Belinda's Home! :)

An exhausted and very tanned Belinda arrived home after what could best be described as a 'milk-run' flight and travel that spanned several days! She couldn`t be happier to be home and one of the first things she noted was how clean and fresh Canada smells...she could even detect the scent of freshly melted snow.

There is quite the time change between Afghanistan and here, with our days and nights being opposite of each other, so she is still trying to get onto Canadian time. Food is plentiful of course, so she is enjoying grazing on all of her favorite treats.

She is used to being burdened with the constant weight of her weapons, so she finds herself instinctively feeling for her pistol and the momentary surprise that it is not there. Little things like healthy pets and everyone wearing shoes, the wealth of our society, give her a moment to pause. It is like being on a different planet just to to be home and to walk about and not see missing teeth, matted hair, people who are heavily scarred, or cut and bleeding, with scabs and chronic infections, malnourished children and adults. The ever-present grit of sand and dust that colored everything in their environment.To see the casual good health of western society in her first days home is still a jolt of surprise.

The biggest absence that she has noticed but does not miss: the sounds of war... IED`s, mortar explosions and gunfire...

With her 24 hour day having been broken into 3 hour increments of work, sleep, work, leisure, work, work... she finds now at home she cannot sleep longer then 3 hours at a time. Belinda`s first moment sitting on her bed though was one of pure nirvana, to feel the softness of her mattress beneath her weight... something so small provided her the most immense pleasure.

I planned to step back from posting her blog while she is home so that she might share her own thoughts and experiences, but she has asked me to keep doing so alongside her own posts as she is battling a good case of fatigue that probably won`t get to entirely lift in the time that she is home.

There are many many pictures to share, but anything `revealing` of her location has had to be edited for obvious reasons, but we will share everything else that we can.

Belinda has mentioned repeatedly that she is appreciative to everyone that has come here to read about her travels and experiences. A heartfelt thanks to all!

Till next time,
Julie

On leave already

Hey folks,
Looks like my Mom's done a good job of keeping this thing updated, so just a quick note.
I made it back after a lonnnnnnnnng adventure of airplanes, lost baggage and giant airports. (I'm not a fan of airplanes).
It's awesome to be able to shower and eat, and use a real toilet. Whenever I want. I didn't even realize how much I missed even the smell of Canada, till I stepped out of the airport. Mom had a good meal layed on and my bed made up for me, which was awesome.
Anyways, thanks to all you guys for all the support, it was nice to be able to read the blog comments and see people actually care.
Till next time,
Belinda.

Close call...

A call from Belinda early this AM.
She had just started out onto her rest period but was upset to discover later that day that her post had some excitement (to put this carefully) within mere minutes of her departure. Everyone is okay thankfully...

There had been a sense of something pending, that build-up of tension... It is heart-palpitating to realize that mere minutes made the difference for her that day. And thank God they did. We are grateful that everyone came through this okay...

The first 2 letters arrive!

The first 2 letters from Belinda arrived. Just as we had thought, they take about a month to arrive. These letters are from her first days there... I am para-phrasing snippets of her experiences from her own words. Anything too graphic or that could compromise has been edited out for publishing on the web.

The first letter:

"So here I am in Afghanistan. There is so much to say, but so little we can say by phone...
We have had next to no sleep, but I'm getting more used to the country now. I was so tired and hot , I couldn't eat.
I have heard more gunfire and explosions then I ever wanted to. It is different when you know it is real. The drive out here was the scariest thing, there is something about knowing there is bombs everywhere.
It is such a different country though, I can't believe I get to see it in person. The country is beautiful, even the desert regions. The sky goes forever...the sunsets and sunrises are AMAZING. Sooo pretty I can't even put it into words. There is so much rubble though. Shot down, ripped apart airplanes, blown-up vehicles and buildings, garbage, dead animals. The streets were so crowded. I only saw 5 women huddled in a corner and they didn't look up from the ground when we passed.
Kids everywhere! The majority of them wave at you and give you a thumbs up, a few boys will wait till you pass and then flip you the finger, little buggers...ha ha.

It was surreal arriving at *******. A compound *** m by *** m . A canvas tent but we are building a sandbag wall around it. We have to poop in a bag then burn it in the fire pit. There is a bag we can fill with water and use to shower, but it doesn't work well, so we use baby wipes.
The Afghan Police seem pretty good. The commander shook my hand. They all stare at me while I work but won't make eye contact with me otherwise. They haven't been paid in 2 months. I have got to hand it to them, they are still doing the job with no pay, one got shot in the leg a month ago and is still here working.

