Sensations

The smells: diesel exhaust from the generators that run 24/7, plywood, sewage from the make-shift latrines, mold in the make-shift showers, sweat, dirt, and body odor mixed together, smoke from the burn cans, cafeteria food smell from the chow hall, rotting garbage from the jingle trucks parked by the west wall, alcohol in the hand-sanitizer. There’s nothing that smells good here.

The sounds: the diesel generators that run 24/7, wind rattling the aluminum shingles on the hut, B-hut doors slamming, the heavy beating of Chinook rotors, hip-hop music from the chow hall kitchen, F15’s roaring over the province, power tools, mortar fire, the diesel generators, the diesel generators, the diesel generators. The iPod is a sweet haven.

The tastes: endless bottled water, boxes of unsweetened grapefruit juice, dust, the chow hall, raisin bran, bad coffee, sweat, plywood.

The touches: constant ride of a weapon sling on your shoulder or hip, uneven rocks under desert boots, heat under the non-breathable uniform, slippery cool of constant hand washing with soap, scratchy sheets at the end of the day, hot water of a shower pouring down to wash away the smells and the tastes. Laying down at the end of the day...

The sights: razor wire, plywood, weapons, armored vehicles, uniforms, immense blue sky, dry hills, Afghans and beards, dust, dirt, sweat, stacks of water bottles, rocks, Hesco barriers, Chinooks. I try to take note of the morning and evening sky, the clouds, the stars. Beauty is a scarce commodity around here...