“We must help them,” she said as she added a second spoonful of caramel to her ice cream. “But we’ll do that tomorrow,” she said smiling, “because we have a party to go to tonight.” “A party?,” he thought. “Really?” “Here?” “Come on,” she said as she threw a tray still half filled with food into the trash, “I’ll bring this with me. We can save Afghanistan beginning tomorrow.”
Billy was new to Kabul, fresh from training and on his first assignment. Indeed, it was the first time he had even left the United States. He was off on adventure, he told himself – an adventure to help those less fortunate than himself. Barely a week into his tour, however, and he was thoroughly confused. He had worked with the poor in his hometown. He dutifully collected winter coats during the Fall, served food at the town’s annual Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless, and even repaired old bicycles to donate to poor neighborhoods because “every kid deserved a bike.”
But nothing prepared him for what he saw in Kabul. He knew Afghanistan was poor, but thought that Kabul, as a capital city would reflect a degree of wealth. He thought about this poverty as he walked with his sponsor to the Duck and Cover, an aluminum building converted to a bar and, perhaps betraying the feeling of overall security within the compound, named after the concrete bunkers one is to use when attacked. The first thing he had noticed on arrival in Kabul was the smell as he climbed into the armored SUV. “Wow, what is that disgusting smell?” he asked his driver. “It’s burning garbage,” he was told. “Everything is burned here – tires, trash, whatever people can get their hands on – to stay warm in the winter.” “That’s not very healthy,” he answered. “Neither is dying from the cold,” his driver retorted, “We do what we have to in order to survive here.” He suddenly felt ashamed again, just as he had during the drive.
He continued thinking of this as he sat in the Duck and Cover watching his fellow co-workers, seemingly oblivious to the war and poverty just outside the walls, have fun drinking. Someone brought pizzas from the newly opened Pizza Hut and he helped himself to a slice. He briefly thought of the child he saw out in town picking through the trash for food and put down the second slice. The shame he had felt remembering his conversation with the Afghan driver on his arrival returned. He stepped outside, telling his sponsor he needed some air, but really he just wanted to get away. As he stepped outside, he saw another man smoking. “Had enough partying?, the guy asked. “No, it’s not that,” he replied, “I just can’t do this after seeing the situation out there,” he said. “Oh, you’re new. Look, I’m here to help the Afghans too, but there’s no reason we have to suffer,” the guy said with a slight grin.
The next day, Billy went to work resolved to spend his time helping Afghans rather than pretending he could do nothing and party his way through his tour. For his first project, he latched onto something small, building a school and playground in a remote village near the Pakistani border. He spent his days working things such as this; bringing a bit of comfort to the rural poor he believed, blissfully sleeping each night under the impression that he was indeed making a difference – even if he didn’t actually get outside the wire to see it. After about six months, his job began to change. Rather than simply facilitate the contracting process and work with local contractors, he was told he was needed in a watchdog role. Apparently, Congress was up in arms over misspent American dollars. Although he could not understand why they would think that since, from his work, he knew the money was building things like schools, courthouses, and playgrounds, he was excited to be able to see the fruits of his labor. For his first trip he decided he would visit that village near the Pakistani border since his first project – the school and playground – had been completed two months earlier.
On arrival at the local Forwarding Operating Base or FOB, he immediately found his field counterpart. “Hey,” he said, “I’m Billy and I’m here to check on the school that was built out here about two months ago.” “You came out here for that,” the field rep said, “I could’ve saved you some time. That village has no electricity, so that school is probably not being used.” “Well, I need to check it anyway,” said Billy. “Do you know what that requires?” the field guy asked. “We have to clear it through the local commander, he clears it through the regional commander and once that is done, we get ten soldiers in three MRAP vehicles to drive us out there. This area has an IED (improvised explosive device) problem; do we really need that risk?”
Billy was sorely disappointed on arriving at the remote village. It was just as the field guy said. The “school” was gutted. There were no students, no teachers, not even electricity. Several rooms were being used to house goats, others were stocked with various equipment. The playground didn’t even look like a playground – just shells of what was once playing equipment. He noticed a set of steps jutting up into the sky; apparently once attached to a slide. “Why would they take the slide?” he wonder aloud. “The Taliban took it to use for launching rockets at our base,” a soldier said matter-of-factly. Depressed, but still undeterred, he returned to the base.
The next morning, he awoke to an awful ruckus outside. He tried to cover his head with a pillow to drown out the sound, but it was to no avail. Groggily, he sat up in bed, wondering what the heck was going on. Slowly, he made his way to the door and looked outside. Two soldiers were laughing at two dogs fighting over some scrap of food. As he watched the two dogs, it suddenly hit him. While this country may seem relatively worthless to an outsider and not worth fighting over, the two dogs were a symbol of the Taliban; the fight may not be over much in the scheme of things, but when it is all there is, the fight really is for everything.
He suddenly became angry with the soldiers. There they were, probably just coming from breakfast with a full stomach, delighted at the likely “life-or-death” struggle occurring before them. “You shouldn’t laugh at that,” Billy yelled at them. “Why the hell not?” asked one. “Don’t you understand,” he explained, “this is a symbol of what is happening here. The Afghans here are simply trying to survive. They have nothing and we have to help them. They need to be saved from this war and poverty. How can you be so callous?”
“We’re not here to save Afghanistan,” the soldier said, “We’re here to save America.”
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