You Could Die Any Day. Andreas Meyer

      spice market in Kunduz, a paradise for cooks

      The translator wears the national costume. I am clearly recognizable as a soldier in my uniform. I'm obviously the stranger. I'm getting scared for a moment. I realize that something could happen to me. The unknown dark faces with their long beards are watching every step we make. The security situation then was very uncertain. A stay on this market was definitely not safe. As it turns out later, my feeling was not unfounded, but this day the uneasy feeling in my stomach remained without consequences. In hindsight, I probably worried too much. This day would be the last one I felt this kind of fear.

      The impressions of this day remain in my memory in every detail. In the coming days, weeks and months I will experience situations that are similarly threatening, but which I will not experience as intensively as on this particular day. But such thoughts and feelings about possible threats should be quickly forgotten when you are on a mission. One just has to walk through the streets with open eyes and a sharp mind.

      The amazing thing about Afghanistan is that its people are very hospitable and friendly to strangers. They condemn the attacks of the terrorists the same way as the rest of the world does.

      It is a shame that due to the war these people cannot do more for their country like developing tourism. In my eyes, this wonderful country and its people deserve it.

      Street vendor of flatbread in Kunduz

       7. A baker and his flatbread

      There is an Afghan baker near the camp where you can buy fresh bread every day, except on Fridays. While the flatbreads are in the oven, they are moistened several times with green tea. This is quite straight forward; the baker just takes some sips of tea in his mouth and sprays the tea on the bread. This generates the necessary humidity for the bread. At the end, the bread is sprinkled with salt, which gives them a spicy touch.

      Despite of this unusual production method, it had become a tradition for us soldiers to eat there together every Saturday evening, and on this occasion this bread is eaten with pleasure. Additionally, we also put some specialties from home on the table.

      It is actually very idyllic sometimes, which one probably cannot imagine. We sit at our table in front of our hut protected by trees and shrubs. In front of us on the table are the fresh flatbread, sliced bacon and ham from the black forest as well as homemade canned liver sausage, smoked blood sausage and fresh paprika, cucumbers and garlic.

      We do this every Saturday evening with the COY commander, the first sergeant and other comrades. For a short time, it feels like holiday and we forget that we are on a mission in a war-torn land.

       8. At the medic`s

      On my daily round through the camp I visit various departments to see if everything is OK. Today I focus especially on the supply group that will receive a new load of barbed wire for the outer camp wall. Besides that, I am waiting for a lot of spare parts for our vehicles.

      From a distance, I already see the truck of an Afghan transport company. I watch briefly as the truck is unloaded and checked by the supervising NCO of the supply group if all parts we have ordered were on board or whether I will have to make a phone call like so many times before.

      Suddenly I hear the siren of the ambulance and two other vehicles of the security company leaving the camp. I keep on concentrating on the unloading of the truck. Half an hour later I make my way to my office and hear from other comrades that there was an attack in Kunduz. That moment it was not clear if there were Germans among the victims.

      I sit in my office feeling bad. The recce squad that had left the camp this morning still isn’t back. When my boss enters my office, I turn to him asking immediately if he has any news. He does not. Further information has not been spread so far. The security component though requested additional personnel.

      Sometime later we hear the sirens of a bunch of ambulances entering the camp. There are definitely a lot of casualties I think to myself. We often witness the procedures of wounded being brought to the camp, so we know that our medics take their job seriously and handle it professionally.

      At about 1900 I have to meet with the air logistics supervisor to coordinate the loadings for the upcoming day. On the way to him I pass the surgery containers of our medics and watch some red fluid leaving the containers drain hole forming a puddle at the back side of it. That means that our medics had some awful work to do. The thought of me lying on their table one day makes me shiver.

      Passing the containers I see two military doctors smoking cigarettes. They were shaking their heads mentioning an afghan police officer being wounded very badly in the attack. I know it should not matter, but in that moment, I am so glad to hear that it was not one of our guys. I am also glad to hear that the afghan police officer has survived.

      A few days later I am invited for coffee at the medics’. When I enter the front tent, I see an afghan boy coming up to me. He holds an inflated rubber glove with a smiling face drawn on it with a pen in his hand. The boy is laughing and seems to have so much fun with his "toy". I see a sign saying "coffee corner" and approach it, when the boy somehow stands directly in front of me. He stretches out his hand in my direction holding his rubber glove balloon. I wink at him passing by saying what a lovely balloon he has. The glance in his eyes fascinating me that much that I turn around to him again. What I see shakes me to the bones. Only now I recognize that he is just wearing a surgery shirt exposing his back. Where every healthy person would have buttocks there was just a hole. The pelvic bones were completely revealed under his skin and all the muscles were gone. Whilst playing with a "butterfly mine", his buttocks were blown off.

      There are still thousands of these mines lying around everywhere. To the children they just look like unsuspicious toys. The boy I saw is one of so many examples of how dangerous these toys are. This picture will be planted in my head for all times.

      A friend of mine from the medics told me that this boy already had ten surgeries and will have to face a few more. Despite his heavy injuries the boy is so incredibly happy and has a love for life that he shows the medical personnel every single day. I just hope that one day he will have a life worth living. Therefore, I wish him all the best.

      entrance tot he emergency

      A jungle truck brings material out of Kabul