The dust of war

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 04/12/2009 (5757 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

KANDAHAR AIRFIELD — I’ve been wondering lately about Jason Jacques. I’ve never met the man, but I’ve been looking at his name every night before I go to bed and again when I wake up. That’s because it’s written in the dust on the bed frame above my lower bunk in the quarters I share with another journalist.

There are other names, too, but Jacques’ is directly above my head. I can imagine him reaching up in a moment of boredom and scrawling his name to mark his existence. I was going to add my name to the tableau, but decided the exercise would just bring dust down upon me.

The people here, military and civilian, are great, they truly are, but the place is a dump, one of the worst hell-holes on the planet.

Dust is everywhere. Even the trees are covered in a fine powdery ash. Vehicle and foot traffic stirs up dust clouds that resemble the ash left over from a giant bonfire. A grimy haze hangs over the encampment most days.

It’s what happens when a boomtown pops up in the middle of a desert, a rocky, sandy wasteland where even the natural inhabitants, animal and human, struggle to survive.

Built by the Americans in the 1960s, it was occupied by the Soviets in 1979 and then by the Americans in 2001 following the fight to remove the Taliban government. It was the last stronghold of the resistance.

It has grown from a population of a few hundred then to as many as 30,000 people today, most of them members of the military coalition that is trying to rid the countryside of insurgents. And it is still growing and expanding to serve the ends of war. It’s the main base for Canada’s 2,800 troops in the theatre.

The architecture largely consists of hundreds, if not thousands, of sea containers. There are so many of them, piled one on top of another, that from a distance they can be confused for an urban skyline of tall buildings.

Blast walls, some of them seven metres tall, line roadways and surround buildings. Their purpose is to limit the damage caused by rocket attacks, which occur with some frequency. There are also Quonset huts, tent cities and reinforced concrete shelters, but key military headquarters and installations today are located in newer metal-clad enclosures.

The noise and vibrations of jets and helicopters landing and taking off go on 24 hours a day, while heavy military vehicles prowl the streets on their way outside the wire, as the perimeter is called, or after returning from the field.

When the winds are right, fumes from a giant, open sewage lagoon waft over the base. It apparently is going to be relocated to make way for more sea containers and military infrastructure. A story is told about a soldier who took a swim in the poop pond as a lark, and no one seemed to doubt that it could be true.

The water is not potable. There are lineups for basic military chow at two mess halls.

Just outside the wire, tons of Russian garbage litter the desert, including scores of abandoned tanks, leftovers from the failed Russian adventure in Afghanistan.

There are signs everywhere with instructions on what to do in a rocket attack, or in the event of an armed attack. Other signs warn of the danger of discussing secrets openly because they might be overheard. Just about everyone carries a gun. Dozens of languages are spoken, a reflection of the multinational nature of the coalition.

There’s even some kind of ghetto, a place I and a group of fellow journalists were advised to avoid, although the reasons were not made clear. It had something to do with the nature of the troops in the zone and the poor lighting.

The whole thing is surrounded by razor wire, barricades, fencing, armed guards and electronic surveillance.

The place has a few civilized features, including a boardwalk that surrounds a dusty athletic field. Tim Hortons and Green Bean are here, along with several retailers. At Canada House, the troops can get a haircut, watch TV or plan a vacation when they get leave.

It may sound like a post-apocalyptic dystopia, but a lot of people love it and thousands of civilians are lining up to work here.

"I’m having the time of my life," said Tracy Pelland of Kingston, Ont. "It’s like one big family here."

Pelland works for the Home Leave Travel Assistance program, which plans vacations or home visits for soldiers going on leave. It’s one of the services provided by the Canadian Forces Personnel Support Agency. "I don’t have to cook, clean or do my own laundry," she said. "It’s great."

The CFPSA owns the Tim Hortons franchise here and manages other programs, including bringing in entertainers for troop morale. The organization had 3,000 applications for 100 jobs in a recent posting on its website, according to CFPSA manager Bill Pigden.

The workers range in age from 20 to over 60, he said. A Tim Hortons worker earns a base salary of $24,000 plus another $18,000 tax free — in six months, the normal length of the contract, although many people come back for second and third tours.

Pigden, of Winnipeg, said some workers go outside the wire to provide haircuts or other services for soldiers in the field. For many workers, it’s an opportunity for adventure and a new experience, a chance to join the military brotherhood, he said.

That’s why Owen Brennan is here. "I’ve met great people and it’s a unique experience," said Owen, the son of Winnipeg fire and paramedic Chief Jim Brennan. We met in a bomb shelter following a rocket attack.

Obviously, one man’s blast wall is another’s sense of adventure. But, I wonder. What did Jason Jacques think about it all?

dave.obrien@freepress.mb.ca