Today I pulled my weapon out of the holster for the first time. There was a loud bang in a big public space and next thing I knew, I had pushed Julia behind me, drawn my M9, pointed it at the floor and was carefully assessing the commotion about 50 feet in front of me. I knew the sound I'd heard wasn't a gunshot, but a deafening BANG followed by the sheer pandemonium of about 300 Afghans scrambling around trying to figure out what just happened when I was the only American in the room kept me on my toes.
I guess I always thought I'd be terrified when one of my weapons went from accessory to self-protection device, but it wasn't like that at all. Today the Army's 10-week training plan in the armpit of Louisiana paid huge dividends. My body and my brain know how to respond in a dangerous situation without even a second of hesitation. My adrenaline, on the other hand, is still in the early stages of maturation. I was a little more jittery than I would like to admit for the rest of the day.
As it turned out, I pulled my weapon (aimed at the floor and never flipped to fire) on a gigantic tray full of 20-odd metal soup bowls crashing onto a concrete floor, amidst significant yelling (in Dari) in a cafeteria full of about 300 men and maybe 15 women. Given the events of the past week in Kabul, I have zero regrets. I did the right thing. I thought someone might be trying to hurt me (and Julia) and I was mentally and physically prepared to respond if necessary.
A response wasn't necessary today, and thank God for that. I was significantly rattled, I'd already gone running this morning (standard stress relief), it was about 4pm in Afghanistan (best Stateside mentors still sleeping)...and my instinct to seek a human connection comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.
Writing off the entire country of Afghanistan is all too easy this week, but if I did that, I could never forgive myself. So to counter that temptation, I walked to my favorite shop, run by an Afghan man might be 28 years old, just to say hello and remind myself (again) that the East and West have humanity in common.
We sat down together over a cup of tea for at least 45 minutes, and lingering over tea somehow made him feel comfortable enough to share his life story with me. He's been working 7 days a week since he was 8 years old. His family, like so many others, left Afghanistan for 15 years during the Taliban rule. He supports his parents and two younger siblings by selling handicrafts created by widowed women in downtown Kabul. For every $10 in merchandise he sells, he takes home 50 cents. It was the most heartfelt conversation I've had yet - he is just so human. He wanted me to understand what it feels like to be poor in Afghanistan with little hope for his own future, and I wanted to listen.
He sees himself in the children who desperately sell trinkets along the Kabul streets to pay for food for their families...that was him, many years ago...and those memories flooded his eyes with tears as the words tumbled from his mouth in amazingly eloquent English. It was touching, and the perfect peaceful contradiction to the afternoon's chaotic events.
On days like today, it's easy to remember why I'm here, and why my mission here is so important to me that I am willing to put my comfortable American reality on hold for another eight months for people I don't yet know and for a culture I'm just beginning to understand. People talk to me. People trust me. And through my conversations with people, I will leave a mark that to me is worth every dicey cafeteria lunch, every menacing drive down the streets of Kabul, and every remarkable opportunity to share tea and a great conversation with another human being.
I've never been in more danger than I am right now, nor have I ever felt more alive. And in this moment, I cannot imagine my life any other way.
I guess I always thought I'd be terrified when one of my weapons went from accessory to self-protection device, but it wasn't like that at all. Today the Army's 10-week training plan in the armpit of Louisiana paid huge dividends. My body and my brain know how to respond in a dangerous situation without even a second of hesitation. My adrenaline, on the other hand, is still in the early stages of maturation. I was a little more jittery than I would like to admit for the rest of the day.
As it turned out, I pulled my weapon (aimed at the floor and never flipped to fire) on a gigantic tray full of 20-odd metal soup bowls crashing onto a concrete floor, amidst significant yelling (in Dari) in a cafeteria full of about 300 men and maybe 15 women. Given the events of the past week in Kabul, I have zero regrets. I did the right thing. I thought someone might be trying to hurt me (and Julia) and I was mentally and physically prepared to respond if necessary.
A response wasn't necessary today, and thank God for that. I was significantly rattled, I'd already gone running this morning (standard stress relief), it was about 4pm in Afghanistan (best Stateside mentors still sleeping)...and my instinct to seek a human connection comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.
Writing off the entire country of Afghanistan is all too easy this week, but if I did that, I could never forgive myself. So to counter that temptation, I walked to my favorite shop, run by an Afghan man might be 28 years old, just to say hello and remind myself (again) that the East and West have humanity in common.
We sat down together over a cup of tea for at least 45 minutes, and lingering over tea somehow made him feel comfortable enough to share his life story with me. He's been working 7 days a week since he was 8 years old. His family, like so many others, left Afghanistan for 15 years during the Taliban rule. He supports his parents and two younger siblings by selling handicrafts created by widowed women in downtown Kabul. For every $10 in merchandise he sells, he takes home 50 cents. It was the most heartfelt conversation I've had yet - he is just so human. He wanted me to understand what it feels like to be poor in Afghanistan with little hope for his own future, and I wanted to listen.
He sees himself in the children who desperately sell trinkets along the Kabul streets to pay for food for their families...that was him, many years ago...and those memories flooded his eyes with tears as the words tumbled from his mouth in amazingly eloquent English. It was touching, and the perfect peaceful contradiction to the afternoon's chaotic events.
On days like today, it's easy to remember why I'm here, and why my mission here is so important to me that I am willing to put my comfortable American reality on hold for another eight months for people I don't yet know and for a culture I'm just beginning to understand. People talk to me. People trust me. And through my conversations with people, I will leave a mark that to me is worth every dicey cafeteria lunch, every menacing drive down the streets of Kabul, and every remarkable opportunity to share tea and a great conversation with another human being.
I've never been in more danger than I am right now, nor have I ever felt more alive. And in this moment, I cannot imagine my life any other way.
Lisa, your writing literally gives me goosebumps (and not in that annoying "I really mean figuratively, but I'm using literally because I don't really know what literally means" way!). Thank you for sharing your story with us.
ReplyDelete-Missy
“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”
ReplyDelete~Mahatma Ghandi
*hugs*