Our interpreter is so funny. He lives with us. He let me see a picture of his wife but wouldn`t let the other guys see it. `Not for men!`He says, ha ha. He is from ****** but came without his family. He wants to immigrate to Canada one day. He wanted to go to Quebec but when we told him he would have to learn french, he decided he might want to go to Toronto instead. He is so excited he knows one person in Canada, he shows me their number in his little book. He is a sweet guy, always praying and studying so he can come to Canada.

The locals seem good. They will tell us if they are working in their fields at odd hours so we are not surprised.

It breaks my heart to see the kids playing in this. The main road is littered with IEDs and mines. ** kms are safe because we clear it daily. Local kids play all over the road, heard their sheep etc. I am always praying the kids don`t get hurt. I am getting to know their faces and often then same kids come everyday asking for stuff.

The conditions aside, the kids are like kids in Canada. I was watching them through binoculars and saw 2 kids steal a bike, then some old man came and chased them away, ha ha. It is crazy watching the kids here, they work so hard, all the afghans do. From 4 AM to 6-7 PM or later. The you see them doing irrigation at 2-3:30 AM. You see the kids play, but it is around their work doing farming and irrigation.

The desert looks typical to what you would see on TV, sand dunes and camels. A sandy oasis.
I will end this here and write more later ..."

Letter Number 2 -snipped

"A beautiful day in Afghanistan, ha ha. I am sitting in the sun right now ( yes , with sunscreen) working on my tan, ha ha.It is weird not being able to talk to you whenever I want or for as long as I want.

Our interpreter is fascinated watching me write with my left hand and the way I hold my pen. "Too too hard but beautiful, sir!" He calls all of us "sir", not sure why! He is sweet, the last 2 guys that were here before us, he bought them cigarettes with his own money. That's big considering he only owns one outfit.

There is always explosions and gunfire. We are constantly on edge, it gets very tiresome.
Gotta go on shift, I will write more later!"

And then :

"What a long sh*tty night that was. I don't even know where to start! Things are always broken or in bad shape. To top it off, the generator broke. Usually you don't need heat here but the past 2 nights it was -10, cold when you are sleeping in a tent!

I don't remember what it is like to have 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep... There was an 'incident' a few kms of here. You could hear machine guns and rockets, and see lots of smoke. No Canadians hurt.

In a way, you get used to the sounds of war, you expect to hear it. Anyways, it is almost my shift again, time to get lunch. Talk to you later!"

And then:

" This pen sucks! ( Ink keeps stopping)They are on their way to pick up our letters and re-supply us, so this last note is going to be rushed. Things are going better today. My shift was sooo long last night but I am done now. I have 2 shifts daily in the *****, then maintenance, then *******, and whatever else comes up. Sometimes it gets very busy...

PS: our generator was fixed today so now we have power and heat again! :)"


It took the letters a month to get here, but they were a joy to receive this week. Thanks to all who continue to drop by and keep touch with Belinda this way, it means alot.
Till next time,
Julie

Mail Call!! :)

"Mail Call!"
The 2 sweetest words in the world when you are far away from home. The mail convoy finally made it through, and Belinda was the happy recipient of 4 large parcels and a stack of letters and cards from her family and friends at home.

There were plenty of cheers and enough goodies within those parcels to share around with her peers, so from the dusty heat of Afghanistan, Belinda says she and her fellow soldiers and Afghan peers send a heart-felt thank you!
The parcels were a real morale booster for all!

Belinda says thank you...

Belinda called last night... a good call. A tense week for her there but she said she is feeling better in spite of it. The ability to share and vent her thoughts and feelings about her experiences and share it through her blog as well with her family and friends have helped immensely. She no longer feels alone with her thoughts and experiences.

She says a big thank you to her family and friends for the well wishes and thoughts while she is away.
Even though the parcels and letters have been late in arriving due to irregular shipment in her area, she is always made aware of anything that has been sent, the calls and emails inquiring about her, and the posted comments to her blog.

Technology is a wonderful thing... we are all scattered across this land and overseas, yet remain connected. It made me wonder how people managed several generations ago when during a time of war and crisis, one was left waiting for word for months or more. I am grateful we can share this way.

Julie

When all they face is "this"...

"I now know why some people get bitter after being here..." Belinda said.
"I don't know how the people ( Afghan) here do it. How do they even manage to get up every day when all they face is this?"

Belinda called this morning. It is a really hard day for her, physically, emotionally and spiritually. The "this" that she refers to is the grinding poverty, pain and suffering of the locals that overwhelms the capabilities and resources of their small post.

