Unspoken Abandonment (14 page)

The Kabul Medical Center is very disappointing for most people. They see well over three hundred visitors per day
, and w
ith enough staff
, medicine, and supplies to treat
only the
sickest and most injured, many are turn
ed away without being cared for.

As the Afghan guard was talking to the father, the boy began to vomit and have a seizure, and the father said something to the guard. The guard, who speaks decent English, looked at us and said, “He was stung by a scorpion.”

Our compound has limited medical supplies, and although we are not a medical center by any means, we do have a number of doctors on the compound.
Camp Eagle
serves a lot of purposes and one
such
purpose
is
to provide a
safe residence for various Americans.
W
e have a few military and non-military doctors
, who work at area medical centers during the day
,
living
on the compound.

The Sergeant made the decision to let the boy in, but the father was told to stay outside
and
just beyond
the gate. We radioed to have medics meet us at the gate, and two of the doctors came
rushing
out. Within seconds, their tone changed
,
and the
ir actions
be
came
frantic. One doctor said the boy was close to death and needed to get to Bagram immediately. The Sergeant grabbed four guys off the wall and told them to get SUVs ready. About ten minutes later, the two SUVs rolled out, with two troops in each truck and both doctors and the child in the lead SUV.

Another doctor who had come out at some point and stayed behind said the child had been stung at least an hour before. He said the child was showing signs of severe anaphylaxis, and his likelihood of survival was very slim.

All day long now, everyone has been on edge about scorpions. There are all sorts of critters running around here. There are mice, huge spiders, mosquitoes with Malaria,
some of the strangest bugs
I
ha
ve ever seen
, and n
ow the scorpions are waking up.

After shift
, it
was mo
re of the same by going to the
gym,
checking my
email, and now
it
i
s finally time to get some sleep
. Tomorrow we have no mission
s
or patrol
s
scheduled, so we
a
re putting together a squad football game.
W
e a
re going to try
to put a game together
anyway.

April 3,
2003
:

Shift was long and boring tonight
; I
just sat in the OP and watched the street
. From midnight until about six-
thirty, not one person went by
.
I did
n
o
t see a single
car, bicyclist,
or anything
else
. After six-
thirty, it picked up and the peop
le started coming out. By seven-
thirty, the street was filled with the usual cars, bicycles, people, and donkeys.

Our neighbors, along the south portion of our west wall, are a group of very strange people. They are Iranians, and the house is actually maintained by the Iranian government as a safe house for Iranian agents in Kabul. We know they
a
re there, they know we kn
ow they a
re there, and everybody just minds
their own business. I say they a
re strange
because they act very weird around us. We have an OP that looks right into their “yard,” and they are always out trying to talk to us. Even though we do
n
o
t understand a word they
a
re saying, they keep on trying
to speak with us
. Every morning
,
at the exact same time every day,
so
meone comes out of their house
and
empties
a bucket of shit in the back
yard. Now, I don’t mean a bucket of stuff;
I literally
mean a bucket of shit. I a
m guessing they either don’t have plumbing or
they do and just
do no
t use it.

They usually come out and ask us for different things, and they ask by showing us a piece of paper with something written on it. The two things they ask for the most are breakfast cereals and cigarettes. If you give them candy, they act like a bunch of five year-olds. Iranians are
n
o
t exactly liked in Kabul, so I think they moved in ne
x
t to an American compound
intentionally
for th
e protection. The Iranians are no
t liked here for a lot of political and religious reasons, but at the end of the day, they do
n
o
t bother us
,
and we do
n
o
t bother them.

Around seven o’clock, this morning, I noticed a guy sitting on the side of the road, directly across from the Iranian house. He was
n
o
t doing anything, but that is what s
tr
uck
me as strange
about him. Of all the people out there, he was
the only one not doing anything;
he was
just sitting on the sidewalk.

At seven-
thirty, two guys rode up on bicycles and stopped in front of the Iranian house. Both men got off
of
their bikes,
leaned them up against the Iranians’ gate, and
then
they just walked away. Now, why would two people just lean their bikes against a gate, leave them unattended, and walk away?

