he was more than likely a spy. He never asked me anything about my job or why I was in Herat. He seemed excited to merely meet an American. No information was exchanged that could not have been gleaned from my uniform. If the US Army and my employer wanted those things secret, I’d be wearing civilian clothing instead of the uniform. I’m not going to sweat contact with an Iranian or a picture when I’ve had my face plastered on Afghani TV several times. They know I’m here and they know why I’m here.