It was a beautiful day in Pol-e-charki today. The sky was clear and the sun was bright. I was standing in the yard at D-1 this morning talking to my wife on the cell phone when an armored HMMWV pulled up and parked right next to where I was standing. There was a loaded .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the gun ring (sunroof), the belt of brass-jacketed ammo glinting in the sun. Just another average day in paradise.

But later I almost got arrested. Well not really arrested. We were driving home, as usual at break-neck speed, dodging huge potholes and barely missing bicycles, carts, donkeys, and jungle-trucks. Troy was in the front seat filming the road. In a previous entry I told you about filming the drive to send home. Ramon, another MPRI employee, asked Troy to film the ride for him so he could send a disk home too. Ramon is a very loud and very opinionated Puerto-Rican that would probably explode if he had to stop talking for more than 30 seconds. Ramon is always in a hurry. Always. Think of an overweight (sorry Ramon), middle-aged Speedy Gonzales.

Much like I did a couple days ago, Troy filmed most of the route between D-1 in Pol-e-charki and our safe house near Camp Eggers in Kabul, about a 30 minute ride. He, of course, didn’t narrate with the same entertaining and informative candor as I did, but it was sufficient. Along our route there are many places where photography is prohibited. Inside the gates of D-1, for example, the American Embassy, the Ministry of Defense, and other secure areas. Troy would always turn off the camera and put it down when passing through those areas. However, one of the last turns on our return trip passes directly by the entrance to one such place and Troy did not immediately put the camera down. He wasn’t filming the entrance to the complex and we pass by it almost everyday without incident, so it was an understandable mistake. Understandable to us. But the armed guards at this particular installation didn’t see it that way.

In the middle of the road, our vehicle was quickly surrounded by Afghan guards armed with AK-47 assault rifles yelling at us in Dari. To our driver’s credit, Sharon rose to the situation and with vigor explained to the guards who we are and what we were doing. I’m spelling Sharon’s name like the name of a girl in English only because I don’t know how to spell it. Sharon is a 40-something male with two wives and eight sons. His name sounds like Sharon only the emphasis is on the second syllable.

The yelling went on for a while as Troy nervously tried to show the guards exactly what he filmed. Soon an English-speaking Afghan approached and we were able to explain the situation to him. Troy handed over the disk but they still didn’t let us go. Then an American, I suppose, who I think was a Blackwater operative, took control of the situation. He said normally they’d confiscate the camera but for some reason he let us go and let Troy keep his camera. It was at about that time when my heartbeat began its descent back to normal and my sphincter began to relax.

Then back to routine. Changed and went to the gym. Did 60 minutes on the elliptical machine while watching a Cold Case re-run. I had dinner at The Goat, which is the larger of the two chow halls on Camp Eggers, and walked home to watch a pirated copy of Breach. I fell asleep half-way through.

Out.