Canadians are the aliens in this moonscape
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ZANGABAD, Panjwaii District–The middle-aged villager squats and scowls. Resentment carves deep brackets on his Old Testament face. His is a heart and mind likely lost.
The irony is that 1 Platoon, Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry has come here today not only to acquaint themselves with their new region of patrol – just rotating into Panjwaii from Zhari to the north – but to impress upon civilians that Canadians have got a protective eye on this village. They come not to intimidate, not to kick in doors and certainly not to conquer.
Rather, the assignment is to take custodial suzerainty – benignly – of a community where the Taliban has been a recurring nuisance, as much to the locals as to coalition forces.
But while such a mission routinely means interacting playfully with children, so they won't fear the bristle of a fully equipped and armed Canadian infantryman, it also requires an invasive scrutiny of proud adult Afghan males.
And some of them clearly do not like being forced to prove themselves unthreatening by unbundling their parcels or lifting their tunics, revealing naked torsos where suicide vests might be fastened.
This particular fellow had to be told several times – from a distance of about 20 metres, the platoon's Afghan interpreter giving instructions – to submit. There were sharp words exchanged before the man opened his arms wide, indicating that he was unarmed. But it's the bulky parcel, wrapped in a soiled patu blanket, which is of most concern.
Palpably annoyed, probably humbled at this inspection by foreigners, the man unties knots and spreads out his innocuous possessions: foodstuff.
As the soldiers proceed past him, the Afghan turns his face away in disgust.
If there were a better way to do this, without giving unintended offence, nobody has yet figured it out.
How am I supposed to know if he's got a suicide bomb under there, asks Sgt. Trevor Uhl, the 35-year-old acting platoon commander.
Chances are, he means us no harm. But I can't take that chance because my job is not getting killed, not getting my men killed.
Everyone here remembers the incident last year when an equally innocent-looking chap, quite elderly and riding a bicycle, was not halted as he pedalled past a Canadian patrol.
He was carrying what appeared to be a basket of fruit. But there was a bomb secreted in among the apples and four soldiers ended up dead.
We're here to show that we're here, Uhl continues. We don't want to make enemies, quite the opposite. But when I walk away from that man, I don't care what his opinion is of me.
The platoon has just ridden out in a convoy of the armoured patrol vehicles called Nyalas from Checkpoint 5, one of many Canadian forward power points studded throughout the region, primitive outposts that are constantly manned by rotating units, part of their job also to monitor and mentor Afghan National Army checkpoints.
At Checkpoint 5, Lieut. Matt Dawe had welcomed the new arrivals, his own gang about to conclude 2 1/2 months at the isolated cantonment. Indeed, he welcomed 1 Platoon with his best Borat impersonation. Welcome to paradise!
Clearly an entertainer and out here entertainment is self-generated.
Under the big hooch tent, guys are playing poker, discussing playoff hockey games they haven't seen – in this corner of the world, given the late arrival of newspapers from home, the Leafs are still alive – or simply lolling on camp cots.
They've been living on rations, a heap of unpopular choices piled in a corner, unchilled bottled water stacked nearby.
Yet Dawe, a 27-year-old from Kingston, claims to love it all.
When you picture coming to Afghanistan, this is what you think of: very austere. But the best thing about being out here, on our own, is the freedom and independence.
He points out the observation posts engineers have newly built. They've done the same for nearby Afghan posts, although those are poorly maintained by their occupants.
The Taliban have been mostly a rumour during their deployment here.
We're keeping them away from the main routes and mostly in their houses, I guess.
There were strange looks when the Canadians first arrived here. And kids popping off stones with their slingshots, although Dawe figures that was more playful than menacing in intent.
Throwing rocks very acceptable in Afghan culture, he says in Borat character. Hey, we like you.
The soldiers try to stay mindful that the foreignness of culture is all theirs, that they are the aliens on this moonscape.
But stopping Afghan adults males, especially during walking patrols, is an unavoidable fact of deployment in the Afghan hinterland.
That doesn't make it any less unsavoury for some civilians and enmity can result, just as it does in other sketchy parts of the world – the West Bank, for instance – where the local population feels victimized and bullied.
Yet during yesterday afternoon's exercise – a dismounted patrol of several kilometres, through mud-walled compounds and across stretches of poppy fields – most Afghans encountered were either passively curious or barely registered the Canadian presence.
Down one laneway, a homeowner came forth to greet the troops, explaining that he had been a teacher until five months ago – when the Taliban burned the school – but was reduced to farming a small plot now.
Now, the children have no education, Obia Dullah sadly explained to Master Cpl. Geoff Sgarbossa.
Then, he added: Please, can I offer you some tea.
Sgarbossa declined the offer politely and then, through his interpreter, tried to elicit a bit more information about Taliban activity in the area before the patrol continued on.
This territory is new to the Canadians and part of the mission today is simply for familiarization because they are shortly scheduled to assume control of Checkpoint 5.
The afternoon sun punishes the infantrymen, even though they are accustomed to long marches with 25-kilogram packs on their backs.
Down sun-baked paths, traversing ditches and culverts, the platoon keeps hoofing it at a perambulatory pace, not because this is some kind of leisurely outing but rather that they might scan and register all the man-made and natural features of the village.
A chief scout leads, the rest of the platoon keeping to the sides of the rutted roads inside the village proper, almost hugging the compound facades, looking into doorways, noting dead ends for future reference, everything eerily quiet.
In open areas, the men walk single file, keeping a measured distance between them, making no overt gesture toward the poppy-harvesters in the fields.
They don't care about poppies – it's not their bailiwick.
But they do notice, and are impressed by, the ingenious irrigation, a clever water-management system that Afghans have perfected over centuries.
Toddlers as young as 2 and 3 haul drinking water from the village well-pump, labouring under the weight of heavy plastic jugs.
A little girl with jade green eyes is pole-fishing on the bank of a creek but rushes to pick up her baby brother when the sight of soldiers sets him to wailing.
The only adult woman seen is an old crone, face uncovered, standing under a mulberry tree.
Kids are hunkered down around the vehicles that have awaited the platoon's return. Now, more emboldened, they smile and wave, delighted at having their picture taken.
Collapsing with relief in the air-conditioned comfort of the Nyalas, the soldiers are already looking forward to a real cooked meal back at main base in Sperwan Ghar, temporary residence as they settle in to the new assignment.
As the vehicles lurch over a whopping big hole in the road, tailbones thumping against the seats, one of the guys chirps to his driver: Way to go Mark. Drive it like you stole it!
Related: Canadians are the aliens in this moonscape
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Canadians are the aliens in this moonscape: from www.thestar.com
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