A month ago they had extreme heat with cold nights. The cold has gone, taking with it the little relief it brought...now it is torrid, blistering heat. The children coming to her post no longer want a small toy or candy- they are barefoot, their feet cracked and bleeding from the broiling ground. They cry and beg for sandals.

The children approaching her farm the land around the post from sunrise to sunset, there is no relief for them, they will walk this scorching soil for the entire length of their days. She feels helpless, angry and frustrated that something so small as a pair of shoes could do so much for someone, yet she does not have the one thing that could bring them some relief.

They ask for water. The Canadians give them what they can. One little boy stands patiently and politely waiting his turn. Belinda offers him the water, and spying the little boy's dad off in the distance bent over and toiling hard, farming in the blistering heat , she offers him a second water and an orange for them to share.
I can hear it in her voice, the anger, the helplessness ...I remind her that her just being there brings change and good to someone's life, even in a moment as small as to offer a thirsty little boy and his father some water.

She feels a boiling rage building in her that she can do so little to help so much suffering. The soldiers all find different ways to cope with seeing so much misery. Some bottle it in, or try to act indifferent, some - like Belinda, rage...

The TV news does not even come close to showing the scope of just what the people there endure. She said the only thing remotely accurate is scenes portrayed in the recent Afghan movie "Kiterunner". She gets a lump in her throat now when she sees little boys and girls done up in make-up, for now she knows what that means. It is not just little kids playing dress up... Where you find extreme poverty, you find sexual exploitation, children are sometimes used for bartering, for survival... Afghanistan, Darfur, Thailand...even here on our North American soil, it is always the youngest and weakest that will pay the biggest price. And those intending harm will exploit every means possible. She is sickened to realize just how many of these children have probably been raped, many repeatedly, at some point in their short lives...

A little girl of 6 or 7 toting a tiny baby. Belinda communicates through the interpreter. The little girl is looking after her infant brother while mom works. They walk the deadly roadway in the blistering heat, where the IED's are found daily and destroyed by the Canadians, but they are just as quickly re-planted in the cover of night by those intending harm. She is upset that these two innocents are walking the roadway in the face of such hazards- but that is the day in the life of a child in Afghanistan.

Belinda is my baby in the midst of all of this suffering and chaos. She is my baby on the hazardous roads there... and all I can do is listen to her experiences and offer whatever verbal comfort that I can, and honor and share the truth of what she sees and feels here.
I share something universal with the mothers of Afghanistan. We all want our babies to be okay...

It wasn't us...

"I know you have probably seen the news now... it wasn't us. I tried to call as soon as I could" Belinda says.

She is right.
We saw the news.
Suicide bomber attacks a Canadian convoy.
One civilian killed, a soldier injured.

Someone we knew was there in that convoy. She nor we know if it was the friend who was injured yet. Injured persons names are not released to the media so we probably will not know for some time. All we know is that they are okay now, and that the injured person is back to duty already.

IMP's ...otherwise known as 'Green Eggs and Ham"

The diet living at a post in Afghanistan is limited at best. While they always have something to eat...sometimes what you have to eat is not all that appealing.

Lately, for reasons unknown, there has been a surplus of breakfast IMP's (individual meakl packs)- referred to in the days of old as green eggs and ham! But as of late, they have not always received the lunch and supper rations when these items are distributed. Considering these IMP's are made with the intent of having a 3 year shelf life, you can just imagine how 'tasty' they are...would you want to consume a piece of 3 year old bread? ;-)...

Now imagine only having breakfast - over and over.

This has led to some inventive cooking with whatever supplies the soldiers could scrounge, most recently they were BBQing bologna. Belinda, who has always had a strong dislike for rice, asked me to send a huge bag of it...even undesirable foods look tasty next to an IMP!

Till next time,
Julie

Roll Over...

Another call , at 5 AM to say she is okay, that she had been involved in a roll over accident. No one was hurt, and everything ended well enough but she would call me back later with the details, she only had a moment.

The second call came later that night and this time she told me what had transpired and told me I could post it in the blog.

They were doing a patrol. Some on foot ahead, Belinda and her gunner contained in the RG31... also jokingly referred to as the 'tonka truck' , or more formally, the "Nyala". It is one of the newest versions of armoured vehicles.

Roads in Afghanistan are not like the roads here, usually pitted and potholed, craters from previous IED's, washed out or resembling more of a goat trail then a roadway. This was a piece of road that they had travelled before, they knew where to expect some IED holes other terrain issues but were unaware that more of the road had washed out/ caved in as they approached the bridge over a small river.

