From the Daily Kos
by Ralph Lopez

“No speaking English for a moment” my friend and colleague Najim tells me as we comply with the soldier pointing at our hood and giving a soft whistle which means stop. I roll down my passenger side window to the cool night breeze. I watch the shadows of other Afghan National Army soldiers cast by the floodlights on the traffic circle ahead. Najim in the driver’s seat and the soldier talk across me through my window in Dari.

The soldier sweeps has hand toward my feet and asks something about my large green satchel on the floor. It’s the bag I always carry with my laptop and everything else. I hear Najim say “computer.” I turn my head slowly and meet the young soldier’s eye, since I know he is talking about me, and he knows I know, and to not look at him now could be read as fear, loss of face. Which is not good in these places. I do not speak, but there are men driven around in cars here who deign not to speak, who have others speak for them until they feel like speaking. My looks could be Afghan, and perhaps the grey at my temples suggests possible rank, which works in my favor. I could be anyone. The soldier nods and waves and we drive on.

It is nearly midnight and it is not a good time to be an American in Kabul…

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