Capital of Decay

A small journey filled with beauty, humour, transparency, disgust and foremost patience.
You could imagine a place of disgust and despair. A place where the mere scent of it all is sole witness of what has happend there.
But when you stand inside that place, it surely is much worse than you could ever imagine. I’ve seen the capital of human decay. I have seen a side of humanity that shouldn’t exist. A place where God is sought every waking minute but only the Devil has responded.

The brief visit to Kabul was not itself mindblowing. As always, it’s the journey itself. I must confess that my earlier thoughts on this mission had traces that resembled a sort of empathy or will to help the people of this country.
Over the years, they’ve been promptly destroyed.
By none other than the people itself. The belief that we actually could make a difference to these war-torned people. Of course we do change and make a little difference. Problem is that they just couldn’t care less..
The majority of the afghan people doesn’t care who I am. They don’t care about any ecological systems that define their country. The only thing that matters most is their illusions of how their religion is practiced and how they, alone, will survive until tomorrow.
They are the worlds most efficient people on accepting lazyness into their lives.
I’ve made a personal note to place the afghan people as a sub-culture and race within hte human race – referring to that they may only look human. They may have traces of our instincts and some of our feelings. But anything resembling of human willpower and understanding as we know it are an illusion.

So then, you say, who can blame them? Without any educational system to support them in their youth they can’t be blamed for their incompetence?
Over 4 million people lives in Kabul. None of them ever grows up being an adult. It’s a city filled with 4 million retarded children – trying to build houses, driving cars and running a family of their own in the name of Allah. Without any resemblance of success.
My language is harsh, I know. But truth be told.

Of course there are a minority that makes a difference. There always is. A minority that alone lifts up this shattered country. Like Atlas, they’ve achieved in gaining all my respect. But I don’t talk minorities in this entry.

I find some peace in knowing this might very well be the last time I visit and work in this forsaken corner in the world.

Moreover, the ecological system of this place has to have it’s shed of light. The road to Kabul is an 15 hours drive through the foots of the himalaya mountains. The salang pass, stretching up to 3400 meters, is wondrous as you pass in it’s wake. It wasn’t built for humans. If God ever built such a thing, is was for the ancient giants. I couldn’t feel more tiny in the presence of something so massive. I also traveled through the Salang Tunnel, built in 64′ by he Soviets, which was responsible for the deaths of about 2700 people in one instance.
I played with the thoughts that Afghanistan was once below the ocean, and the walls of the pass I could examine on the journey, were once filled with an ocean – the mountain walls telling the story with their endless scars.
Ultimately I noticed how tired my mind actually was when I was beginning to imagine whales and other pre-historic animals swiming above my head while travelling..

It’s time to rest. I will meditate on this later.

Lance Corporal Fresh,

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