Knowing there was an old IED pothole ahead at the mouth of the bridge, she steered slightly clear of that to avoid it. But the bridge being narrow , and unaware that more of the road had recently caved in, as she drove onto the bridge there was the a strange 'bump' where it was not to be expected - followed by the sickening sensation of realizing that you were going to go off the bridge.

One of her peers on foot looked back and realizing what was transpiring, was frantically yelling and pointing, wordless to her encased in the heavy metal vehicle. She felt the sensation of tipping....ever -so -slowly ...and froze, realizing there was no way to steer out of this, but that you had to ride it out. All her peers on foot were now turned around, looks of horror, everyone realizing in that moment that they were helpless to do anything but watch. Everyone outside and inside the vehicle so frozen still... it was as if everyone stopped breathing, that the slightest twitch or softest exhale might be the catalyst to topple the precarious and painfully slow-tipping vehicle off the bridge.

And it tipped so s-l-o-w-l-y ... she saw the horrified faces of her peers disappear and the water come into view... each second felt like a minute, she said everything was in slow motion. She clung to the steering wheel and braced herself...

Moments later, she hung from the steering wheel, still clinging , white knuckled, as the vehicle landed half on its roof, half on its side in the river.
Landing on her feet, she realized the water was already to her ankles. The large gunner was still wedged into his spot,now half upside down, startled yet still gripping his weoponry controls.

Voices outside and from above, frantic and yelling. Belinda saw the water level rush to her knees in seconds and shouted out for rescue.

How would they get the only accessible door open??? The door alone was 500 LBS, after all, it is an armoured vehicle!! And to do that defying gravity due to the position that the vehicle had landed, the door had become more of an obstacle then escape hatch, a horrifyingly heavy one. She felt the sensation of the vehicle sinking more and frantically shouted again to one of her peers, her close friend Doonsford, came into view.

Adrenalin can do amazing things, he suddenly stopped struggling with the door and with a surge of superhuman strength, hauled that door open and hoisted Belinda out, carried her to safety,and rescued the gunner.

She felt like her legs could not even hold her, the realization of how quickly that vehicle might have become a tomb. But there was no time to ponder this, now herself and the others quickly emptied the vehicle of weaponry and ammunition and waited for the recovery vehicle to arrive... which it did some hours later.

That in itself posed an additional issue, no one wants to be stranded in this territory...

They realized much of the roadway had washed out or caved in and that the mighty Nyala was so oversized and heavy that there could not have been any recourse.

Finally recovery arrived. As they hoisted the vehicle out, the immense 50 cal gun came into view- bent in half. As recovery attempted to right the vehicle, it only made it several feet before hitting another pothole and the vehicle slowly started to topple over again, this time onto it's other side. Belinda and a few of the others broke out into laughter to watch the exact scenario play itself out for a second time...

Finally they arrived back to camp. Hours later , the adrenalin worn off, she realized every part of her body seemed to ache ... but was ecstatic to see that mail had arrived in their absence!! She was almost giddy with anticipation of the numerous letters and parcels that she knew myself, family and friends had sent on some time before...

No parcels, no letters, not even a card - It was a Telus bill!!

Trust Telus to get through when no one else can... even in Afghanistan! ;-)

Jarrod goes home ...

I had mentioned in an earlier post about the young Afghan policeman that Belinda had spoke of, who had left the safety of his new home in Pakistan to join the National Police in an effort to help bring stability to his homeland.(See the post : Good Evening from Afghanistan" February 27th 2008)

These young men of the National Police are an ongoing target of those intending harm over there. So it was a joyous moment when he finally learned he would get some long-over-due vacation time and could go home and see his family. The Canadians had come to know him well and were fond of him. Upon hearing he was the father of a little baby, they then urged him to reconsider returning to his post, the likelihood of him being killed on duty was too high... The debate raged on but finally it was decided that he would return home to Pakistan, this time for good. The Canadian soldiers were relieved to realize at least in this circumstance, one child would be spared the pain of being orphaned by war.

So- good luck to you Jarrod, where ever you are... Belinda says you are already missed by the troops but they derive much joy and comfort from you resuming your role as a father.

Patrols

A quick call from Belinda.
They have been doing foot patrols to neighboring villages. She is frustrated because even though she was trained with intense first aid, she is coming cross illnesses and injuries she can do little for. Things that would be mundane in nature and easily cured in Canada are not in a area crippled and impoverished by war. As the lone female in her group, she is the one to see the women of the area. One she suspected of having internal bleeding, but the male present swore up and down that there had been no impact or injury to the old woman's abdomen, yet everything about the presentation told her is was internal bleeding. Wounds and arthritus, severe infections... her frustration mounts... she feels she can bring little comfort to so much suffering. I try to remind her that to just be there, a caring presence in a moment of someone elses pain, is a comfort...

