Andreas Meyer - YOU COULD DIE ANY DAY

The teamwork with our Austrian comrades was characterized by professionalism and yes, you may call it harmony, which was clearly due to a similar cultural background and both our nations speaking the same language. My impression was confirmed by Armin who had to work with them outside the camp on a daily basis and like me had the chance to join my Austrian colleagues for patrolling KUNDUZ city one time.

This patrol was one of the most intense experiences I had outside the base. We began our way from the direction of the Atzbeigi Mosque, along the Spinzar company which was the biggest supplier for cotton in whole Afghanistan those days. The people, especially the youngsters and the children greeted us in heartwarming ways, giving us the feeling of being welcome. It’s a wonderful but also strange feeling that is spreading through my whole body thinking of what we were told during pre-mission training of being in the back sight every moment of our mission. I have to mention that in those days it was possible for us to perform patrols without heavily armored vehicles. This changed rapidly the following years.

Austrian soldiers on patrol

One of the most fascinating things was the alignment of the streets where the merchants were offering their goods. It was so different from how it is at home, where you have stores or the weekly markets, where there is one tent with fruits and vegetables and at another you would find cheese. In Afghanistan you have one street where you find fabric of all variations and colours. Another only for all types of meat. Another only with coal and wood. And so on and so on. Heads of cow and sheep hanging in front of doors or being presented on tables. As said, it is absolutely incomparable with Europe.

Being as different as it is, it’s working out well. Goods are cooled with ice cubes as it was done for hundreds of years. Being a qualified cook, my heart bet like hell when I saw and smelled all those exotic seasonings offered in one of the streets. The Pakistani / Indian influence is obvious in the afghan culinary culture. The most favored seasoning in afghan cuisine is Garam Masala, which is a mixture of Safron, Cinnamon, Mint, Caraway seed, Pepper and Chili. Other much appreciated seasonings in Afghanistan such as Dill, Coriander and Cloves are proof of the Persian and Arabic influence. This country could be a paradise to me, if it was not for the serious cause of my presence there.

A few days later I got the opportunity to go to the city’s market for "shopping" along with my interpreter. I had to buy wood for some construction work that had to be done in the

camp.

spice market in Kunduz, a paradise for cooks

The translator wears the national costume. I am clearly recognizable as a soldier in my uniform. I'm obviously the stranger. I'm getting scared for a moment. I realize that something could happen to me. The unknown dark faces with their long beards are watching every step we make. The security situation then was very uncertain. A stay on this market was definitely not safe. As it turns out later, my feeling was not unfounded, but this day the uneasy feeling in my stomach remained without consequences. In hindsight, I probably worried too much. This day would be the last one I felt this kind of fear.

The impressions of this day remain in my memory in every detail. In the coming days, weeks and months I will experience situations that are similarly threatening, but which I will not experience as intensively as on this particular day. But such thoughts and feelings about possible threats should be quickly forgotten when you are on a mission. One just has to walk through the streets with open eyes and a sharp mind.

The amazing thing about Afghanistan is that its people are very hospitable and friendly to strangers. They condemn the attacks of the terrorists the same way as the rest of the world does.

It is a shame that due to the war these people cannot do more for their country like developing tourism. In my eyes, this wonderful country and its people deserve it.

Street vendor of flatbread in Kunduz

T

here is an Afghan baker near the camp where you can buy fresh bread every day, except on Fridays. While the flatbreads are in the oven, they are moistened several times with green tea. This is quite straight forward; the baker just takes some sips of tea in his mouth and sprays the tea on the bread. This generates the necessary humidity for the bread. At the end, the bread is sprinkled with salt, which gives them a spicy touch.

Despite of this unusual production method, it had become a tradition for us soldiers to eat there together every Saturday evening, and on this occasion this bread is eaten with pleasure. Additionally, we also put some specialties from home on the table.

It is actually very idyllic sometimes, which one probably cannot imagine. We sit at our table in front of our hut protected by trees and shrubs. In front of us on the table are the fresh flatbread, sliced bacon and ham from the black forest as well as homemade canned liver sausage, smoked blood sausage and fresh paprika, cucumbers and garlic.

We do this every Saturday evening with the COY commander, the first sergeant and other comrades. For a short time, it feels like holiday and we forget that we are on a mission in a war-torn land.

O

n my daily round through the camp I visit various departments to see if everything is OK. Today I focus especially on the supply group that will receive a new load of barbed wire for the outer camp wall. Besides that, I am waiting for a lot of spare parts for our vehicles.

From a distance, I already see the truck of an Afghan transport company. I watch briefly as the truck is unloaded and checked by the supervising NCO of the supply group if all parts we have ordered were on board or whether I will have to make a phone call like so many times before.

Suddenly I hear the siren of the ambulance and two other vehicles of the security company leaving the camp. I keep on concentrating on the unloading of the truck. Half an hour later I make my way to my office and hear from other comrades that there was an attack in Kunduz. That moment it was not clear if there were Germans among the victims.

I sit in my office feeling bad. The recce squad that had left the camp this morning still isn’t back. When my boss enters my office, I turn to him asking immediately if he has any news. He does not. Further information has not been spread so far. The security component though requested additional personnel.

Sometime later we hear the sirens of a bunch of ambulances entering the camp. There are definitely a lot of casualties I think to myself. We often witness the procedures of wounded being brought to the camp, so we know that our medics take their job seriously and handle it professionally.

At about 1900 I have to meet with the air logistics supervisor to coordinate the loadings for the upcoming day. On the way to him I pass the surgery containers of our medics and watch some red fluid leaving the containers drain hole forming a puddle at the back side of it. That means that our medics had some awful work to do. The thought of me lying on their table one day makes me shiver.