Marking Time

Sometime in 2011.  Kabul.

My watch strap broke a few days ago.  "Bugger" was my first reaction.  Everything out here is "time critical" or "time dependent".  How was I going to survive without a trusty timepiece on my wrist?  I would be constantly late, missing appointments, forgetting briefs.  People would die for Gods sake.  Well, maybe not.  Having now not worn a watch for a few days, actually it's not that bad. In fact, it hasn't really mattered at all.  I am sat at my desk right now and I have three computer screens in front of me.  Two say 1.05 pm - they are my NATO screens.  I also have a UK machine that says 0837 because it's operating in ZULU time.  Then, on the wall in front of me there are 7 massive monitors showing me what's going on.  Above them is a large red display showing the times in

WASH DC - 0435
LONDON - 0935
ZULU - 0835 - (there's a discrepancy there with my UK computer - I wonder if it matters?)
BRUSSELS - 1035
KABUL - 1305
SYDNEY - 1835

I also have a mobile phone which has the local time on its display.  I don't think I will forget the time.  You can't get away from it.  It's posted everywhere.  It started me thinking - and you know what I am like when I start thinking.  My tour started on (date) and is due to finish on (date).  That's 186 days, 4464 hours, 267 840 minutes, or if you prefer, sixteen million, seventy thousand and four hundred seconds. Trust me, sometimes it feels like the last.  Today is (date).  I have completed 114 (at the end of today) of those days.  Not that I am counting of course.  I'm not.  Really.  Lots of people have "chuff-charts".  Elaborate excel spreadsheets or simple bits of paper on which they mark off the time they have spent in theatre and the time left till they go home.  Most have only two key milestones - R and R and End of Tour.   People are just counting the days till they can go home.  Marking time till someone tells them the job is done and they can leave.  For the civilians amongst you, in the military, "marking time " is when you march on the spot.  Lots of activity but no forward movement.  If that's not a metaphor for what we are doing here, I don't know what is. I am sure there are some very good people, doing some very worthy jobs and making some real progress here.  I genuinely believe that we have made the lives of some Afghans safer and more secure.  I just don't know how long all that will last when we pull out in 2014.  What will happen when the Afghan government doesn't have a hundred thousand coalition troops, with advanced weaponry, high tech surveillance equipment and modern aircraft?  What will become of the enormous military infrastructure that we have developed all over this country?  Only time will tell and apparently the Taleban have a saying regarding the coalition.  "You may have all the watches, but we have the time".

The King is dead. Long live the King.

Afghanistan, 2011

Well, that's that then.  P4 is no more.  Welcome A4.  Not the paper.  General John Allen has taken over command from Gen David Petraeus and now commands the NATO led International Security Assistance Force as well as the US Operation Enduring Freedom.  Actually, not the best week to take over.  The change in command comes as, under the transition plans, we start passing control of some areas to its Afghan counterparts.  On Sunday, ISAF handed control of Bamiyan Province back to the Afghans - It was the first of seven areas to be passed to Afghan security forces under the plan announced by President Karzai in March.  That day, I was involved in the operation that dealt with the aftermath of the attack on the compound of President Karzais' senior adviser, Jan Mohammed Khan, which ended in his death, along with that of another senior parliamentarian.  The same night Afghan and NATO troops fought an overnight gun battle  during which we called in almost constant air strikes on a series of Taliban-held compound strongholds. To top the evening off, I attended a ramp cermony for 7 French soldiers killed over the weekend, where we watched their bodies being loaded onto the flight back to their homeland.  Yesterday, Canada's most senior officer in Afghanistan, Brig Gen Dean Milner, flew out of Kandahar with the last of Canada's combat troops there. That day, the Police Chief was killed in a bomb blast and a spokesman for the governor of Helmand said seven members of the Afghan National Police Force were killed by gunmen at a checkpoint in Lashkar Gah.  Central Lashkar Gah is due to be handed over by British forces to Afghan control tomorrow.  The same day, the Taliban released a video showing the execution of 16 Pakistani policemen captured in a raid, the British lost a soldier, killed by a member of the Afghan National Army, ISAF lost 15 killed or wounded and a number of children were killed when their bus hit a mine.

