Pete Law: 9 Jan 2003

9 Jan 2003

Paul,

Day two here. I had a tough night. My stomach found no favor with my late dinner and I had a very uncomfortable time with it all. It was a night of teething. The breaking of the tension. I know it well. There is no easy way to wade into a conflict like this. I knew I had to do it on my own. It was the baptism of fire that you go through every time. Like being baptized only more often and with more water. I knew it was normal to feel like I felt no shame in my fear.

This is such a strange and beautiful place. I lay in bed for hours under the eerie red glow of the neon hotel sign. I could smell the market below. I recognized the smell of Frankincense on the wind. Of the rice fields just outside of town. For a moment I was back in the Ivory Coast, the sound of the ocean. Then back again.

I could hear the fighting off at a great distance, an angry, almost electrical noise. The faraway conflict barely audible over the hum of the great red neon light that painted my room in color. "What kinds of weapons were these?" I thought to myself anxiously. A constant buzzing noise. A mini-gun? A new weapon being tested here where no reporter dared travel? I would know soon enough. I would know it all.

I made several trips to the outdoor commode before settling under the surprisingly well-made electric blanket that was supplied by the hotel. I made peace with the fact that it was going to be rough here in Afghanistan, but I knew it would be ok. I looked down at Pedro and saw that he was lying awake, under the bed, watching my every move. The boy is taken by me and sees me as a hero of sorts. I am very good looking compared to Afghani men. I smiled at him and thought for a moment of taking him to Soccer game in South America or, perhaps, a bullfight. How many things there were for this boy to see.

It was the sound of the fighting brought me back to reality. I had already blocked it out, my combat senses coming back. I felt stronger. That had been a large weapon fired in the distance. The report had been as loud as a car backfiring in the street below. I dismissed the notion that the Rebel Alliance was moving my direction and made a commitment to get some sleep no matter the danger.

I made the sign of peace to Pedro and fell asleep, dreaming of the cranberry fields back home. I will tell you Paul; there is no place in the world like the Midwest and I miss you all.

I will write more this evening. We have a long day ahead of us.

Last modified about over 1 year ago.

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