We are Christ-centered Friends who equip and encourage all people
to respond to God's love and transforming Spirit.
Journey to Afghanistan
- page 3
Day One, by Ken Magee
We are Christ-centered Friends who equip and encourage all people
to respond to God's love and transforming Spirit.
Journey to Afghanistan
- page 3
Day One, by Ken Magee
After about two hours we received word allowing us to proceed on to the Bridge of Peace. This bridge had many military personnel at repeated checkpoints wanting to see our passports, visa and luggage. It did make me wonder about the name, The Bridge of Peace. It was a slow process. During one long wait I watched the river below. It was an ominous river, swirling and running high between reed-covered marshes probably four-hundred yards apart. Bird life seemed absent. The water looked dark brown, was cold with bits of ice, loaded with silt and frequent small trees and sticks. I recalled that I'd been told, "When you return to Uzbekistan, you will think you are in Paris."
We weren't allowed to take a Russian made jeep with us into Afghanistan because of improper vehicle registration. While the Uzbek soldiers were finely dressed in neat military garb, I was impressed by the Afghan soldiers lack of winter clothing in spite of the bitter cold. It was often mismatched and they frequently had no more than thin rubbers on their feet. Even so, they waded in snow and mud.
Three dark-windowed cars of the General and his brother met us on the Afghan side and proceeded to carry us across the ever moving desert toward Mazar-i-Sharif, our destination. Our drivers had obviously learned their trade while being shot at. The road was totally unmarked by signs or lines. Pavement was often broken and sand dunes were relentlessly competing with shoveling men and children trying to cover and uncover what was left. As we sped along some of the passengers would open the windows a bit and let a bill of Afghan currency swirl behind. There was always a scramble by those shoveling. I wondered if this was the only pay they received. We passed men and boys and burrows carrying loads of brush and weeds cut from some parts of this dry land. I imagined that this need for heat only accelerated the movement of the dunes.
Homes and shops in a few scattered villages along our route were built out of the adobe ground. Ancient vehicles mingled with donkeys and other beasts of burden. Women were covered from the top of their heads to their feet with generally tattered burqas, and the cloths of men and children also often appeared ragged and tinged with the ever present adobe dust.
Signs of distress were everywhere. Writings on walls indicated land mines were present. Many buildings were destroyed by shells and bombs. Across the desert sands were scattered hulls of destroyed tanks, other armored vehicles and artillery pieces. I thought that each of these might readily tell some terrible story. It shouldn't have surprised me that the excitement of the first day in Afghanistan was hardly started.
Copyright 2002 - 2003 by Ken Magee
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