It's only Tuesday morning.  I don't know how A4 is feeling, but I'm tired already.  It would appear that insurgents have stepped up attacks on troops and senior Afghan officials, whilst maintaining their indiscriminate targetting of innocent civilians.  He must be wondering what he has let himself in for.  Typical of many American military commanders and units, General Allen has a catchphrase, which he uses to sign off on all his meetings, conferences and briefings. It's a trait I have mentioned before among the Americans.  General Allen concludes everything with the words 'Speed and velocity".   He did it today at his first morning update which we monitor by video conference. The Australians in our ops room, with their typical enthusiasm and eagerness to banter/belittle/barrack, immediately yelled they are the same.  In my very polite, very British and, perhaps, very condescending way (they are Australian!) I pointed out that they weren't.  Speed refers to how fast an object is moving.  Velocity is speed with a direction.  You can take one pace forward and one back repeatedly and have speed but no velocity as you aren't going anywhere.  The newly crowned King is getting at least part of his wish.  There is a lot of speed.  Everything is being done at a frenetic pace.  Operations, partnering, mentoring, transition and withdrawal.  At least I think it's speed.  It could be haste, but that's another matter and depends on where you are standing.  It's the velocity I think is the real issue.  Everything seems to me to be heading in different directions.  To train, equip, develop, prepare and then leave the Afghans is the stated direction.  To do it all in the next 2 years is the stated timeline.  2 days into his reign, losses continue, enemy activity intensifies, withdrawals occur and security is threatened.  The crown must weigh heavy.

Bright copper kettles.

July 2012.  Not an Afghanistan one.  Well.  Not much.

I'm 40. I still feel "sixteen, going on seventeen" but the reality is, somewhat, different.  I have crested my mountain, and rather like Maria, am now careering downhill towards the churchyard with unseemly haste. (I'm reluctant to do too much spinning as it tends to leave me dizzy and confused - To be honest, an all too common state of affairs these days).  I may be exaggerating a little here, for dramatic effect of course, but the simple fact is, and I will say it again, I'm 40. I knew it was inevitable.  I knew it was coming, yet, I must confess, it did take me a little by surprise, like the dirty Nazis, sneaking up and "Anschluss"-ing me when I wasn't looking. Perhaps that's the reason for all the introspection and broodiness that some people have commented characterise my recent musings.  Or, perhaps now I'm 40 I just accept that life isn't all raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.  The reality is a lot more dog barks and bee stings. 

As I hit forty, I think it is inevitable that I look back and take some sort of stock.  I feel I have experienced things that make me look at life with a more pragmatic perspective.  Things I thought mattered don't.  Things that seemed insignificant aren't.  I haven't changed, but I'm different.  For the first time in my life I am feeling liberated enough to talk openly about what I feel, without consequently feeling foolish.  For the first time in my life I am confident enough to want to be different, to stand out, to not accept what is and to want more.  I'm not sure what that means, and I'm not sure how I achieve it.  What I am sure of however, is that old Maria had it right you know.  You can't have one without the other.  It's a great big Yin and Yang thing.  What seem like polar opposites, separated by a world of experience are in fact different sides of the same coin, interdependent and interconnected. You can't have the light without the dark, and there is a little bit of each in the other.

I was lying on my bed the other day with my five year old son next to me.  He was reading to me.  He has been at school for less than a year and he can now read.  Such a small, simple thing, but I had a sudden, indescribable feeling of overwhelming love for him I had to physically choke back the tears. This boy, who was born so small I was scared to hold him for fear of hurting him.  My son.  So innocent, so inquisitive, so simple and unaffected.  I missed him so much when I was in Afghanistan, the pain was actually physical.  He literally lights up my life and I would gladly give it for him.  Conversely, I would tear apart with my bare hands anyone who hurt him.  I have seen the suffering of children, in Africa and in Afghanistan.  I have seen first hand the misery of AIDS and war.  I have seen the darkness and I am thankful for the light.

You can forget your cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudels,  your doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.  These are the sugar-coated lies people seem to want to eat and I view brown paper packages tied up with string with suspicion.  Maria was simply attempting to cauterize.  To block out the temporary bad with memories of the good,  by remembering her favourite things. I too have trembled before the thunder.  I have heard the dogs barking and felt the bees stinging, but it is the memories of these that make my favourite things so much more real and valuable, so much more vibrant and tangible.

I am 40.  I am sure I have not yet climbed every mountain and I am equally sure that I will have my fair share of bad times to come, but I too have my favourite things.  So, for now, So long. Farewell.  Auf wiedersehen.  Adieu.

