Where I stayed
The Back of a Truck
Afghanistan has quickly become a very scary place to be. Last night the Russians invaded and before I knew it Kabul had become very unsafe. I used all the money I had left to buy a ride out of town, but I don't know how I will get across the border. I am writing this letter from a small camp outside Jalalabad, trying to keep low and blend in. Unfortunately I do not blend in well, and everyone I meet seems to know I am a foreigner, despite my Arab clothing. My disguise will certainly not stand up under a close inspection, so I am terrified every time the truck is stopped along the road. Luckily the Russians at the checkpoints seemed more interested in the money the driver was carrying than those of us in the back of the truck. I feel so sorry for the people of Kabul, especially the other foreign visitors, because I can feel that this war will not be over quickly. Most of the people that I had just begun to call friends are probably either dead or in prison by now, and I will almost definitely never see them again. All I can do now is get some rest and try to prepare for the second half of my journey tomorrow. My worst fear is that after all that I have gone through, I will be captured at the border tomorrow along with everyone else in the truck. They are all Afghanis, but they are still being hunted for some reason, either because of their politics or their ethnicity. All of us are helpless, and completely at the mercy of our driver, we can only pray that he has our best interests at heart.