When you see the kids ...

A call from Belinda this evening...

A soldier died yesterday. "I am okay!" she tells me quickly. He was not from her post... but in the small military family, that does not matter. Our hearts and thoughts go out to the family.

A central theme in almost every call that Belinda makes home is the plight of the children there. This particular call today, she had a heavy heart...day in, day out - she sees these children suffering and the harsh life that war has brought to them. Her ,own living conditions are straight out of the show "Survivor" - but worse...but her worst day would be one of these children's best she has said, having witnessed just how hard their life is and how little they have.

One of the things she noted is the rampant infection to be seen on their hands. The hands of every child she sees are swollen and red, cracked, their nails usually a vivid orange, bleeding, sores. Possibly a water-born contaminant she has said, since just casual contact with the water there once gave her a rash that is still ongoing and hopefully will be diagnosed, the medics are looking into it.

She routinely sees children as young as 3 toiling in the fields alongside their older siblings and parent(s). If you are old enough to hold a shovel or pump a well, you are old enough to help the household. Their hours are long, often well into the night. It is not uncommon for her to see them out working from before sunrise ubntil well past sunset, often a 16 hour day.

But the moments they can let loose and be 'kids' are a joy to her. You could hear the smile in her voice relating a story of tossing a Frisbee from the watch tower, the kids laughing and chasing it, tossing it back to her for her to throw it again.
She told me of a little boy, maybe about 4... trying to run in shoes far too big for his thin, little pigeon-toed feet...yet he had shoes, far more than what the other local children had who ran about barefoot. She said he was the classic little tag-a-long kid, trying to keep up to the rest of the pack. He struggled along yet couldn't catch the Frisbee, couldn't keep up to the other kids, so he started to cry...
Belinda kept tossing that Frisbee till he finally caught it, and after that he was all smiles. He always smiles at her now, waves and gives her a joyous thumbs up now, he is so pleased with himself and his new friend... she is learning a few basic Afghan phrases to engage him in some conversation now.

She also spoke of a shy little girl who would stare, and sometimes cry, and keep her wary distance, till upon getting a little closer, she realized that this 'soldier' was also a girl... and now watches her every move and studies Belinda with a shy smile. No words spoken yet, but Belinda is confident that with time that will change.

Belinda ponders aloud that if it is so hard for them, the soldiers themselves to live like this in the relative short term of less then a year...how is it that the locals and children manage every single day, with so little hope in sight?
The homes she has seen are the epitome of poverty. No door, or a blanket for a door, a blanket for sleeping, she has only ever rarely seen a piece of furniture, most sit on dried blocks of mud. The holes and damage to the interior walls reflect the stark evidence of war...

Children of 3 toiling the fields, young children cooking, cleaning and hand-laundering clothes, hauling water... a child of 11 is more like 16 or 17 she said, they age so fast. Their mortality in this lifestyle is so reduced that a man or woman of 40 is regarded as old.

The only bright spot in most of her days is when she has a little something to give to the children...a small treat of some sort , sometimes a small toy. One little boy of seven struck a cord with her ... he arrived with other children but rather than act like a child of 7, spoke like an adult, looking her in the eye, a strong handshake from such a small hand. She offered him a little toy but he asked for a pen and paper instead. Not having one to give, she again offered the small toy. He accepted the toy graciously, and then he went straight out into the feild and gave it to one of the younger children.

Conditions for the soldiers in these small posts are only a small step up from the locals. To use the bathroom 'bucket' is a 20 minute ordeal of prep and disposal. No soldier at this post has had a shower since they left Canada - and due to the chronic shortage of water...baby wipes have been their only method of trying to get clean ( and those are running out! We have a parcel full of baby wipes ready for tomorrow's mail...) The mattresses promised have yet to arrive, and sand is everywhere, in everything... you adjust to life always having the abrasive grit of sand. She ponders how much of her tan is a tan- and how much of it would wash off if she had access to water...Life in a post of this kind is tense, hot and dirty...it is amazing their morale is as high as it is.

She is thankful for the life she has in Canada, but angry that children have to endure so much. She is sad that life is so unfair, that by virtue of where you were born, you can have so much - and so little.

But for all she sees and feels, the duty she serves, the conditions she must bear to perform that duty, you can hear the light and smile in her voice when she speaks of seeing the kids.

Till next time,
Julie