What should i send my friend in afghanistan

Gatton, history also agrees. Outstanding article! It puts common sense and reality into the situation that is little understood by many Americans. I had a similar connection with the South Vietnamese who assisted our forces there. On my third one-year assignment there in , I was given the job of running the evacuation of the South Vietnamese who had assisted the US Army.

The Ford Administration delayed the start of the evacuation until too late, mid-April, only two weeks before the North Vietnamese overran Saigon and we departed. It was a mad scramble to evacuate as many as we could, but many remained behind, a disaster for them. Forget about background investigations and clearances and get them out of Afghanistan NOW.

The paperwork can be done at Wake, Guam, or in the refugee camps that need to be set up in military bases in the US. The only documentation they should need is that they were employed by, or worked as translators to the US Forces. The over 1,, refugees that fled Vietnam after we departed on April 29, , risked their lives to escape by boat, with an estimated up to , dying during the process.

When they were rescued at sea, no one checked to see if they had a background investigation before sending them to refugee camps in safe areas. Our nation needs to do what is right for the Afghans who were employed or worked closely with us while we have been in Afghanistan. No excuses. Your right Print Email. Budget Cuts. Missile Defense Suppliers. For Washington, part of the reason it lost the war against the Taliban is because the Taliban found support in Pakistan, including sanctuary for the Haqqani network and the Quetta shura.

That Osama bin Laden was found in Abbottabad in eroded any remaining trust from the U. Cohen There is some question of what U. Yet intelligence sharing and other forms of cooperation are presumably all on the table and being discussed behind closed doors.

The sticking points from the U. But U. A new quadrilateral relationship has been announced between America, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Uzbekistan.

The U. Candy and gum. Avoid chocolate if your service member is in a warm climate. It will melt in the heat. Gum and other types of candy may soften and become gooey, so send these in plastic zipper-lock bags.

Send plenty of extras for your service member to share, especially if he or she comes into contact with children. If you find your service member needs essentials, choose small, travel-size containers of personal care products, and avoid aerosol cans. To keep liquids from spilling, cover the opening of the container with plastic wrap, then recap before shipping. Toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, cotton swabs, shaving lotion, disposable razors, shampoo, individually packaged tissues.

Personal care. Individually packaged baby wipes, eye drops, lip balm, lotion, aspirin or another pain reliever, feminine hygiene products for women. Disposable hand warmers. Send these during the winter if your service member is in a cold climate.

Also, fingerless gloves, stocking caps and long underwear are good ideas. Goggle-style sunglasses. Your service member will appreciate these if he or she is deployed in the desert. Cotton socks and underwear. Make sure the garments are made of percent cotton rather than a cotton blend. In every care package, be sure to include a personal note or other special reminders of home.

Photographs, drawings, and DVDs of your activities at home will be comforting to your service member. Here are some more ideas:. Additionally, some fun entertainment may be a good idea, especially if you have extra room in the flat-rate package. Foam footballs and basketballs, Frisbees, Hacky Sacks, playing cards, yo-yos. Crossword puzzles, word searches, jigsaw puzzles. Portable media player, handheld electronic games.

Maybe a disposable camera. Size AA and D batteries are in high demand. There is no way back. I was stuck. I turned away. Where is the North Gate? People had been waiting here night after night with no food or water. They wore days of dust on their faces. Mothers were crying. There were piles of suitcases, abandoned.

The Taliban were picking through them. Someone said that when the gates opened before, people were trampled in the rush. So many injuries. So many children underfoot. God knows whether they were alive. I could not spend time talking to these people. I had to leave. I had been told the plane would leave at 1, and it was past p. I sent an audio message to the editors saying I was headed to the North Gate.

A man told me to follow the canal around the far edge of the airport, then get a taxi to the North Gate, which was about a half hour away. I blindly did what he said. My hard drive was poking into my hip; my mom tied it so tight around my waist. I opened the belt and put it in my backpack. I walked fast to get out while I tried to text my brother and brother-in-law.

When I raised my head I found myself among a group of armed Taliban who were staring at me. They could have stopped me to check my phone or even beat me to death, but I was too exhausted to care. I cried so loud people backed away. I climbed into a taxi with a crazy driver who kept exaggerating that the Taliban were his relatives.

He stopped in front of a mosque where a group of Taliban were sitting. He rolled down the window to say hi to them, and the Taliban looked at me angrily. We drove for 20 minutes before we reached a public road. He asked me to take him with me. He would abandon the taxi and escape with me. The roads were winding and narrow. I was not going to be forcibly married to a Taliban soldier and live forever in fear.

I would not be a Taliban sex slave. I would prefer to die. I started looking for something I could use to cut my wrist in case the worst happened. I realized if I had to I could use stones. Then the car stopped again, and the driver pointed out the flags for Turkey and Afghanistan at the North airport gate, 10 minutes away by foot.

It was past 1 p. Alex sent a video clip showing several dozen heavily armed Ukrainian special forces soldiers in commando-style bullet proof vests, helmets and camouflage gathered on the military side of the North Gate. They appeared to be preparing to move toward the checkpoint. The Afghan troop side. They open fire. At the checkpoint, people were sitting because the Taliban had warned that if anyone stood they would be shot.

Men and women were crowded together. I was duck-walking to stay low. I had to keep moving forward. I had to focus. I saw a woman with her hand dragging on the ground, and people were stepping on it.

It seemed disconnected from her shoulder. I glanced at her and then a tear gas canister landed in front of me. I took a direct hit. People started running and pushing, and tears were streaming out of my eyes. My head felt heavy. I got trapped in the middle of a large family.

She pushed me back. So I tried to slowly move through them in a crouch. They were whipping people who got close. Then people got mad about the tear gas and started running. Once I stood, a man reached around and grabbed me hard between my legs. His family watched the assault. A Talib inches away emptied his gun next to my ear. I went deaf. Another woman beside me was hit by bullets. I could see the shells falling. The Talib pushed me hard and I stumbled out of the crowd. Everything went black.

When I woke up I was by the roadside, and someone was giving me water. I drank it all. I checked my phone. Somehow my brother was on the line. From 8, miles away, Alex reached out to calm her. Dancing in my bedroom to Bollywood songs, singing so loud I forget myself. Being alone under my own roof. The first bite of a sour kiwi. The tender ruffle of a daffodil.

Meditating on the rooftop in the morning stillness. The courage I feel in the morning when I leave the house looking the way I want. Arguing in the restaurant until after dark, walking home in the empty streets.

The version of me I am building. The new strength in my voice. Chunky peanut butter. Pomegranate seeds. The rhythmic clicking of my fingers on keys, a story unspooling before me. Racing up the Ghoriq mountain to see the sunrise. The smell of humid soil after a rain. My favorite passage from Azadi , a book about India. The title means Freedom:. Do not run blindly somewhere and focus on your breathing.

He then messaged me privately: "I've been more stressed out over this night than being in Afghanistan myself. It appeared that Gen. Kyrylo O. Budanov, who had spent much of his career as an undercover intelligence officer behind enemy lines, was prepared to pay the Taliban if it came to it. Alex texted videos of scenes at the gate. In one, families cower as gunfire rings out and crooked camera angles show civilians crouching by short walls, desperate for any protection.

Less than a foot away, a soldier with an assault rifle briefly consoles him by touching his chin with one hand before shooting into the air with the other. Fatema texted us: "The foreign troops keep firing and using the tear gas.