the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

“Look. Even the girls are throwing rocks at us,” the pilot said,
pointing at the hillside below. Indeed, the girls were.
“Everyone throws rocks at us,” the copilot answered. We all laughed.
Our helicopters landed outside a tiny base in the middle of the
desert, kicking up sand into a swirling cloud of beige as we jolted to
the ground. Quickly we climbed out the back, where the sand soon
clogged every orice, my eyes, my nostrils, my ears, my mouth, choking
me and erasing the bulk of my senses. I pushed through the beige,
following the dark outlines of the translator and other U.S. soldiers,
wearing one backpack, carrying another with my right hand, my helmet
slipping sideways on my head. I saw shapes of people waiting to board
the helicopters back to Kandahar. One shape grabbed me by the ak
vest.
“Are you a journalist?” he shouted over the roar of the helicopter.
“Yeah. You’re a photographer?” I shouted back, noting his camera.
“I’m a German photographer,” he corrected. “This place is hell. Get
out while you can.”
The shape then turned and ran for the helicopter. I stared after him
for a few seconds, wishing I could follow, then, resigned to my fate,
pushed through the hot dust fog toward a truck, where I dumped my
bags gratefully. We then trudged inside the base. I saw the Uzbek head
off with some men with beards. I never saw him again.
“Hell” was a compliment. The temperature here soared higher than
120 degrees. The new base was modest, a few big tents that each slept
fty or so people and kept getting blown down by the winds, which
whipped through the camp like a thief, leaving behind a ne dust the
consistency of talcum powder. Barbed wire and a ring of HESCOs, large
bags filled with sand, protected the camp. Sentries stood on a hill above
the camp and in guard towers. In the desert that stretched forever,
seeing anyone approach was easy. It was not that obvious what the
soldiers were doing out here. Their goal was supposedly to clear the
territory of bad guys, hold the territory, and build stu for Afghans. Yet
barely enough soldiers were here to ll a movie theater, let alone clear
anything or hold it. And the closest town, again, was three miles away.
The media handler, an aable soldier with thick Mr. Magoo glasses,
introduced himself and explained the camp and its rules. He pointed
out two large guns on the side of the base, 105-mm howitzers, and told