Everything is a joke and everything is dead and dead seriuous at the same time. The same phrase can kill you or save you at times.
Four kilometres from the airport we are stopped by some men with submachine guns in army and police uniforms although you can never be sure they're any of the two. He smiles and taps the driver window with the barrel of his gun. The driver rolls down the window, with the barrel pointed at him they tell him he should head back and they will take his passengers to the airport.
The driver smiles wide and says "no my brother, talk to Hussein, I know him!" The man is not convinced and it shows by the change of his tone and the sudden change of language. Our driver was so quick to call Hussein on his cellphone. "here, my dear brother, this is Hussein" he says as he hands his cellphone to the man with the gun.

The man takes the phone and heads to his colleaugue who had been ready behind the car to shoot us if we did anything unexpected. He talks on the phone with his head down and looking at the dirt that his boots set airborn with every step. Then, in an uncontrollable hysterical laughter he raises his head towards the sky and then back in our direction and he hands the phone to our driver saying "zah" meaning Go!
A kilometre from the airport the same thing happens again but this time we had to call Mahmood. No matter where you are in this country you should hold two things very close to you: one is acquiantances and the other is money to bribe people to become your acquiantance.

I'm sitting in the waiting area of the kandahar airport to be boarded. In my suitcase I have a small container which reads "Dove facial creme" but the contents may not be so refreshing to the face as the label suggests, it is atleast a million times more refreshing for the heart. For it contains a handfull soil of kandahar.