Sticks and stones unlikely tools of diplomacy

By Captain Fraser Clark, Kandahar Provincial Reconstruction Team
Photos by Cpl Simon Duchesne

It was a day unlike any other I experienced in Afghanistan, and one I won’t forget as long as I live.

As our tiny convoy lumbered into a village in central Kandahar City, the mid-morning sun began to strengthen and the temperature climbed over 35 degrees Celsius. Dozens of small children swarmed our hefty olive-coloured LAV IIIs, jockeying for position to greet the soldiers as they climbed out of the vehicles. As we halted amid the entrepreneurial chaos of an Afghan market on this Friday morning — the official day of rest in Afghanistan — shop-owners gazed from their mud hovels over displays of colourful pashminas, trinkets and other goods typical of a Third World bazaar. Meanwhile, young Pashtuns leapt about, blurting “Bic” as they madly scribbled with invisible markers in their palms; they wanted pens.

Normally, Canadian convoys stop in neighborhoods like this to meet the locals, see how they’re getting on, and let them know ISAF hasn’t forgotten them. But this patrol had a different reason.

“Our intent really is to stop the kids from throwing rocks at our vehicles,” said Lieutenant Dan Hogan of the KPRT’s Force Protection Company. “We regularly drive through these villages during our patrols. And as kids will inevitably be kids, some in this area have taken to throwing rocks at our vehicles — not unlike kids at home throwing snowballs at passing cars; the same thing is happening here. We really want to curb this trend, though, as on a couple of occasions these rocks have broken mirrors on our vehicles. We’re conducting this patrol in an effort both to gain some positive face-time with the kids and to ask them to stop throwing rocks.”

Ask? Could our soldiers be more quintessentially Canadian than this?

But what started out as a routine patrol to pass some information on to the locals suddenly turned into a parade.

Dozens of boys and girls, uninhibited by any cultural norms and obviously not intimidated by our weapons or body armour, welcomed us into their enclave. Many cheered with excitement while others shook our hands vigorously. And in the midst of this youthful melee, our patrol commander sought out village elders to engage them in conversation and pass along our message: Please don’t throw stones at us.

The youthful owner of a pharmacy — educated in Pakistan, he speaks English so well it could be his mother tongue  — blamed homeless Afghan children for these mishaps. “They are the ones who throw the rocks,” he asserted. “The kids with families here are good, we don’t have any problems with them; but the ones without parents, they are the ones who get into trouble.”

As the patrol slithered through the city, hundreds of kids couldn’t wait to speak to the Canadians, even if most couldn’t speak a speck of English — or even French. (One kid came out with “Bonjour!” so our Quebec-based predecessors of Roto 4 must have made quite an impression.)

To our surprise, several children confidently asked us questions in dramatic, lilting tones. “How are you?” “How old are you?” many demanded, while others inquired, “What is your name?” and “Where are you from?”

As they asked their questions, others rushed in, wide-eyed and smiling, and tried to teach us some of their expressions. In our best Pashtun, we said “Saluum-allaykum” — peace be with you. Encouraged, the kids continued walking with us, teaching snippets of their language along the way.

Their effect was incredible.

Their innocence and inquisitiveness couldn’t help but move the hardest of our soldiers; the seemingly impenetrable icy gaze set in place by months of training and (in some cases) combat suddenly melted into broad smiles and laughter. It was a cultural exchange only these influential young diplomats could pull off.

One child who couldn’t have been any more than eight years old approached me and extended his hand with a disarming smile. Instinctively, I took my hand off my rifle and put it in his hand, sealing a fleeting bond of friendship. My light-hearted companion kept pace with our patrol as we sauntered along the great canal bisecting the city, smiling at us the entire time. As we made our way from village to village, he carried on a conversation with me in Pashto — I couldn’t speak a stitch but this didn’t seem to matter to him — while cleverly rolling a bicycle tire with a little piece of stick, apparently strutting his stuff for our entertainment.

It was a truly surreal experience.

This foot patrol was designed to stop children from throwing rocks at our vehicles, but I think it achieved much more — a bit of friendship, faith, trust and hope.

It is often said that tanks, troops and guns cannot win the hearts and minds of ordinary Afghans. Where I sit, it looks like the children of Afghanistan are winning the hearts and minds of Canada’s soldiers.