I saw one of the Iranians in the back yard and tried to tell him, but he did
n
o
t speak English. He called to someone inside the house, and a moment later
,
a man with a long beard and a turban came outside. He spoke English, and I told him what
had
just happened. The man with the long beard casually walked toward the gate
,
grabbed one of the bicycles
,
and threw it into the street. He grabbed the second bicycle and threw it further, almost clearing the street. The bearded man then casually walked back into the house and closed the door. As soon as
the bearded man
was back inside, the original, suspicious looking
,
guy jumped on the bicycle in the street and peddled off.

I
a
m
not really sure if the bikes we
re rigged with some type of an explosive, or if they were just a trial run to judge the reaction by us and the Iranians. I did
n
o
t see anything strapped or attached to either bike, but
the whole thing was just weird.
I
t takes a lot of explaining to describe what happened,
but
it was all over within a minute or two. This place is loaded with some strange shit.

Today, after shift, we had no patrols and no missions. It was in the upper seventies, and the sun was bright. A few of us hit the gym,
and then
the squad gathered up in the rear parking area for a squad football game. It
i
s easy to get lost in moments like that and forget
where you are. It i
s a really we
ird feeling when one minute you a
re dealing with Iranian agents and the possible near bombing of an Iranian safe
house, and the next minute you a
re playing football with your friends.

I think it was yesterday or the day before when I was talking about all the creepy crawly things we have to deal with here. About a week ago, one of the guys on my squad had to shave his head and use some special shampoo because he got lice. We laughed at him and made fun of him for it. Come on, who would
n
o
t make fun of their friend for that? Well,
as the modern proverb goes,
karma really is a bitch
.
Four more of us
now
have
head lice
, and I
a
m one of them. We had to get our heads shaved, right down to the skin, and get our own special shampoo.
The worst part was when the doctor told me, “Wood, you guys all need to make sure you
’
re showering more. Make a better effort.” How fucking embarrassing!

April 4,
2003
:

Not a lot happened on shift last night. It was very quiet, and afterwards
,
we only did a short three hour patrol outside the compound. A few days ago, I got my smallpox vaccine, and it
i
s really kicking the crap out of me. My whole body aches
,
and every joint is sore. It feels like I have the flu, but without being sick.

I went to one of the doctors to make sure it was normal to feel this way. He told me it was
n
o
t unusual, and it would pass within a few days. He said he could write me an order for light duty for a day or two, but I told him I
woul
d be fine.

As we were finishing, I asked him if he knew anything about the kid who had been stung by the scorpion the other day. He told me the little boy had died. The doc said he died just shortly after arriving in Bagram, and there was nothing anybody could have done. I did
n
o
t s
ay anything, but I feel like it wa
s at least partially my fault. The Sergeant and I spent so much time trying to turn the boy’s father
away;
I wonder if we wasted the minutes that could have made a difference. If we let him in right away, would he have lived?

When I think about it rationally, I know it
i
s not
my
fault.
The Sergeant and I
had no idea what had happened, we had no idea how serious it was, and when we did find out we got help right away. But it
i
s a little boy, and it
i
s hard to think
that
those minutes might have made a difference. I
wi
ll never know either way, and that
i
s the hard part.

April 5,
2003
:

Last night was my final night on the midnight shift, at least for the next six weeks. Thank God this shift is over; I have
n
o
t had a decent sleep in weeks. Every day
,
when my squad finally gets to sleep, it
i
s right when everyone else is coming in for dinner. It
i
s noisy outside, and it
i
s noisy inside. The kitchen and eating area
are
located directly above our room, and it gets loud at meal time. Then people from other squads will come into our roo
m looking for something. They will
turn the light on, find what they
need
, and then leave with the light still on and the door wide open. Imagine bein
g woken up every thirty minutes
all night and
every night
for weeks on end.
The only thing that makes it even worse
is to
then try
fall
ing
back
to
sleep
with a mouse running all over you
and
under your covers
. It
i
s
extremely
exhausting.

I really can
no
t wait for this deployment to be over. This place is absolutely miserable, and nothing good ever happens. There are only two ways of
living
life here:
we
a
re either extremely bored or something really shitty is happening. There is no middle ground
, no in between
. I just honestly feel as though the only certainty in Afghanistan is that tomorrow has nothing good to offer.
It gets so depressing when you realize you have nothing good to look forward to. The only thing I have to look forward to is finishing this deployment and going home, but that is months and months away. Hopefully things will get better once I start the new shift, but I
a
m not holding my breath.