It’s a particularly hot afternoon here in Afghanistan today. The thermometer outside the clinic reads 104 degrees and it's not even noon. The air is dry and void of any detectable moisture. In fact the last time it rained was several weeks ago and I can’t recall seeing any evidence of water except for the disruption of dust on the ambulance windshield. People jokingly say it’s a dry heat but then so is the heat inside a microwave.

Swirls of dust can be seen as the wind blows across the valley and look quite similar to the dust-devils found out west. The winds of change are blowing across this country and I am supremely confident that our efforts are paying off. There are people here who are happy that we care and are thankful for America’s presence.

Two little boys came in to the clinic today seeking medical care. One the boys had broken his arm. They were brothers ages 12 and 14 and together they showed up without either of their parents. The 12- year-old told me (through our interpreter) that he had broken his arm while wrestling with his friends. It was a bad break and certainly uncomfortable yet this little guy never let on how much pain he was experiencing. Our surgeon set the fracture and soon his cast was dry and he was ready to go. Still no family members aside from his brother had shown up to offer support or understanding of what was to follow in the days to come. The brothers both had black hair and striking pale eyes, eagerly surveying the area. They were incredibly joyful and active. I soon learned they come from a family of five brothers and live in a home constructed of mud, without electricity or running water. They told me they get their water from the river and they heat their home with firewood. Neither of the brothers can read or write as neither of them attend school. They also marveled at the telephone in the ward and added that neither of them had ever talked on a phone. Today was in fact the very first time they have ever seen a television. The oldest brother earns money by working in the poppy fields. My readers may appreciate the paradigm of this employment as many of you may know that heroin is made from the poppy plant. When the boy was asked “what he wants to be when he grows up?” he informed me that he also spends his time learning to become a mechanic. The younger brother explained that he loves to climb trees and that his favorite food is strawberries. He told me he wants to be the president of Afghanistan!

Their sandals were badly worn so I gave them both brand new pairs donated from generous people back home. They also received two Hot Wheels cars along with two fresh new pairs of socks. Smiles were had by all and moments later they were “gone with the wind.” A group of American service men and women once again had become surrogate parents for a time.

Another Afghani acquaintance of mine is a 40- year-old gentleman who appears much older than his stated age. His complexion is dark and weather beaten. The deep wrinkles on his face convey a simple wisdom gained through years of hard work and war. His disposition is serious yet comforting. In another time and place perhaps we would have become close friends. I learned he is the proud father of eight children. One died during child birth. The family lives about 30 minutes walking distance from our compound in a rented home. The mud built structure is modest without running water or electricity and costs him roughly $30 per month. With nine mouths to feed he tells me that he never gets the chance to relax and that given the opportunity to rest he would gladly do so. I asked him for his opinion on American forces operating in his country. I also asked him what it was like under Soviet rule during the ’70s. He quickly answers that the Soviets shot at him and that their aircraft would drop bombs on entire villages with little regard for civilians or other non-combatants. He told me that life with the American forces is vastly better particularly because of his job in our chow hall. I asked him what he would like Americans to know about his country. He replied, “my country needs roads, bridges and schools.” As we were about to wrap up our discussion I thought to ask him to please describe the “perfect day.” Thoughtfully he pondered my question then simply stated the following, “I would like to rest.” As our conversation ended, he quietly stood up and thanked me for helping to make his life better. Moments later he was back at work preparing food for our noon meal. He like the two brothers moments earlier returned to his daily routine seemingly content in a world of constant hardship.

For the time America is part of this complex and primitive world. There are people here who appreciate our help. It may just allow some of them to rest for awhile, as they listen to the wind blow across their country. “Amazing grace how sweet the sound ...”

E-mail Greg at greg.laffitte@gmail.com