Saving Private Rijhaan

As my first, very eco-friendly post will tell you, during the holidays I live very close to a British military training ground in South West Canada. Access to this enormous tract of land is fairly limited, but today, the head brass decided to let in several of the soldiers' family members. Their purpose for allowing this, however, was purely practical; it was not going to be a courtesy visit, just to have a look around.

Somewhere out in the vast plot of land that is BATUS training ground, is a very small village called 'Hettar' it is situated in the fictional country of Pokharistan, and looks and feels almost exactly like a small Afghani settlement, complete with a Mosque, Bazaar and Well. Every summer a group of about 20 or 30 Afghani ex-pats are employed to fill the settlement and live there during the period of time the battle groups need training. They are paid well, but its no walk in the park; as they are often awoken in the twilight hours, having had large, heavily armed men come screaming into their homes, guns blazing.

Our reason for being allowed onto the prairie was to act as Afghani people, extras in the training operation to make it a more believable environment for the soldiers.

having been briefed by several echelons of military staff, who prepared us for what seemed like a very robust experience, we [24 women and men] piled into a car park within a military base which stood just before the Prairie. The men were given a choice of hats, scarves, breeches, shirts and waistcoats and the women were given a single, black, nylon Burka. See handsome photos of Ma and Pa [right] and I [left]. The clothes were extremely uncomfortable and unwieldy under the hot summer sun. However, once dressed, we all piled onto a big yellow bus and embarked on the hour long journey along dirt track all the way to Hettar.

We arrived at about 11 o'clock and stopped about half a kilometer away from the village, from where the domed Mosque was clearly visible. We alighted from the the yellow bus, after which half of the group was herded into a smaller vehicle which had been dubbed the 'Jingly Bus' [see photo below]. The rest of us trudged into the village on foot.

Photos were strictly prohibited inside the complex which is a shame because it was hard to believe we were still in Canada, so realistic were our surroundings. We passed by arabic signs and mud houses and before long we were in the square, where the bustling market place was situated. The stalls had a mixture of arabic and english signs above them. Some retailer names I can remember were 'Farouk's Fancy Department' selling unappetising looking [plastic] vegetables, 'Ahmed's Appliances' selling knackered lawnmowers, power-tools and bicycles and one place called 'Al Malik and Sons Electrics ltd.' which could be found away from all the action, so I sneakily took a photo [below]. One stall in particular was packed full with Afghani ex-pats and British pretenders alike, due to the fact it was the only stall selling food which wasn't made from plastic. A small contingent of Afghanis were cooking up a storm of naan breads and kebabs and handing them around to sate our considerable hunger.

Three of the older guys stopped my mother, (probably because she was walking in front of her husband - a huge faux pas) but we engaged them in conversation. It was interesting to hear that they remembered Afghanistan in the 1980s when the Russians were there; one of them even claimed to have gone to University in Moscow and spent 10 years there, which would have presumably meant he was a communist ally to the Russians fighting against the Mujahedin. At any rate I was able to converse in broken Russian with them for a little while. For some of them it seemed to come easier than English, although conversation topics were indeed limited; one of the three was very interested to talk about the Russian girls at length.

Eventually, a British general came around to have a look at the village, at which point all of the Afghanis put their best acting skills into play and started yelling and selling their pretend wears. We were stood near one woman, who tried to give us an impromptu language lesson in the Pashto names for various root vegetables on display. I was told that I was a "bad boy" for not being able to understand her when she gabbled at me in swift Pashto, so I politely handed her some pretend money, took a plastic melon out of the basket and shuffled away awkwardly, only to be confronted by an even more loquacious Afghani, who forced me to haggle with him over some artichokes, a vegetable which he and all of his friends admitted they did not recognise. (Authenticity was clearly not 100%) Meanwhile a young man was herding eight or so chickens through the Bazaar, but struggling to coax them away from a mud bath which they all seemed to be enjoying immensely. He told us that he had tried to sharpen their talons to try and get them to fight, but that it hadn't worked because they were 'Canadian' chickens and were thus too friendly to set upon each other. The general didn't stay for long and soon we were taken back to the bus, for another long and uncomfortable journey home.

A lot of effort and money had clearly gone into the construction of Hettar, and it was very realistic, although upon closer inspection it is clear that it was a simulation. I had wondered if we were going to be attacked by one of the battle groups and although we weren't, there was a great deal of military activity; tanks rolled noisily around the settlement and troops skulked menacingly past from time to time. Soldiers could be seen surveying the village from the tops of buildings and every now and again the mock police force would stroll over and impose themselves upon the market place. I couldn't help but feel a little on edge, despite the obvious lack of danger.

Right, I've rambled on a bit, I do apologise, but I hope you've stayed with me through this, only its not every day you get to go and 'be' an Afghani for the morning. My guess is that its about as close as I'll ever get to being able to actually experience life in that part of the world. I also apologise for having not made a more poignant social commentary, but I daren't comment on the contentious political situation abroad... So, until next time, whenever that may be.