The sound of silence

2011.  Afghanistan

I think I am suffering from writers block, a mental abberation. I haven't been able to think of a topic to write about for well over a week. Either my life is devoid of anything meaningful to say, or my mind has given up completely on any analytical thought and is slowly simmering away in its own juices.  Simply atrophying away.  It 's probably both.  People here talk of getting into a routine.  I think I am now in it.  It's actually not very nice.  I get up - very early in the morning, go to work, finish at lunchtime, go to sleep, get up in the evening, go to work, finish in the early morning, go to sleep, get up at lunchtime, go to work, finish in the early evening, go to sleep.  Rinse and repeat as necessary.  And so it goes on.  Day after day after day, with another 9 weeks stretching out into the far horizon with the end, like the Hindu Kush mountains that surround me.  In sight, always visible, always there, but unreachable.  Ever present, but unchanging.  Life has slowly, imperceptibly, slipped into a constant stream of seemingly irrelevant nothingness.  Operations continue, reports are produced, briefs are given, decisions made,  patrols conducted, and then the same thing happens again.  No-one here seems to have noticed. I'm not sure if I should tell them or not. I wonder if it's important?

Have you ever felt like you needed to say something and then, when you open your mouth/book/email, suddenly realised that you have nothing to say/write/type?  That's how I feel. It's very frustrating.  Here I am, embroiled in a geo-political struggle playing itself out on the world stage, every day seeing events that are being talked about at the very highest level of governments and I have nothing to say.   Maybe that says something in itself.  But then, maybe it's because I am seeing them and the politicians aren't.  Yesterday I spent most of the day working up plans and Mission Briefs to kill some people with a missile strike.  I got it all briefed, approved and organised and then went and watched it on a live video feed.  For tea we had pizza.  I want to write about it, but don't know what to say.

I am also having trouble sleeping.

Deja Vu

2011  Afghanistan.

Its 0500 and I am sat at a desk.  I am pretty sure my eyes are bloodshot and I am definitely finding it hard to focus.  I am also having a strange sene of deja vu.  At least I thought I was.  Apparently I'm not.  Deja vu (already-seen) is, actually, the phrase used to describe an overwhelming sense of familiarity with something that shouldn't be familiar at all.  That's not it at all.  Unfortunately I am all too familiar with this situation.  It happens every other day.  It's definitely not jamais-vu (never-seen), which is the psychological sensation of never having done something that is very familiar.  I would probably welcome that.  I was hoping it was presque-vu (almost-seen) which is the sensation of being on the brink of an epiphany. Reportedly, this is often very disorienting and distracting, rarely leading to an actual breakthrough.  I am definitely disoriented, completely distracted and writing this blog instead of preparing a brief for my boss to deliver to the General is definitely not going to lead to an epiphany.  Perhaps a court martial.  

What's the point I hear you ask?  If I don't hear you ask, I will definitely ask it myself.  What's the point? I just seem to be repeating the same actions on a daily basis.  The whole ISAF headquarters operation here seems to churn out the same presentations, the same briefs, day after day with an increasing monotony.  The first five hours of my day on this shift consist mainly of cutting and pasting todays numbers and operations into yesterdays format.  Please don't get me wrong.  I don't disagree with the mission that we have here.  I don't believe the aim is worthless.  In fact I believe if we actually want this to work we will have to increase our commitment with more resources, more money, more people.  I don't think we will, but that's what is needed to complete the job. I also don't doubt that my role, in its own little way, is important.  Not as important as many others I admit, but nonetheless important.

By the same standard no one should doubt the bravery of our soldiers, who carry out their patrols in the searing heat, in constant danger with little to look forward to except more of the same the next day, the next week, the next month.  No one can deny the tactical success this achieves at a local level, despite the cost in blood, sweat and tears.  I do question whether this sacrifice will be enough to secure within three years the wider strategic goal of stabilising Afghanistan to the point where the Afghan authorities can govern the country without outside intervention.  We tried it in the nineteenth century, the Soviets tried it in the 1980s and now in the 21st century we are back, along with the rest of the Coalition trying it again.  Just over a year ago, the then Foreign Secretary, David Miliband, asked a couple of Afghan ministers how long Afghan government authorities would stay on in Helmand after Western forces left. The expected answer was "decades" or even "forever". The actual answer was "Twenty-four hours".

I think I am having a strange sense of deja vu.

What will you do when you get home?

