While some of the folks may be sinister, most of them are honest and hardworking. Life is really rough around here. Saying that it was spartan would be a step up. Hands are always dirty, with grime-encrusted, yellow fingernails, and I have yet to meet a villager will ALL his teeth. They manage to eke out the meager existence of tenant farmers, and they trade their crop the best they can. Poppy is the most profitable, but it leads to some very dangerous associations. Motorcycles are the vehicle of choice, and fuel for them is often used as currency.
Given that we work at a police station, there is always alot of foot traffic in the area. People come to report crime. They come to visit relatives in the jail. They come to complain about living conditions in the town. Sometimes they just come to b.s. with the chief. A common thread among them is that they rarely speak much English, so we are left to wonder who exactly they are.
I’m convinced that some are Taliban, and others are Taliban sympathizers, but there is nothing we can do about that without offending our hosts. Family is very big around here, and often people would regularly associate with distant cousins just like they would a sibling. That being said, everyone around here knows at least one Taliban, I guarantee it. Needless to say, we’re always alert.
Despite the harsh conditions, and the difficulty involved maintaining basic hygiene, the Afghans clothing is ornate and beautiful. If not in the intricacy, definately in the style. Men wear large white turbans, and flowing robes, and I can’t tell you what the women wear, because they are a rare sight out of doors, and NEVER come to the station.