In Kandahar my marginally scarfed female companion and I were stalked as we wandered the town while

waiting for the next day's bus. We had spent the night at a mud/stick-built inn near the bus drop-off point and went walking around before the next bus on to Kabul. Rope beds and doors with no locks. Think about those two facts. That was where Afghanistan was then.

Strangers in a strange land, for sure. And a heightened situational awareness. So I noticed this guy carrying an antique rifle (carrying those wasn't unusual, seemed pretty much every one (every male) was carrying some old rifle) and following us. After a while I chose to confront him and turned to face him and looked into his blue eyes trying understand what was going on.

Gesturing back and forth.

Seems he wanted to sell that remarkably beautiful hand crafted rifle, and I was very sorely tempted, but imagined crossing more borders with a weapon, even a functional antique, was a hassle I didn't want to encounter.

So I gestured my sadness and apology and respect (maybe, who knows) and looked with my blue eyes into his blue eyes and hoped he understood. And he seemed (body language is both powerful and subtle) to say back to me, thank you, sad it wasn't possible, but we are friends who know and honor one another.

The point of recapping this short encounter is that the Afghans were actually rather more humane and tolerant than the USAns of the same era. An inconvenient truth. How many invasions and mass murders of foreigners is on their rap sheet? How many on the US record?