2011.  Afghanistan

We were having that conversation last night.  You know, the "What are you going to do when you get home?"-one.  The one where the guy with the fewest days left gets shot shortly after, probably just before he boards the helicopter that takes him out of the combat zone.  The one where the fresh-fashed, eager,young idealist embarrasses himself with talk about the glory of war and how he is going to marry his school sweetheart, before dying horribly in some vain and pathetic way, probably on a doomed-from-the-start patrol, codenamed "Operation 50-50", or "Mission Certain Death". I tend to avoid any missions with dubious operation names (mostly the American ones - they actually had an operation called (in Pashtun) "Operation Get-some"  Hmmm.  Steer clear of that one.)  Anyway, luckily, I wasn't the youngest, I am already married and I still have quite a while left on my tour.  I think I will be ok.  Not sure about Dave though...Probably stop talking to him.  Anyway, we were having that conversation again.  I say again, because we have it a lot.  Even though, if we paid attention the first time, we would know how long Stefan has left and what job John is going to do on his return.  We have the conversation again though because when we had it last time we didn't really listen to what anyone else said.  Mostly because we don't really care.  We don't care that Bruce likes Harleys, American Colins mother was Scottish, or that Parkys wife is a bit of a nag.  We have the conversation, listen, sometimes politely, to other peoples answers and bide our time until it's our turn to speak.  We then regale everyone with our pipedreams, plans, half-baked ideas and sometimes even an honest answer or two.  I am sure they listen to me.

Anyway, the point is, that, to a man, everyone here wants to do something when they return to whatever country they call home.  It may be build a summerhouse by the lake in Sweden, drive across Europe on a motorbike, restore a car or learn to play the guitar.  It doesn't really matter what it is, but everyone has something.  I think it's because we realise a few things.  Firstly, we realise that a day is an awful long time and secondly, we waste an indescribable amount of that very valuable time.  If we worked the hours we work here on the things we love, we could accomplish great things.  If we invested the time we spend here with our children, wives and families, we would be happier.  If we just got off our bums, stopped wasting that precious time, and actually did stuff, life would be better.  I am convinced it's true.  I am so convinced it's true that I have great plans for when I get home.  I am going to get an extension, I am going to buy the Land Rover Defender I have always really wanted and I am going make the effort to go to the hills walking more.  I am going to take the family camping more (whether they like it or not),  I am going to go places and I am going to do things. I am going to enjoy what I have, make the best of it and live life the way it's meant to be lived.

Dave's off to the Tangy valley tomorrow.  Hope he'll be ok.

Shades of Grey

Afghanistan, 2011

Afghanistan has claimed another victim.  Lower flags, remove headdress and brace up.  Another casualty of war.  My hair.  It has finally happened.  I have, over the last month, developed some greying at the temples.  I was hoping to make it to my 40th next year with my lustrous thick black hair, but alas it was not to be.  Instead I am doomed to celebrate with, what I am convinced will now be, a "dignified older gent look"  Bit George Clooney?  Maybe not.  I am hoping it will add some gravitas.  Maybe not.  In a bid to explain this I have done some research.  You know how I love that.

Apparently greying hair could be caused by stress.  Don't laugh!  It's hard work out here. I will certainly not be using that travel agent again to book my holidays.  They were right about the all-inclusive though.  Haven't spent much money out here.  Mind you, the sea views are a bit elusive and the locals aren't quite as friendly as the brochure made out.  I will probably mention it on Trip-adviser.  Anyway I digress. The greying could also be caused by a deficiency of Vitamin B12, usually found in fish and shellfish (see, it's not just me who can't find the beach), liver, eggs, milk, and milk products.  All of which are in short supply.  I don't think I have had egg more than once since I got back from R and R.  I will probably have to face up to it and admit though that it could, finally, and probably most likely, be caused by age. Apparently changes in hair color occur naturally as people age - no-one ever mentioned that to me.  Apparently my hair will turn gray and then white. They certainly didn't mention that.  This is called achromotrichia. More than 40 percent of people have some gray hair by the time they are 40.  Why does everything seem to happen at or about 40?  I can sense some emails on that subject as we draw ever closer to the big 4 0.

