My Afghan Family

Actually, they're just family

Zmaa Andiwalaan. Zmoong Andiwalaan.

My People. Our people.

What a few months. Man, I feel like life hits hard at times. When you see the elephant, it has its effects.

There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.

Remembering Afghanistan and the trauma it caused causes second and third-order effects. Shit, surviving war and living through your service can really fuck you up.

I’ll be honest. I never thought I was going to live. LOL.

So, now, life is a treasure. All of it. No matter what.

I lived. I survived. So many people tried to kill me. I don’t know how many, but it wasn’t zero.

They called me “Tooran Will” in Ghorak. I fought the Taliban there. In fairness, they won. Hat tip. They were always a step ahead of us. They knew our logistical chain issues, and they attacked them with stealth.

The Taliban thoroughly defeated the military’s counterintelligence program. American combat interpreters all went through CI screening.

Bruh, that wasn’t always just a fill-the-blank type of question.

CI polygraphs will make you squirm. LOL. You should strap yourself in for that motherfucking ride. LOL.

Anyway, the Taliban beat it. They figured it out. The increased number of blue-on-green attacks wasn’t a coincidence. It was always my hunch (no proof) that Pakistani ISI likely infiltrated all American bases, which allowed the Taliban to get inside for kill shots on American officers.

Many people forget those years. The Taliban were smoking advisors constantly. I knew people who the Taliban assassinated. When you meet people like that, it takes its toll on you. It hurts to believe someone may kill you in that room. But, alas, you begin to view the room differently to survive.

“Be polite be professional and have a plant to kill every motherfucker in the room.”

Mattis

That’s good advice. So I liked my little toys—a little blade here and a little ankle gun there. I come without arms—look at my hands—but even then, you have something in reserve.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, Afghans. . .

I love them. One of my Afghan brothers had his daughter today. We at GCV are overwhelmed for his family. He was my Pashto instructor; now his daughter is an American citizen.

We may have lost the war, but we got some Afghans here thriving with us. They deserve all the good things this country has to offer because they bet on us — and they lost.

That’s what I want for my Afghan brothers and sisters. I want them to thrive. That’s my life’s mission.

I want my Afghan family to have a voice in America's chorus. You need to hear their stories. You need to get to know your newest neighbors. They’re some of the most extraordinary people ever.

I love them because they accept you no matter what. If you are part of their tribe, they will die for you. Loyalty. Bro. Zmaa Andiwalaan. Afghans don’t mind fighting.

They do tend to be a tad bit prideful (guilty).

And they never forget (word).

Afghans are loyal. They love to fight. And they understand vengeance.

They’re Texans!

To all of my Afghan family. You’re really just family to this tired soul.

GCV

Afghanistan Rising