36 minutes on the road to Kandahar

After the big jailbreak in Kandahar last week, CBC was taken into the city by Canadian Forces to get closer to the story than simply out at the Kandahar Air Field.  

This meant driving on the landmined streets and highways of Afghanistan in a Light Armoured Vehicle (LAV) with Canada's troops. It would be my first such trip.  

Even a LAV can be destroyed if an explosion goes off beneath it, or as is increasingly the case, next to it. Lately the worry is suicide bombers driving by in a car or bike and self-detonating.  

Here's the "To Take" checklist: shatterproof glasses ($50 US at the American PX), a long-sleeved shirt (preferably cotton, which is less likely than other fabrics to melt into your skin if there's an explosion), leather gloves (fire-resistant), earplugs (in case of a loud blast), and of course helmet and flack-jacket. If you don't have any of the above, you're not getting on. No exceptions. Water is also a good idea, albeit technically optional.  

In the back, there's room for six people (five soldiers and me). Two of these soldiers will be standing the whole trip, poking themselves through hatches in the top with their guns drawn.

Up front, besides the driver, there's also a gunner watching for suspicious traffic that gets too close; potential bombers. (The lead LAV, the one I'm in, has a big sign up front telling oncoming drivers to pull over until the convoy passes.)  

Anyway, before they close the back door, one of the soldiers shouts at me: "If there's an incident, STAY INSIDE THE VEHICLE. DO NOT LEAVE THE VEHICLE." And then says, "If I shout for medical gear, grab this brown bag and throw it out the door but DO NOT LEAVE THE VEHICLE. WE WILL DEAL WITH WHATEVER IS OUT THERE.  I REPEAT, DO NOT LEAVE THE VEHICLE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"  

Then he shouts out one more: "If you have to throw up, THROW UP IN YOUR HELMET! DO NOT THROW UP ON THE FLOOR! IT WILL TAKE A WEEK TO GET THE STINK OUT!"  

OK!  

Other rules: I'm not to ask questions; this is a ride only, not an interview situation. Likewise, no photos.  

Still, the soldiers are chatty (even relaxed-looking). I learn one of them is the medic and is from Nova Scotia. She seems really nice and it's good to know someone who knows what to do should there be bleeding onboard.  

Soon enough, someone hits play on an iPod and Radar Love blasts out of the speakers. It's oddly surreal. Both comforting and frightening.  

In fact, throughout the drive it'll be '70s classic rock road songs; Grand Funk, The Guess Who, George Thorogood's Bad to the Bone, and it all seemed somehow bang on.  

Toes and fingers tapping to the music, we pull out.  But because there are no windows, there's little sensation of movement. Nonetheless, we are on the road to Kandahar.  

It's impossible however to not think about what might happen. There are countless big bumps on the road. They look just like speed bumps, a dirt and loose gravel hump running from one edge of the road to the other. A perfect spot for freshly buried IEDs.   

It's a 36-minute drive to Kandahar, and you feel every bump.

'Chic Beige' the new black

My good friend and excellent cameraman Jim MacDonald, who works for another Canadian TV network which shall not be named here (Clue: three letters, starts with C ends with V) has been to Kandahar a few times. Before I left, he got a message to me: "You won't believe the dust." And I didn't. Until I got here.  

At the Kandahar Air Field, it was three days before I saw the sun. The sky is generally, yes, sand coloured. And dust has settled onto and into everything I brought with me.  My black knapsack is now what you might call Chic Beige; my laptop looks like it's been in a Dumpster; and I now tuck my trusty iPod safely in a Ziploc baggie. The things you learn here.  

The dust is so fine that when it settles on the ground it feels almost liquid. And this is what we breathe in all day and night. Don't ask about bodily crevices. Makes for cool sunsets, mind you.  

75 in the shade. Sort of.

As summer arrives in Canada – consider Kandahar. It's been typically in the 40s, sometimes over 50 Celsius since I got here. And it hasn't yet hit the hottest month of the year (August).  

Now consider troops in their Light Armoured Vehicles (LAVs). Emmanuelle LaTraverse, a terrific reporter for CBC's French language TV network who's here with me, bumped into some troops the other day just back from a long trip in a LAV. They told her the temperature inside the LAV was 75. Celsius. Water boils at 100. Think about that.  We get sweaty at home when it's in the upper 20s.  

When we were riding in a LAV the other day, the soldier sitting across from me said when it gets that hot, condensation (i.e. evaporated sweat) starts to gather on the vehicle's ceiling and drips to the floor.

The soldiers told Emmanuelle that the sweaty water was full-on swishing around the floor by the time they got back to the base.   Hard to comprehend.

10 easy pieces  

One of the successes Canadian Forces point to here is that more and more regularly now, Afghans are ratting on the Taliban. Helpfully, this includes alerting authorities to the locations of Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) and landmines.  

A couple of days ago, a few of us were taken by Canadian Forces to see some fruits of those civilian tips. And in a non-descript office room in Kandahar City, all laid out on a 1970s wooden veneer table, there they were: 10 simple, basic bits of massive explosive that they'd just found in the ground – a landmine, detonators, wired artillery and gasoline.  

