(18SEPT2008)
My last day in Sharana, I spend the morning finishing up some data collection. After lunch, my colleague and I swing by the bazaar. Held once a week, the bazaar is an opportunity for LNs to sell their wares: usually bootleg DVDs, jewelry and loose gems, rugs, and random knick-knacks catering to the American visitors.
We had a bazaar in Balad (Iraq) that was open 4 days a week and it was much the same, except the proprietors were fairly passive there. At the bazaar in Sharana, the vendors are more vocal, pushy even, trying to persuade you to look at their merchandise and then, of course, to purchase it. The first table is covered with paper plates holding gems of various shapes and colors. As we pass by, the merchant is holding out a gem and saying “It’s a freakin’ diamond” over and over. He barely speaks English, but he knows “freakin’”.
The rest of the bazaar is typical. I buy some Afghani money after verifying that everyone’s selling it for the same price, and some incredibly cheap DVDs, but I’ve plenty of time to scope out any large purchases (I’ll probably buy a rug at some point).
We end up passing the same freakin’ gem dealer as we’re leaving and decide to sit down and chat with him. He has a little device, a meter with a needle that moves when he presses the pencil-like probe against each gem. He shows us that the needle doesn’t move into the “diamond” range when he tests what look like diamonds – “Fake. Fake. Fake,” he says as he files through them. Then he gets to the black diamonds and the needle jumps the far right. “Diamond!” He explains (sort of) that all white diamonds in Afghanistan are fakes. Good to know.
Unimpressed by this high-tech display, I do not spend $230 for a black diamond and we depart the bazaar.
My flight back to Bagram is on a C-130. I hate C-130s. They’re not particularly fast, there’s no view, the temperature fluctuates wildly, you’re crammed into uncomfortable sling-seats shoulder to shoulder, takeoffs make everyone shift into uncomfortable positions that you never recover from, and you have to wear your body armor when you fly in them. Other than that, they’re great.
I get back to Bagram just before the DFAC closes for dinner, so I’m able to grab a bite to eat, which is nice. I ate a light lunch to avoid yacking on the plane, and today is the US Air Force’s 61st birthday, so the chow is slightly better than usual. I even celebrate with the airmen by having a piece of the enormous birthday cake, which wasn’t half bad.
I finally collapse into my room, weary from the travel. I’m mostly asleep, I think, when the Big Voice announces a Fallen Comrade ceremony at 0000 hours (midnight).
I’m exhausted, I’m sure everyone is exhausted, but the road fills up on both sides again because we all feel that it’s the least we can do, that it’s one of our duties. It’s a long procession this time, with 6 caskets.
LNs = Local Nationals (in this case, Afghanis)
DFAC = Dining FACility
