FULL-CONTACT WARFARE VS. COMFORTS OF HOME

Troops Grinding It Out In The Desert Laugh At Soft Life Of
KAF

CANADA ISN'T the only place with two solitudes.

When I first landed at Kandahar Airfield a month ago, I figured this
was life-or-death Afghanistan. Turns out I was wrong. After spending
a few weeks with troops who spend most of their time outside the
wire, it became obvious that the massive base everyone here refers to
as KAF is not a particularly unpleasant or dangerous hardship post.

Sure, it's hot, dusty and halfway around the world from family and
friends. And yes, the Taliban do launch occasional rocket attacks at
night. But after you hear one whiz and a thump far off in the
distance, the novelty wears off pretty fast. It doesn't take long to
realize that, since the odds of a direct rocket strike are slim, it's
easier not to think about it, roll over and go back to sleep.

On the amenities front, KAF isn't half bad. It features
all-you-can-eat salad bars and freezers full of ice cream. Dining
hall menus boast steak and lobster one night and crab legs the next.
Plus, there's a boardwalk full of fast-food outlets where you can buy
anything from a burger to Korean food. There's even a pizza place
that delivers right to your tent.

Contrast that with life on a small Canadian patrol base where danger
is imminent, showers are limited, shade is hard to find and most
meals come ready to eat from a bag.

"This is the real army shit, working out here," says a medic who has
experienced both worlds.

"Being in KAF is pretty sweet."

Soldiers in the field have a relatively low opinion of the folks they
refer to as KAFers.

"They don't leave and it drives me nuts. They get paid the same as
us," says Pte. Matthew Oakley of Lower Sackville.

"People are in there every day playing hockey, going to Tim Hortons
and stuff. And we're out here."

He sighs long and hard. "But we suck it up."

The 19-year-old is a rifleman with India Company. During the three
months he's been in Afghanistan, Pte. Oakley has only spent four days
at KAF.

During a recent interview, he munched toast and drank coffee while
sitting in a dusty tent at Patrol Base Wilson.

"When we first got over here we were at a strong point. It was less
than this," he says. "It was just sandbag bunkers and no showers. We
got fresh meals brought to us every couple of days, but it was
rations most of the time."

Strangely enough, soldiers who spend most of their time in the field
seem to prefer the austere lifestyle.

"I'm glad I'm out here because if I was in there, I'd be broke all
the time and time would go much slower," says Pte. Oakley, adding the
past three months has gone by "super fast."

The army argues the people at the pointy end of the battle group
couldn't do their jobs if it weren't for the soldiers who support
them from the rear.

And it's unlikely that many front-line soldiers, despite their often
bitter complaints, would switch the back of a dirt-crusted light
armoured vehicle for hot showers, iced cappuccinos, continuous
Internet, cable TV and an air-conditioned gym.

"We couldn't live in KAF," Sgt. Peter Nyitrai-Hacz of Springhill said
after an eight-kilometre foot patrol that started at 3 a.m.

"Out here everything is different. Every day is something new. If we
do something different like this every day, the weeks just fly."

War is normally full of contradictions, and this one is no
different.

Canada is spending billions on new tanks and planes for the war in
Afghanistan. Yet some soldiers here had to buy their own boots
because the army wouldn't cough up for a model that's comfortable in
the desert.

"There's a lot of people upset over the boots," one soldier says.
"Boots are a pretty important thing. We do a lot of walking. You
would think that they would have good footwear for us at least."

Afghanistan is one of the most heavily mined countries in the world.
It's no secret that each step Canadian soldiers take outside the wire
could be their last. But everyone tries to force such thoughts out of
their minds.

"If you think about it, you'll go crazy," says Cpl. Matt Elliott, of
Dartmouth. "And if you spend all your time looking down at the
ground, then you're going to miss what's happening around you, which
is equally dangerous."

Canadian generals and politicians often talk about how the presence
of NATO's International Security Assistance Force has made it safe
here for children to go to school. But most of the schools in Zhari
district that were destroyed or abandoned during last year's
fighting in Operation Medusa have yet to reopen. Civil-military
cooperation officers say they can't build new ones until the area is
secure. The delay has left thousands of children at loose ends in
Zhari.

"If they don't go to school they will get weapons and start killing,"
says Sarber Mohammad, the principal at Pashmul Middle School.

Narcotics present another paradox for Canadians in Afghanistan. It's
impossible to ignore the fact that fields of opium poppies and
marijuana are growing everywhere. Canada doesn't officially endorse
the watered-down eradication programs here, but we do train and
equip the forces carrying them out. At the same time, we also finance
irrigation projects that help farmers grow their dope.

When eradication came up at a brief news conference held here
recently by Josee Verner, Canada's minister of International
Co-operation, she suddenly had a plane to catch.

As if to highlight the incongruity of the whole sticky drug mess
here, the Zhari district leader tells me Afghan authorities are
clamping down on the poppy trade. Seconds later, a local police
officer brings him a poppy plant from a nearby field. He inspects the
pod, peels it and eats the seeds inside, nodding as if to say, 'Hmm,
not bad.'

Even the Afghan interpreters who work with Canadian troops smoke pot,
says one sergeant. And the smell of hashish was wafting out of a
mechanic's bay at Camp Nathan Smith one recent Friday night as locals
worked on vehicles.

Even the senses are bombarded with confounding messages.

The nasty smells of sweat, garbage, cheap tobacco, urine and rotting
feces are ever-present. Large groups of Afghans in the countryside
often carry a deep funk that lies somewhere between wet wool and
teenage locker room. And after a few days in the field, Canadian
soldiers pack an olfactory punch of their own.

But when the wind is blowing off the Arghandab River just before
dawn, it smells almost like a Nova Scotia beach in the spring. And
the breezes wafting over massive fields of marijuana carry a sweet
aroma that makes the hardest soldiers here giggle.

All Canadians are advised not to drink the water in Afghanistan. But
soldiers never seem to refuse the sweet chai tea served at almost
every gathering. That might have something to do with the
gastrointestinal bug floating around the Canuck camps. At best,
soldiers can hope for diarrhea with a low-grade fever. At worst,
they're barfing their guts up for a few days and wind up with
intravenous drips in their arms to ward off dehydration.

Medical officials try to limit the damage by relegating sick soldiers
to their own latrines and placing bottles of alcohol-based hand
sanitizer everywhere. But the germs march on.

The heat pounds down here like a sledgehammer. But the shade is so
instantly cool, it's almost impossible to believe. And a stiff
evening breeze makes taking off the body armour the best part of
anyone's day. "It's like 30 seconds of heaven," says Warrant Officer
Kendall McLean, from Lakeville, N.B.

Like any place where people are in jeopardy, soldiers rely on
caustic, often bawdy humour to keep themselves sane. With 54 soldiers
and one diplomat killed here since 2002, Canadian troops obviously
take this mission seriously. But they also tease each other
relentlessly, and I'm not spared for a second.

As we return from a long patrol to a remote village, some guys from
India Company razz their sergeant for being old. They offer to get
him a cane. Then I make the mistake of asking him his age.
"Thirty-eight," he says. Stupidly I tell him I just turned 39.

His face brightens considerably and he instantly gets on the radio:
"Get out the wheelchair, boys."