Scene from the Street

On our second trip to the Marjah District Center, to use the Internet, a Afghan police officer was washing his car in the canal. There was so much activity on the streets that I had to search to identify the Marines escorting us. It's hot in the upper 90s at least. We are all in full battle rattle - helmets, vests, long sleeve shirts and pants. We have water but because of Ramadan (the ninth month of the Muslim year, during which strict fasting is observed from sunrise to sunset) the commander has told the troops to not drink in front of the locals. As an embedded journalist trying to win over the trust of the Marines I too want to follow this rule, but I feel like I am dying. The walk to the district center in less than a mile, but in the heat in the crowds it feels endless. Once we get to the center we chug water and rest, freakin' civilians.
On other trips into "town" we are met with an onslaught of children who try to steal everything off your body. If you have a pen buried in a pocket they will find it and no one seems to be able to stop them. The first time I tried to film near the town center about 10 - 50 (hard to know how many, it felt like 200) mobbed me. They waved their hands in front of the camera and like some kind of horrible flesh eating bacteria they systematically took their tiny hands and search every pocket and even tried to get in my kevlar. They pulled my hair and laughed at me. I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to disrespect the Afghan elders by beating the children. Eventually a terrifying staff sergeant barked at them to leave me alone, but it was an ongoing problem. I eventually stopped filming because all I was getting was kids' hands, I wish I would have kept some of that footage just to have a laugh and remember that children may be our future, but in packs they can be terrifying.
Another disturbing encounter with three kids was a few days later when Dan and I were using the Internet. There were three kids the base had employed to do chores. One of the kids had brilliant blue eyes (thanks to Alexander the Great) and immediately wanted to shake my hand. He was a cute kid so I thought why not shake this eight-year-old hand but as his finger closed around mine he scratched the inside of my palm with a dirty finger nailed finger. It was unpleasant.
Then he proceeded to ask, "Is he your bitch?" and looking at Dan.
Dan was amused saying, "Yeah, yeah."
It's one thing to bring the English language to isolated part of the desert its another thing to have Marines bring the English language to an isolated part of the world.
I've met numerous Iraqis and Afghans that can't say a single sentence in English without saying fuck about eight times.