I think it's best if we can all agree (nod wisely) that it is probably a combinatuion of all three.  Premature greying caused by a combination of poor diet, stress and age.  Yes?  Well that's what I am going to put it down to.  I don't care what you say.  I bet you are all wondering how I am going to cleverly weave my greying hair into some pithy, apposite yet incisive diatribe on the trials, tribulations and situation here in Afghanistan.  You are probably thinking, I could mention  there is always a blurred area, a grey area.  An area where we have to negotiate with the Taliban (never say never), a grey area where we have to turn a blind eye to corruption as a way of life in government, a grey area where we gloss over the fact that the Afghans have neither the will or capacity to govern their own country.  A grey area where no-one appears to be minded to do anything about the staging areas for terrorism that lie just across the border in Pakistan.  A grey area where, despite the Generals advice that we have neither the manpower or equipment to do the job properly now, we are already planning the draw down.  I could say all that, but I won't.  You have already thought it. 

I could say it's not as simple as black and white.  Like my hair, it's a combination of factors.  Its all shades of grey.

Flagging Efforts.

Afghanistan.  2011


On one of our last briefs to General Petraeus this morning, the future director of the CIA urged us not to flag in our efforts to bring permanent and lasting security to Afghanistan.  His choice of words gives rise to another one of those delicious ironies that seem to be scattered around out here like so many rocks in the desert.   Did you know that Afghanistan has had more changes of its national flag than any other country in the world?  Is anyone surprised?  Like much in this country, the flag is transitory, subject to change and lacking in stability.  Since 1747 Afghanistan has had at least 20 different flag designs.  7 of these changes occurred in the four years from 1926-30.  The current flag (since January 4, 2004) consists of three vertical stripes - black (for the past), red (for the blood shed in its quest for independence) and green (Islamic faith and hope for the future).  In the centre of the flag is a mosque with its mihrab facing Mecca.  The script surrounding it consists of a date - 1298 - the solar Islamic date that is equivalent to 1919 (year of independence from Britain) and the word "Afghanistan".  Above the mosque is the shahadah.  The Shahadah is the Muslim declaration of belief in the oneness of God and acceptance of Muhammad as God's prophet.  One single, honest, recitation of theShahadah in Arabic is all that is required for a person to become a Muslim.  Bloodshed, history, religion, occupation, independence.  That's quite a lot to put on a flag.  No wonder they can't seem to agree on it's design for long.  Maybe the Taliban had the right idea - their flag was. plain white.  Well, it was for 3 years, before even they could not resist tinkering with it and added the Shahadah.  Even something ostensibly as simple as what the flag represents is pretty fluid.  Since 1926, Afghanistan has been an Emirate, a Kingdom, a Republic, a Democratic Republic, a Republic (again) an Islamic State, an Islamic Emirate, an Islamic State (again), a Transitional Islamic State and finally an Islamic Republic. 

In one of those curious coincidences that make writing these emails a little easier, a change over of senior military members is known as a "Flag change".  With Petraeus due to leave and be replaced by General Allen this month, with 30 000 troops due to leave, with uncertainty over the future security and stability, perhaps it's time for one?

School Daze.

Afghanistan.  2011

OK.  Remember in one of my earlier emails I discussed the New year in Afghanistan?  Well I did.  It's now 1390.  I was happy with that.  Merrily making my way through the Dark Ages feeling very smug at my technological advancement.  Confident in the certainty that I knew what year it was.  Well, I thought I was, but it appears I was wrong.  Well.  I wasn't, but I was.  It is definitely 1390. But it's also 1432. Confused?  Surprised?  Alone?  Bewildered? Yeah, I know how you feel.  It's like being back at school.  You would have thought I would have gotten used to it by now, but, oh no.  Just as I am walking hand in hand with my new, best, Afghan-partner, friend  (sometimes literally - don't ask - subject of another email), this country turns around, looks at me with a pitying smile, and pushes me backwards over another, crouching, Afghan who has crept up behind me, before they both walk off, giggling, feeling chuffed with their schoolboy prank.  It's all my fault I suppose.  I deserved to be treated like a school boy as I had made a school boy error.  Instead of using the Solar Hijri, I had used the Lunar Hijri.  How could I have been so stupid?  Don't answer that.  It was rhetorical. 