Canadian Forces vehicles can withstand some of these things. But now insurgents are doubling up or tripling the explosives in them.

I thought a close-up look at these things might be illuminating for some, so I've attached a few photos.

Trying to find truth

So how many Taliban were there in Arghandab this week? Truth is, I don't know. And that's the problem.  

As embedded journalists, our de facto primary source of information is people on the military base. We are largely stuck here, except when allowed out with the troops.  

So this week, when we heard from sources in Arghandab that Canadian Forces were moving in to counter reports of massing Taliban insurgents, we tried to confirm it here. We were explicitly told that we would be wrong if we reported that on CBC. About 20 minutes later, video of Canadian Forces soldiers in Arghandab – shot earlier that day – was broadcast on Al-Jazeera. Someone wasn't telling the truth.  

Next, we had videotape of Arghandab villagers who said they were fleeing their homes because, they said, they were terrified of the 500 or so Taliban moving in, then it was 600, then 650 – a huge number.  The villagers told us they'd been told the Taliban planned an assault on Kandahar, including the Canadian compound.

After we broadcast the pictures of soldiers in Arghandab wearing the Canadian flag, the Canadian Forces acknowledged what was happening. But said it was more like 150 Taliban and downplayed any threat to the Kandahar compound. Meanwhile NATO in Kabul was suggesting it was closer to 400. Who to believe? Take your pick. As embeds, we were left trying to sort conflicting stories and no real way to confirm which was true.  

The Taliban, we were told, typically overstates its numbers because a key weapon for the insurgents is fear. If people think there are a lot of them, they will be more frightened.  

When the militants were subdued (in a joint Afghan-Canadian operation this week) the local governor said afterward they were finding Taliban bodies by the hundreds and hundreds. But no bodies were shown. Canadian Forces standing next to the governor did not dispute his figure but later told reporters they believe it was more like 100 or so.  

Afghan authorities may well want to exaggerate also. For them, the bigger the number of dead Taliban, the better to convince villagers that Afghan soldiers are a strong and capable force.  

So what did we see? CBC was taken to Arghandab the day of the battle and though we heard plenty of shooting and saw the fighting from a distance, we saw just two bodies — Afghan army soldiers killed in action. Then we were taken back to Kandahar. Today, there are pictures of Afghans in Arghandab showing reporters the bodies of about two dozen dead insurgents, claiming many dozens more in other places.  

We try to put as much of this context as we can in our reports. But it can be difficult and frustrating in a job that's all about truth to feel sometimes so far from it.

Announcing casualties at Kandahar Air Field  

The American flag is at half staff again today. It's the second time since I've been here that I've noticed it like that. Sadly, and depending on the day, you'll see different flags at half staff fairly regularly. I saw the German flag like that a few days ago.  

They don't make a big deal of it here, but it's a constant reminder of what's going on.  

I read a blog entry once by CBC Radio's Tom Parry (now in London) who's spent a fair bit of time in Afghanistan. He wrote that his hope was to get through his rotation in Kandahar without having to watch a ramp ceremony for a Canadian soldier. I'm with Tom on that, and so far so good for all involved.  

Inevitable Tim Horton's Entry  

Yes, there's always a lineup.  

There's also a Burger King, a Pizza Hut and a Subway. Funny you don't hear about them. You can also buy rugs, and a nice picture of a clown playing the saxophone. That's all you really need to know.  

Fixer in the cross-hairs (i)  

You may have heard the term "fixer." When reporting from other countries, news organizations often hire a trusted local person to take reporters and camera crews from place to place; someone who knows people in the area and who can act as a translator. These people are known as fixers. In Kandahar, ours is a terrific guy who, for privacy, I'll call Ahmed. He has also shot some of the video I've used in my stories.  

Two nights ago, Ahmed was coming to meet me at the Kandahar Air Field gate (that's as close as he's allowed to get). Usually we're there to meet him, but this time, while he was en route, militants fired two rockets at the base. Sirens went off and everyone had to scurry into one of the many ad hoc concrete bomb shelters they have here. A bunch of us sat there in the stifling darkness for an hour, without a cellphone.  

Meanwhile, the good Ahmed had arrived at the gate unaware of the rocket attack. So he sat in his car across the road trying to call me, and waited and waited and waited. An Afghan man. In a car. In the dark. Near the gate. Just sitting there. While the base was under attack.  

Soldiers at the gate were not impressed.  

Soon enough, two soldiers crept out toward Ahmed's car, guns drawn, fingers on unlocked triggers. They are on standing orders to defend the air field from threat of assault. They can and will shoot to kill. And there's no doubt other soldiers in nearby towers were locked in on Ahmed at the same time.  

When Ahmed saw them (and their guns) he realized what was happening and shouted – "CBC! CBC!" And thankfully for all of us, the Canadian presence here may have saved the day.

Around this time I got out of the shelter and my phone was ringing – it was the soldiers at the gate, who turned out to be great guys, but almost as freaked out by what could have happened as Ahmed was.  