This current confusion stems from a conversation I had with a member of the Afghan National Police about Ramadan and its likely impact on operations (see - I do stuff! - it's not all emails and chai). The date of Ramadan is important because basically everything slows down or stops.  It's hard not to laugh at that because I find it difficult to comprehend quite how much this country can slow down, bearing in mind it's normal speed is slightly slower than the fat, wheezy boy who always forgets his trainers for PE and its interest levels are usually on a par with the girl at the back who is chewing gum and playing with her hair.  You see, if you pay attention, you will learn that most of the Islamic world use the Lunar Hijiri Calendar.  Just because it has the word lunar in it, don't think it is.  Well, it kind of is.  Unlike the actual lunar calendar that the Western World use, the Lunar Hijiri calendar is based on the Hilal, the very slight crescent moon that is first visible after a new moon. Hence the crescent being the symol of Islam.  See!  Learning stuff all the time.  Such a sighting has to be made by one or more trustworthy men testifying before a committee of Muslim leaders before the end/beginning of a new Islamic month can be declared.  Each Islamic state awaits its own monthly observation of the new moon before declaring the beginning of a new month on its territory. Given that weather, time, geographic location and the fact that the moon sets progressively later than the sun as one goes west, all influence the sighting, the beginning of each month differs from one Muslim country to another, and the information provided by the calendar in any country does not extend beyond the current month.  In fact, you often don't know if a month is going to have 29, 30 or 31 days in it.  Makes planning child care for half-term a little tricky.  So there we have it - The Lunar Hijiri Calendar, with the first year being the year during which the prophet Muhammad emigrated from Mecca to Medina, known as the Hijra.  Hence we are in 1432

So back to Afghanistan.  Afghanistan, being the weird kid who hangs around with other weird kids, uses the Solar Hijiri (Iranian) calendar.  Afghanistan adopted the Iranian calendar in 1922, but changed the names of the month.  Typical.  So Afghanistan goes on, insisting it's 1390, while the rest of the Islamic world say it's 1432 and the remainder of the non-Islamic world declare it to be 2011. In fairness, it is the most accurate solar calendar, but I'm not sure that matters.  It doesn't matter how clever it is, or how right it is.  It's still weird and it will still get picked on. You can't help but look at it and feel sorry for Afghanistan.  Its adherence to its calendar bears strong comparison with its international standing.  Use of the solar calendar associates Afghanistan with a social outcast, separates it from the majority of its potential friends and partners and confuses the rest, who look on with bemusement, a degree of sympathy, but a reluctance to get too close.

By the way, Ramadan starts on 1 August 2011 this year.  Right in the middle of school holidays.

Casualties of War

Afghanistan.  2011


It's almost the end of the month.  July has seen a great deal of bloodshed, throughout Afghanistan in general and Kandahar specifically.  You are probably aware of many of the high profile killings.  Those of President Karzais brother, or the two turban suicide bombings of the city's senior cleric and the mayor.  You have maybe even seen footage of the attack on the Intercontinental Hotel or the gun and bomb attack that killed 22 including a BBC journalist.

I saw this week one other murder that stuck in my mind.  One of the countless killings that occur daily here, but this was a murder that was never widely reported.  A murder that was never condemned by the great and good.  A murder that provoked no words of outrage.  A murder that just passed by, silently, an unimportant, un-newsworthy event.

Reena was twenty years old and she worked for an Afghan non-governmental organisation called The Organization for Human Welfare.  Funded by Western Charities, The Organization for Human Welfare raises awareness of good health practices amongst women, whilst promoting peaceful values.  Reena worked primarily in rural districts of Kandahar, traditional safe-havens for the Taliban, where security is precariously balanced and the fighting is intense.  Reena was paid ten dollars a day and was the sole earner in her family.

Reena was studying at a Girls High School, wanting to study at University.  Both ideas anathema to the Taliban.  She was a fervent believer in women's rights. This sealed her fate.  On Sunday, as Reena was walking home from school, she passed the Governors Palace in Kandahar, one of the most tightly guarded spots in the city.  As she walked, dressed in a full burka, two men on a motorcycle pulled alongside her and shot her three times.  Once in the head, then once in the mouth, then once in the neck.

Her body was taken to hospital but no autopsy was conducted.  No examination was made of her at all.  Because she was wearing a burka, it was just assumed she was female.  The police did not collect any evidence.  No investigation will be made, mostly because there are no professional investigators.  If there were, there are not enough judges to review and try any cases.  No juries will sit fairly in judgement because of fear of recrimination.  If, improbably, the murderers were caught and found guilty, the prison system is so corrupt they could purchase their own freedom.

Reena was buried on Monday.  Her blood, which stained the pavements of Kandahar, has probably already been scattered in the dust that blows through this damned country.