No one wants bad stuff to go down.

Fixer in the cross-hairs (ii)  

So, about those bomb shelters. There are lots of them here. Giant concrete boxes would probably be as far as I'm allowed to describe them, given the rules of being embedded.  

When the sirens go off, that means a rocket is coming. Most of them, I'm told, are duds. But if it's a good one you don't want to be around. Wherever it hits, it would destroy things for about 100 metres in all directions.  

Sensibly, everyone's supposed to make a run for the shelters and typically that's what everyone does. And you sit and you wait and you chat with whoever else is in there. The best shelters have lawn chairs in them.  

This week's sirens went off just AFTER we heard the rockets whiz over our heads.

Coffee? Who needs it?  

The awkwardly-named Provincial Reconstruction Team (or PRT) that you hear so much about in Kandahar is actually a complex of buildings in the central part of the city with a fortified wall all around it. It's used as a base for both Canadian soldiers in the area and Canadians here trying to help Afghans rebuild their country.  

It's also where reporters can stay if they're in Kandahar for a few days. They've set aside a big Quonset-style tent for reporters to bunk in and we stayed there recently.  

Wakeup call? The loudest gunshots you might imagine. Caught us all by scary surprise. Turns out that the visitors' tent is about 15 metres (I measured it) from the target-practice firing range. 

With apologies to Edward Burtynsky

The Kandahar Air Field is all about supplying the troops with what they need.  And only a fraction of that is weaponry. The rest is food, water, shelter, anything you can think of. So besides LAVs, Humvees, and helicopters, you see a lot of these almost everywhere.  

…or you could put a sock on it  

Here's how they keep the dust out of their weaponry.  And it's eco-friendly!  

Our men and women in uniform

You hear much about Canadians supporting the troops over here, even though many of the same people don't necessarily support the war itself.  

So let me tell you about the troops. Nicest people you'd ever want to meet. Unfailingly polite. Rare is a soldier who doesn't smile or say hello when passing by. And they have all been generous with their time and thoughts (even though there are restrictions about speaking on camera).  

Reporters come in here with effectively no combat training and are supposed to follow soldiers around on operations. We sometimes feel like we're getting in the way despite the importance of watching and reporting to Canadians what's happening here.  

But I've yet to meet a soldier who didn't help me in or out of a vehicle, or politely explain what to do should we strike an IED or face some other emergency – even though they've no doubt got more pressing matters to deal with than nosy journos.  

Kudos to them.

Their men in uniform  

At the joint Afghan-Canadian operation in Arghandab this week, we had a first-hand look at the Afghan Army, sometimes described as rag-tag. Part of the Canadian mission here is to "grow" the Afghan Army into something worthy of its moniker.  

Their guns? Old Canadian C-7 rifles (Google it). Their boots? Also donated from Canada. But you can't disguise who's in them.  

Two soldiers were hard to miss: one had the physique of Rambo on double steroids, big black bandana tied around his head, and six (6) gigantic belts of the biggest bullets I've ever seen wrapped over both shoulders. He spent his time just hanging around. He was followed around by another soldiers sporting a similar supply of bullet belts, but who had a physique some more like Gollum's weaker, smaller, creepier brother, if I can carry the film references further. Bizarro.  

A Canadian soldier told me some of the issues in training these guys. For example, often when faced with incoming fire, they don't want to duck, so they remain standing regardless of the danger. Ducking is unmanly, they say.

Book review 

Just before heading here I grabbed The Lonely Planet's new Afghanistan edition, aimed at people who want to come here for fun. As usual with these books, it's a great read.  

Here's some of what it says about Kandahar: "We currently do not recommend independent travel to the south … All road travel outside Kandahar city and the Kandahar-Spin Bolka Route is also not recommended."  

I've no issues with that.

Doctor's orders (i)  

My doctor said to me before coming here, "Don't ever forget where you are. It's easy to let yourself slip into believing you're not in any danger."  

Then last week I had to wait outside the front gate ("outside the wire") for some videotape to be delivered. The delivery was late, so I found myself meandering toward a nearby field to kill time. Like many boys who grow up to be supposedly smart and sophisticated adults, I was of course curious about what the dirt looked like.  

Having crossed the road, and moments from planting my first step on the field, I remembered that whole "landmines in Afghanistan" thing and my doctor's advice.  

Maybe it's better to stay and wait on the boring old road after all, I thought.

Doctor's orders (ii)  

As an embedded journalist, you're required to go through brief emergency medical training with the military once you get here. I had mine on Day Two (having already had such training in a longer format several years ago).

They remind you how to use tourniquets, how to stop bleeding with products such as QuikClot (and you also get reminded how quickly someone can bleed to death if a main artery is slashed – four minutes.)  

They show you grisly pictures of what happens to body parts when they meet landmines, IEDs, bullets or other things. Not pretty.  

The main lesson seems to be to try to stay as calm as possible and to simply do whatever you can in trying to remember what you've been taught when whatever happens, happens.  

Right. Easy.